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diff --git a/3629-h/3629-h.htm b/3629-h/3629-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c9611a7 --- /dev/null +++ b/3629-h/3629-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,25689 @@ +<!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 Titan, by Theodore Dreiser</title> +<link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {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;} +h3 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em;} +h4 {font-size: 110%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +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.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: 90%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +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; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em;} + +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 Titan, by Theodore Dreiser + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of +the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + +Title: The Titan + +Author: Theodore Dreiser + +Release Date: June 15, 2001 [EBook #3629] +[Most recently updated: January 18, 2020] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TITAN *** + + + + +Produced by Kirk Pearson and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + + +</pre> + +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" style="width:100%;" alt="cover " /><br/><br/> +</div> + +<h1>The Titan</h1> + +<h2>by Theodore Dreiser</h2> + +<hr /> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto"> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">CHAPTER I. The New City</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">CHAPTER II. A Reconnoiter</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">CHAPTER III. A Chicago Evening</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">CHAPTER IV. Peter Laughlin & Co.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">CHAPTER V. Concerning A Wife And Family</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">CHAPTER VI. The New Queen of the Home</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">CHAPTER VII. Chicago Gas</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">CHAPTER VIII. Now This is Fighting</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09">CHAPTER IX. In Search of Victory</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10">CHAPTER X. A Test</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap11">CHAPTER XI. The Fruits of Daring</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap12">CHAPTER XII. A New Retainer</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap13">CHAPTER XIII. The Die is Cast</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap14">CHAPTER XIV. Undercurrents</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap15">CHAPTER XV. A New Affection</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap16">CHAPTER XVI. A Fateful Interlude</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap17">CHAPTER XVII. An Overture to Conflict</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap18">CHAPTER XVIII. The Clash</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap19">CHAPTER XIX. “Hell Hath No Fury—”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap20">CHAPTER XX. “Man and Superman”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap21">CHAPTER XXI. A Matter of Tunnels</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap22">CHAPTER XXII. Street-railways at Last</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap23">CHAPTER XXIII. The Power of the Press</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap24">CHAPTER XXIV. The Coming of Stephanie Platow</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap25">CHAPTER XXV. Airs from the Orient</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap26">CHAPTER XXVI. Love and War</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap27">CHAPTER XXVII. A Financier Bewitched</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap28">CHAPTER XXVIII. The Exposure of Stephanie</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap29">CHAPTER XXIX. A Family Quarrel</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap30">CHAPTER XXX. Obstacles</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap31">CHAPTER XXXI. Untoward Disclosures</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap32">CHAPTER XXXII. A Supper Party</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap33">CHAPTER XXXIII. Mr. Lynde to the Rescue</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap34">CHAPTER XXXIV. Enter Hosmer Hand</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap35">CHAPTER XXXV. A Political Agreement</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap36">CHAPTER XXXVI. An Election Draws Near</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap37">CHAPTER XXXVII. Aileen’s Revenge</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap38">CHAPTER XXXVIII. An Hour of Defeat</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap39">CHAPTER XXXIX. The New Administration</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap40">CHAPTER XL. A Trip to Louisville</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap41">CHAPTER XLI. The Daughter of Mrs. Fleming</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap42">CHAPTER XLII. F. A. Cowperwood, Guardian</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap43">CHAPTER XLIII. The Planet Mars</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap44">CHAPTER XLIV. A Franchise Obtained</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap45">CHAPTER XLV. Changing Horizons</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap46">CHAPTER XLVI. Depths and Heights</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap47">CHAPTER XLVII. American Match</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap48">CHAPTER XLVIII. Panic</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap49">CHAPTER XLIX. Mount Olympus</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap50">CHAPTER L. A New York Mansion</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap51">CHAPTER LI. The Revival of Hattie Starr</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap52">CHAPTER LII. Behind the Arras</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap53">CHAPTER LIII. A Declaration of Love</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap54">CHAPTER LIV. Wanted—Fifty-year Franchises</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap55">CHAPTER LV. Cowperwood and the Governor</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap56">CHAPTER LVI. The Ordeal of Berenice</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap57">CHAPTER LVII. Aileen’s Last Card</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap58">CHAPTER LVIII. A Marauder Upon the Commonwealth</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap59">CHAPTER LIX. Capital and Public Rights</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap60">CHAPTER LX. The Net</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap61">CHAPTER LXI. The Cataclysm</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap62">CHAPTER LXII. The Recompense</a></td> +</tr> + + +</table> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a>CHAPTER I.<br/> +The New City</h2> + +<p> +When Frank Algernon Cowperwood emerged from the Eastern District Penitentiary +in Philadelphia he realized that the old life he had lived in that city since +boyhood was ended. His youth was gone, and with it had been lost the great +business prospects of his earlier manhood. He must begin again. +</p> + +<p> +It would be useless to repeat how a second panic following upon a tremendous +failure—that of Jay Cooke & Co.—had placed a second fortune in +his hands. This restored wealth softened him in some degree. Fate seemed to +have his personal welfare in charge. He was sick of the stock-exchange, anyhow, +as a means of livelihood, and now decided that he would leave it once and for +all. He would get in something else—street-railways, land deals, some of +the boundless opportunities of the far West. Philadelphia was no longer +pleasing to him. Though now free and rich, he was still a scandal to the +pretenders, and the financial and social world was not prepared to accept him. +He must go his way alone, unaided, or only secretly so, while his quondam +friends watched his career from afar. So, thinking of this, he took the train +one day, his charming mistress, now only twenty-six, coming to the station to +see him off. He looked at her quite tenderly, for she was the quintessence of a +certain type of feminine beauty. +</p> + +<p> +“By-by, dearie,” he smiled, as the train-bell signaled the +approaching departure. “You and I will get out of this shortly. +Don’t grieve. I’ll be back in two or three weeks, or I’ll +send for you. I’d take you now, only I don’t know how that country +is out there. We’ll fix on some place, and then you watch me settle this +fortune question. We’ll not live under a cloud always. I’ll get a +divorce, and we’ll marry, and things will come right with a bang. Money +will do that.” +</p> + +<p> +He looked at her with his large, cool, penetrating eyes, and she clasped his +cheeks between her hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Frank,” she exclaimed, “I’ll miss you so! +You’re all I have.” +</p> + +<p> +“In two weeks,” he smiled, as the train began to move, +“I’ll wire or be back. Be good, sweet.” +</p> + +<p> +She followed him with adoring eyes—a fool of love, a spoiled child, a +family pet, amorous, eager, affectionate, the type so strong a man would +naturally like—she tossed her pretty red gold head and waved him a kiss. +Then she walked away with rich, sinuous, healthy strides—the type that +men turn to look after. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s her—that’s that Butler girl,” observed +one railroad clerk to another. “Gee! a man wouldn’t want anything +better than that, would he?” +</p> + +<p> +It was the spontaneous tribute that passion and envy invariably pay to health +and beauty. On that pivot swings the world. +</p> + +<p> +Never in all his life until this trip had Cowperwood been farther west than +Pittsburg. His amazing commercial adventures, brilliant as they were, had been +almost exclusively confined to the dull, staid world of Philadelphia, with its +sweet refinement in sections, its pretensions to American social supremacy, its +cool arrogation of traditional leadership in commercial life, its history, +conservative wealth, unctuous respectability, and all the tastes and avocations +which these imply. He had, as he recalled, almost mastered that pretty world +and made its sacred precincts his own when the crash came. Practically he had +been admitted. Now he was an Ishmael, an ex-convict, albeit a millionaire. But +wait! The race is to the swift, he said to himself over and over. Yes, and the +battle is to the strong. He would test whether the world would trample him +under foot or no. +</p> + +<p> +Chicago, when it finally dawned on him, came with a rush on the second morning. +He had spent two nights in the gaudy Pullman then provided—a car intended +to make up for some of the inconveniences of its arrangements by an +over-elaboration of plush and tortured glass—when the first lone outposts +of the prairie metropolis began to appear. The side-tracks along the road-bed +over which he was speeding became more and more numerous, the telegraph-poles +more and more hung with arms and strung smoky-thick with wires. In the far +distance, cityward, was, here and there, a lone working-man’s cottage, +the home of some adventurous soul who had planted his bare hut thus far out in +order to reap the small but certain advantage which the growth of the city +would bring. +</p> + +<p> +The land was flat—as flat as a table—with a waning growth of brown +grass left over from the previous year, and stirring faintly in the morning +breeze. Underneath were signs of the new green—the New Year’s flag +of its disposition. For some reason a crystalline atmosphere enfolded the +distant hazy outlines of the city, holding the latter like a fly in amber and +giving it an artistic subtlety which touched him. Already a devotee of art, +ambitious for connoisseurship, who had had his joy, training, and sorrow out of +the collection he had made and lost in Philadelphia, he appreciated almost +every suggestion of a delightful picture in nature. +</p> + +<p> +The tracks, side by side, were becoming more and more numerous. Freight-cars +were assembled here by thousands from all parts of the country—yellow, +red, blue, green, white. (Chicago, he recalled, already had thirty railroads +terminating here, as though it were the end of the world.) The little low one +and two story houses, quite new as to wood, were frequently unpainted and +already smoky—in places grimy. At grade-crossings, where ambling +street-cars and wagons and muddy-wheeled buggies waited, he noted how flat the +streets were, how unpaved, how sidewalks went up and down +rhythmically—here a flight of steps, a veritable platform before a house, +there a long stretch of boards laid flat on the mud of the prairie itself. What +a city! Presently a branch of the filthy, arrogant, self-sufficient little +Chicago River came into view, with its mass of sputtering tugs, its black, oily +water, its tall, red, brown, and green grain-elevators, its immense black +coal-pockets and yellowish-brown lumber-yards. +</p> + +<p> +Here was life; he saw it at a flash. Here was a seething city in the making. +There was something dynamic in the very air which appealed to his fancy. How +different, for some reason, from Philadelphia! That was a stirring city, too. +He had thought it wonderful at one time, quite a world; but this thing, while +obviously infinitely worse, was better. It was more youthful, more hopeful. In +a flare of morning sunlight pouring between two coal-pockets, and because the +train had stopped to let a bridge swing and half a dozen great grain and lumber +boats go by—a half-dozen in either direction—he saw a group of +Irish stevedores idling on the bank of a lumber-yard whose wall skirted the +water. Healthy men they were, in blue or red shirt-sleeves, stout straps about +their waists, short pipes in their mouths, fine, hardy, nutty-brown specimens +of humanity. Why were they so appealing, he asked himself. This raw, dirty town +seemed naturally to compose itself into stirring artistic pictures. Why, it +fairly sang! The world was young here. Life was doing something new. Perhaps he +had better not go on to the Northwest at all; he would decide that question +later. +</p> + +<p> +In the mean time he had letters of introduction to distinguished Chicagoans, +and these he would present. He wanted to talk to some bankers and grain and +commission men. The stock-exchange of Chicago interested him, for the +intricacies of that business he knew backward and forward, and some great grain +transactions had been made here. +</p> + +<p> +The train finally rolled past the shabby backs of houses into a long, shabbily +covered series of platforms—sheds having only roofs—and amidst a +clatter of trucks hauling trunks, and engines belching steam, and passengers +hurrying to and fro he made his way out into Canal Street and hailed a waiting +cab—one of a long line of vehicles that bespoke a metropolitan spirit. He +had fixed on the Grand Pacific as the most important hotel—the one with +the most social significance—and thither he asked to be driven. On the +way he studied these streets as in the matter of art he would have studied a +picture. The little yellow, blue, green, white, and brown street-cars which he +saw trundling here and there, the tired, bony horses, jingling bells at their +throats, touched him. They were flimsy affairs, these cars, merely highly +varnished kindling-wood with bits of polished brass and glass stuck about them, +but he realized what fortunes they portended if the city grew. Street-cars, he +knew, were his natural vocation. Even more than stock-brokerage, even more than +banking, even more than stock-organization he loved the thought of street-cars +and the vast manipulative life it suggested. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a>CHAPTER II.<br/> +A Reconnoiter</h2> + +<p> +The city of Chicago, with whose development the personality of Frank Algernon +Cowperwood was soon to be definitely linked! To whom may the laurels as +laureate of this Florence of the West yet fall? This singing flame of a city, +this all America, this poet in chaps and buckskin, this rude, raw Titan, this +Burns of a city! By its shimmering lake it lay, a king of shreds and patches, a +maundering yokel with an epic in its mouth, a tramp, a hobo among cities, with +the grip of Caesar in its mind, the dramatic force of Euripides in its soul. A +very bard of a city this, singing of high deeds and high hopes, its heavy +brogans buried deep in the mire of circumstance. Take Athens, oh, Greece! +Italy, do you keep Rome! This was the Babylon, the Troy, the Nineveh of a +younger day. Here came the gaping West and the hopeful East to see. Here hungry +men, raw from the shops and fields, idyls and romances in their minds, builded +them an empire crying glory in the mud. +</p> + +<p> +From New York, Vermont, New Hampshire, Maine had come a strange company, +earnest, patient, determined, unschooled in even the primer of refinement, +hungry for something the significance of which, when they had it, they could +not even guess, anxious to be called great, determined so to be without ever +knowing how. Here came the dreamy gentleman of the South, robbed of his +patrimony; the hopeful student of Yale and Harvard and Princeton; the +enfranchised miner of California and the Rockies, his bags of gold and silver +in his hands. Here was already the bewildered foreigner, an alien speech +confounding him—the Hun, the Pole, the Swede, the German, the +Russian—seeking his homely colonies, fearing his neighbor of another +race. +</p> + +<p> +Here was the negro, the prostitute, the blackleg, the gambler, the romantic +adventurer <i>par excellence</i>. A city with but a handful of the native-born; +a city packed to the doors with all the riffraff of a thousand towns. Flaring +were the lights of the bagnio; tinkling the banjos, zithers, mandolins of the +so-called gin-mill; all the dreams and the brutality of the day seemed gathered +to rejoice (and rejoice they did) in this new-found wonder of a metropolitan +life in the West. +</p> + +<p> +The first prominent Chicagoan whom Cowperwood sought out was the president of +the Lake City National Bank, the largest financial organization in the city, +with deposits of over fourteen million dollars. It was located in Dearborn +Street, at Munroe, but a block or two from his hotel. +</p> + +<p> +“Find out who that man is,” ordered Mr. Judah Addison, the +president of the bank, on seeing him enter the president’s private +waiting-room. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Addison’s office was so arranged with glass windows that he could, by +craning his neck, see all who entered his reception-room before they saw him, +and he had been struck by Cowperwood’s face and force. Long familiarity +with the banking world and with great affairs generally had given a rich finish +to the ease and force which the latter naturally possessed. He looked strangely +replete for a man of thirty-six—suave, steady, incisive, with eyes as +fine as those of a Newfoundland or a Collie and as innocent and winsome. They +were wonderful eyes, soft and spring-like at times, glowing with a rich, human +understanding which on the instant could harden and flash lightning. Deceptive +eyes, unreadable, but alluring alike to men and to women in all walks and +conditions of life. +</p> + +<p> +The secretary addressed came back with Cowperwood’s letter of +introduction, and immediately Cowperwood followed. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Addison instinctively arose—a thing he did not always do. +“I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Cowperwood,” he said, politely. +“I saw you come in just now. You see how I keep my windows here, so as to +spy out the country. Sit down. You wouldn’t like an apple, would +you?” He opened a left-hand drawer, producing several polished red +winesaps, one of which he held out. “I always eat one about this time in +the morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, no,” replied Cowperwood, pleasantly, estimating as he +did so his host’s temperament and mental caliber. “I never eat +between meals, but I appreciate your kindness. I am just passing through +Chicago, and I thought I would present this letter now rather than later. I +thought you might tell me a little about the city from an investment point of +view.” +</p> + +<p> +As Cowperwood talked, Addison, a short, heavy, rubicund man with grayish-brown +sideburns extending to his ear-lobes and hard, bright, twinkling gray +eyes—a proud, happy, self-sufficient man—munched his apple and +contemplated Cowperwood. As is so often the case in life, he frequently liked +or disliked people on sight, and he prided himself on his judgment of men. +Almost foolishly, for one so conservative, he was taken with Cowperwood—a +man immensely his superior—not because of the Drexel letter, which spoke +of the latter’s “undoubted financial genius” and the +advantage it would be to Chicago to have him settle there, but because of the +swimming wonder of his eyes. Cowperwood’s personality, while maintaining +an unbroken outward reserve, breathed a tremendous humanness which touched his +fellow-banker. Both men were in their way walking enigmas, the Philadelphian +far the subtler of the two. Addison was ostensibly a church-member, a model +citizen; he represented a point of view to which Cowperwood would never have +stooped. Both men were ruthless after their fashion, avid of a physical life; +but Addison was the weaker in that he was still afraid—very much +afraid—of what life might do to him. The man before him had no sense of +fear. Addison contributed judiciously to charity, subscribed outwardly to a +dull social routine, pretended to love his wife, of whom he was weary, and took +his human pleasure secretly. The man before him subscribed to nothing, refused +to talk save to intimates, whom he controlled spiritually, and did as he +pleased. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, I’ll tell you, Mr. Cowperwood,” Addison replied. +“We people out here in Chicago think so well of ourselves that sometimes +we’re afraid to say all we think for fear of appearing a little +extravagant. We’re like the youngest son in the family that knows he can +lick all the others, but doesn’t want to do it—not just yet. +We’re not as handsome as we might be—did you ever see a growing boy +that was?—but we’re absolutely sure that we’re going to be. +Our pants and shoes and coat and hat get too small for us every six months, and +so we don’t look very fashionable, but there are big, strong, hard +muscles and bones underneath, Mr. Cowperwood, as you’ll discover when you +get to looking around. Then you won’t mind the clothes so much.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Addison’s round, frank eyes narrowed and hardened for a moment. A +kind of metallic hardness came into his voice. Cowperwood could see that he was +honestly enamoured of his adopted city. Chicago was his most beloved mistress. +A moment later the flesh about his eyes crinkled, his mouth softened, and he +smiled. “I’ll be glad to tell you anything I can,” he went +on. “There are a lot of interesting things to tell.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood beamed back on him encouragingly. He inquired after the condition of +one industry and another, one trade or profession and another. This was +somewhat different from the atmosphere which prevailed in +Philadelphia—more breezy and generous. The tendency to expatiate and make +much of local advantages was Western. He liked it, however, as one aspect of +life, whether he chose to share in it or not. It was favorable to his own +future. He had a prison record to live down; a wife and two children to get rid +of—in the legal sense, at least (he had no desire to rid himself of +financial obligation toward them). It would take some such loose, enthusiastic +Western attitude to forgive in him the strength and freedom with which he +ignored and refused to accept for himself current convention. <i>I satisfy +myself</i> was his private law, but so to do he must assuage and control the +prejudices of other men. He felt that this banker, while not putty in his +hands, was inclined to a strong and useful friendship. +</p> + +<p> +“My impressions of the city are entirely favorable, Mr. Addison,” +he said, after a time, though he inwardly admitted to himself that this was not +entirely true; he was not sure whether he could bring himself ultimately to +live in so excavated and scaffolded a world as this or not. “I only saw a +portion of it coming in on the train. I like the snap of things. I believe +Chicago has a future.” +</p> + +<p> +“You came over the Fort Wayne, I presume,” replied Addison, +loftily. “You saw the worst section. You must let me show you some of the +best parts. By the way, where are you staying?” +</p> + +<p> +“At the Grand Pacific.” +</p> + +<p> +“How long will you be here?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not more than a day or two.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let me see,” and Mr. Addison drew out his watch. “I suppose +you wouldn’t mind meeting a few of our leading men—and we have a +little luncheon-room over at the Union League Club where we drop in now and +then. If you’d care to do so, I’d like to have you come along with +me at one. We’re sure to find a few of them—some of our lawyers, +business men, and judges.” +</p> + +<p> +“That will be fine,” said the Philadelphian, simply. +“You’re more than generous. There are one or two other people I +want to meet in between, and”—he arose and looked at his own +watch—“I’ll find the Union Club. Where is the office of +Arneel & Co.?” +</p> + +<p> +At the mention of the great beef-packer, who was one of the bank’s +heaviest depositors, Addison stirred slightly with approval. This young man, at +least eight years his junior, looked to him like a future grand seigneur of +finance. +</p> + +<p> +At the Union Club, at this noontime luncheon, after talking with the portly, +conservative, aggressive Arneel and the shrewd director of the stock-exchange, +Cowperwood met a varied company of men ranging in age from thirty-five to +sixty-five gathered about the board in a private dining-room of heavily carved +black walnut, with pictures of elder citizens of Chicago on the walls and an +attempt at artistry in stained glass in the windows. There were short and long +men, lean and stout, dark and blond men, with eyes and jaws which varied from +those of the tiger, lynx, and bear to those of the fox, the tolerant mastiff, +and the surly bulldog. There were no weaklings in this selected company. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Arneel and Mr. Addison Cowperwood approved of highly as shrewd, +concentrated men. Another who interested him was Anson Merrill, a small, +polite, recherche soul, suggesting mansions and footmen and remote luxury +generally, who was pointed out by Addison as the famous dry-goods prince of +that name, quite the leading merchant, in the retail and wholesale sense, in +Chicago. +</p> + +<p> +Still another was a Mr. Rambaud, pioneer railroad man, to whom Addison, smiling +jocosely, observed: “Mr. Cowperwood is on from Philadelphia, Mr. Rambaud, +trying to find out whether he wants to lose any money out here. Can’t you +sell him some of that bad land you have up in the Northwest?” +</p> + +<p> +Rambaud—a spare, pale, black-bearded man of much force and exactness, +dressed, as Cowperwood observed, in much better taste than some of the +others—looked at Cowperwood shrewdly but in a gentlemanly, retiring way, +with a gracious, enigmatic smile. He caught a glance in return which he could +not possibly forget. The eyes of Cowperwood said more than any words ever +could. Instead of jesting faintly Mr. Rambaud decided to explain some things +about the Northwest. Perhaps this Philadelphian might be interested. +</p> + +<p> +To a man who has gone through a great life struggle in one metropolis and +tested all the phases of human duplicity, decency, sympathy, and chicanery in +the controlling group of men that one invariably finds in every American city +at least, the temperament and significance of another group in another city is +not so much, and yet it is. Long since Cowperwood had parted company with the +idea that humanity at any angle or under any circumstances, climatic or +otherwise, is in any way different. To him the most noteworthy characteristic +of the human race was that it was strangely chemic, being anything or nothing, +as the hour and the condition afforded. In his leisure moments—those free +from practical calculation, which were not many—he often speculated as to +what life really was. If he had not been a great financier and, above all, a +marvelous organizer he might have become a highly individualistic +philosopher—a calling which, if he had thought anything about it at all +at this time, would have seemed rather trivial. His business as he saw it was +with the material facts of life, or, rather, with those third and fourth degree +theorems and syllogisms which control material things and so represent wealth. +He was here to deal with the great general needs of the Middle West—to +seize upon, if he might, certain well-springs of wealth and power and rise to +recognized authority. In his morning talks he had learned of the extent and +character of the stock-yards’ enterprises, of the great railroad and ship +interests, of the tremendous rising importance of real estate, grain +speculation, the hotel business, the hardware business. He had learned of +universal manufacturing companies—one that made cars, another elevators, +another binders, another windmills, another engines. Apparently, any new +industry seemed to do well in Chicago. In his talk with the one director of the +Board of Trade to whom he had a letter he had learned that few, if any, local +stocks were dealt in on ’change. Wheat, corn, and grains of all kinds +were principally speculated in. The big stocks of the East were gambled in by +way of leased wires on the New York Stock Exchange—not otherwise. +</p> + +<p> +As he looked at these men, all pleasantly civil, all general in their remarks, +each safely keeping his vast plans under his vest, Cowperwood wondered how he +would fare in this community. There were such difficult things ahead of him to +do. No one of these men, all of whom were in their commercial-social way +agreeable, knew that he had only recently been in the penitentiary. How much +difference would that make in their attitude? No one of them knew that, +although he was married and had two children, he was planning to divorce his +wife and marry the girl who had appropriated to herself the role which his wife +had once played. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you seriously contemplating looking into the Northwest?” asked +Mr. Rambaud, interestedly, toward the close of the luncheon. +</p> + +<p> +“That is my present plan after I finish here. I thought I’d take a +short run up there.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let me put you in touch with an interesting party that is going as far +as Fargo and Duluth. There is a private car leaving Thursday, most of them +citizens of Chicago, but some Easterners. I would be glad to have you join us. +I am going as far as Minneapolis.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood thanked him and accepted. A long conversation followed about the +Northwest, its timber, wheat, land sales, cattle, and possible manufacturing +plants. +</p> + +<p> +What Fargo, Minneapolis, and Duluth were to be civically and financially were +the chief topics of conversation. Naturally, Mr. Rambaud, having under his +direction vast railroad lines which penetrated this region, was confident of +the future of it. Cowperwood gathered it all, almost by instinct. Gas, +street-railways, land speculations, banks, wherever located, were his chief +thoughts. +</p> + +<p> +Finally he left the club to keep his other appointments, but something of his +personality remained behind him. Mr. Addison and Mr. Rambaud, among others, +were sincerely convinced that he was one of the most interesting men they had +met in years. And he scarcely had said anything at all—just listened. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a>CHAPTER III.<br/> +A Chicago Evening</h2> + +<p> +After his first visit to the bank over which Addison presided, and an informal +dinner at the latter’s home, Cowperwood had decided that he did not care +to sail under any false colors so far as Addison was concerned. He was too +influential and well connected. Besides, Cowperwood liked him too much. Seeing +that the man’s leaning toward him was strong, in reality a fascination, +he made an early morning call a day or two after he had returned from Fargo, +whither he had gone at Mr. Rambaud’s suggestion, on his way back to +Philadelphia, determined to volunteer a smooth presentation of his earlier +misfortunes, and trust to Addison’s interest to make him view the matter +in a kindly light. He told him the whole story of how he had been convicted of +technical embezzlement in Philadelphia and had served out his term in the +Eastern Penitentiary. He also mentioned his divorce and his intention of +marrying again. +</p> + +<p> +Addison, who was the weaker man of the two and yet forceful in his own way, +admired this courageous stand on Cowperwood’s part. It was a braver thing +than he himself could or would have achieved. It appealed to his sense of the +dramatic. Here was a man who apparently had been dragged down to the very +bottom of things, his face forced in the mire, and now he was coming up again +strong, hopeful, urgent. The banker knew many highly respected men in Chicago +whose early careers, as he was well aware, would not bear too close an +inspection, but nothing was thought of that. Some of them were in society, some +not, but all of them were powerful. Why should not Cowperwood be allowed to +begin all over? He looked at him steadily, at his eyes, at his stocky body, at +his smooth, handsome, mustached face. Then he held out his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Cowperwood,” he said, finally, trying to shape his words +appropriately, “I needn’t say that I am pleased with this +interesting confession. It appeals to me. I’m glad you have made it to +me. You needn’t say any more at any time. I decided the day I saw you +walking into that vestibule that you were an exceptional man; now I know it. +You needn’t apologize to me. I haven’t lived in this world fifty +years and more without having my eye-teeth cut. You’re welcome to the +courtesies of this bank and of my house as long as you care to avail yourself +of them. We’ll cut our cloth as circumstances dictate in the future. +I’d like to see you come to Chicago, solely because I like you +personally. If you decide to settle here I’m sure I can be of service to +you and you to me. Don’t think anything more about it; I +sha’n’t ever say anything one way or another. You have your own +battle to fight, and I wish you luck. You’ll get all the aid from me I +can honestly give you. Just forget that you told me, and when you get your +matrimonial affairs straightened out bring your wife out to see us.” +</p> + +<p> +With these things completed Cowperwood took the train back to Philadelphia. +</p> + +<p> +“Aileen,” he said, when these two met again—she had come to +the train to meet him—“I think the West is the answer for us. I +went up to Fargo and looked around up there, but I don’t believe we want +to go that far. There’s nothing but prairie-grass and Indians out in that +country. How’d you like to live in a board shanty, Aileen,” he +asked, banteringly, “with nothing but fried rattlesnakes and prairie-dogs +for breakfast? Do you think you could stand that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she replied, gaily, hugging his arm, for they had entered a +closed carriage; “I could stand it if you could. I’d go anywhere +with you, Frank. I’d get me a nice Indian dress with leather and beads +all over it and a feather hat like they wear, and—” +</p> + +<p> +“There you go! Certainly! Pretty clothes first of all in a miner’s +shack. That’s the way.” +</p> + +<p> +“You wouldn’t love me long if I didn’t put pretty clothes +first,” she replied, spiritedly. “Oh, I’m so glad to get you +back!” +</p> + +<p> +“The trouble is,” he went on, “that that country up there +isn’t as promising as Chicago. I think we’re destined to live in +Chicago. I made an investment in Fargo, and we’ll have to go up there +from time to time, but we’ll eventually locate in Chicago. I don’t +want to go out there alone again. It isn’t pleasant for me.” He +squeezed her hand. “If we can’t arrange this thing at once +I’ll just have to introduce you as my wife for the present.” +</p> + +<p> +“You haven’t heard anything more from Mr. Steger?” she put +in. She was thinking of Steger’s efforts to get Mrs. Cowperwood to grant +him a divorce. +</p> + +<p> +“Not a word.” +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t it too bad?” she sighed. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, don’t grieve. Things might be worse.” +</p> + +<p> +He was thinking of his days in the penitentiary, and so was she. After +commenting on the character of Chicago he decided with her that so soon as +conditions permitted they would remove themselves to the Western city. +</p> + +<p> +It would be pointless to do more than roughly sketch the period of three years +during which the various changes which saw the complete elimination of +Cowperwood from Philadelphia and his introduction into Chicago took place. For +a time there were merely journeys to and fro, at first more especially to +Chicago, then to Fargo, where his transported secretary, Walter Whelpley, was +managing under his direction the construction of Fargo business blocks, a short +street-car line, and a fair-ground. This interesting venture bore the title of +the Fargo Construction and Transportation Company, of which Frank A. Cowperwood +was president. His Philadelphia lawyer, Mr. Harper Steger, was for the time +being general master of contracts. +</p> + +<p> +For another short period he might have been found living at the Tremont in +Chicago, avoiding for the time being, because of Aileen’s company, +anything more than a nodding contact with the important men he had first met, +while he looked quietly into the matter of a Chicago brokerage +arrangement—a partnership with some established broker who, without too +much personal ambition, would bring him a knowledge of Chicago Stock Exchange +affairs, personages, and Chicago ventures. On one occasion he took Aileen with +him to Fargo, where with a haughty, bored insouciance she surveyed the state of +the growing city. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Frank!” she exclaimed, when she saw the plain, wooden, +four-story hotel, the long, unpleasing business street, with its motley +collection of frame and brick stores, the gaping stretches of houses, facing in +most directions unpaved streets. Aileen in her tailored spick-and-spanness, her +self-conscious vigor, vanity, and tendency to over-ornament, was a strange +contrast to the rugged self-effacement and indifference to personal charm which +characterized most of the men and women of this new metropolis. “You +didn’t seriously think of coming out here to live, did you?” +</p> + +<p> +She was wondering where her chance for social exchange would come in—her +opportunity to shine. Suppose her Frank were to be very rich; suppose he did +make very much money—much more than he had ever had even in the +past—what good would it do her here? In Philadelphia, before his failure, +before she had been suspected of the secret liaison with him, he had been +beginning (at least) to entertain in a very pretentious way. If she had been +his wife then she might have stepped smartly into Philadelphia society. Out +here, good gracious! She turned up her pretty nose in disgust. “What an +awful place!” was her one comment at this most stirring of Western boom +towns. +</p> + +<p> +When it came to Chicago, however, and its swirling, increasing life, Aileen was +much interested. Between attending to many financial matters Cowperwood saw to +it that she was not left alone. He asked her to shop in the local stores and +tell him about them; and this she did, driving around in an open carriage, +attractively arrayed, a great brown hat emphasizing her pink-and-white +complexion and red-gold hair. On different afternoons of their stay he took her +to drive over the principal streets. When Aileen was permitted for the first +time to see the spacious beauty and richness of Prairie Avenue, the North Shore +Drive, Michigan Avenue, and the new mansions on Ashland Boulevard, set in their +grassy spaces, the spirit, aspirations, hope, tang of the future Chicago began +to work in her blood as it had in Cowperwood’s. All of these rich homes +were so very new. The great people of Chicago were all newly rich like +themselves. She forgot that as yet she was not Cowperwood’s wife; she +felt herself truly to be so. The streets, set in most instances with a pleasing +creamish-brown flagging, lined with young, newly planted trees, the lawns sown +to smooth green grass, the windows of the houses trimmed with bright awnings +and hung with intricate lace, blowing in a June breeze, the roadways a gray, +gritty macadam—all these things touched her fancy. On one drive they +skirted the lake on the North Shore, and Aileen, contemplating the chalky, +bluish-green waters, the distant sails, the gulls, and then the new bright +homes, reflected that in all certitude she would some day be the mistress of +one of these splendid mansions. How haughtily she would carry herself; how she +would dress! They would have a splendid house, much finer, no doubt, than +Frank’s old one in Philadelphia, with a great ball-room and dining-room +where she could give dances and dinners, and where Frank and she would receive +as the peers of these Chicago rich people. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you suppose we will ever have a house as fine as one of these, +Frank?” she asked him, longingly. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you what my plan is,” he said. “If you like +this Michigan Avenue section we’ll buy a piece of property out here now +and hold it. Just as soon as I make the right connections here and see what I +am going to do we’ll build a house—something really +nice—don’t worry. I want to get this divorce matter settled, and +then we’ll begin. Meanwhile, if we have to come here, we’d better +live rather quietly. Don’t you think so?” +</p> + +<p> +It was now between five and six, that richest portion of a summer day. It had +been very warm, but was now cooling, the shade of the western building-line +shadowing the roadway, a moted, wine-like air filling the street. As far as the +eye could see were carriages, the one great social diversion of Chicago, +because there was otherwise so little opportunity for many to show that they +had means. The social forces were not as yet clear or harmonious. Jingling +harnesses of nickel, silver, and even plated gold were the sign manual of +social hope, if not of achievement. Here sped homeward from the city—from +office and manufactory—along this one exceptional southern highway, the +Via Appia of the South Side, all the urgent aspirants to notable fortunes. Men +of wealth who had met only casually in trade here nodded to each other. Smart +daughters, society-bred sons, handsome wives came down-town in traps, +Victorias, carriages, and vehicles of the latest design to drive home their +trade-weary fathers or brothers, relatives or friends. The air was gay with a +social hope, a promise of youth and affection, and that fine flush of material +life that recreates itself in delight. Lithe, handsome, well-bred animals, +singly and in jingling pairs, paced each other down the long, wide, grass-lined +street, its fine homes agleam with a rich, complaisant materiality. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” exclaimed Aileen, all at once, seeing the vigorous, forceful +men, the handsome matrons, and young women and boys, the nodding and the +bowing, feeling a touch of the romance and wonder of it all. “I should +like to live in Chicago. I believe it’s nicer than Philadelphia.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood, who had fallen so low there, despite his immense capacity, set his +teeth in two even rows. His handsome mustache seemed at this moment to have an +especially defiant curl. The pair he was driving was physically perfect, lean +and nervous, with spoiled, petted faces. He could not endure poor horse-flesh. +He drove as only a horse-lover can, his body bolt upright, his own energy and +temperament animating his animals. Aileen sat beside him, very proud, +consciously erect. +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t she beautiful?” some of the women observed, as they +passed, going north. “What a stunning young woman!” thought or said +the men. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you see her?” asked a young brother of his sister. +“Never mind, Aileen,” commented Cowperwood, with that iron +determination that brooks no defeat. “We will be a part of this. +Don’t fret. You will have everything you want in Chicago, and more +besides.” +</p> + +<p> +There was tingling over his fingers, into the reins, into the horses, a +mysterious vibrating current that was his chemical product, the off-giving of +his spirit battery that made his hired horses prance like children. They chafed +and tossed their heads and snorted. Aileen was fairly bursting with hope and +vanity and longing. Oh, to be Mrs. Frank Algernon Cowperwood here in Chicago, +to have a splendid mansion, to have her cards of invitation practically +commands which might not be ignored! +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, dear!” she sighed to herself, mentally. “If only it were +all true—now.” +</p> + +<p> +It is thus that life at its topmost toss irks and pains. Beyond is ever the +unattainable, the lure of the infinite with its infinite ache. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Oh, life! oh, youth! oh, hope! oh, years!<br/> +Oh pain-winged fancy, beating forth with fears.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a>CHAPTER IV.<br/> +Peter Laughlin & Co.</h2> + +<p> +The partnership which Cowperwood eventually made with an old-time Board of +Trade operator, Peter Laughlin, was eminently to his satisfaction. Laughlin was +a tall, gaunt speculator who had spent most of his living days in Chicago, +having come there as a boy from western Missouri. He was a typical Chicago +Board of Trade operator of the old school, having an Andrew Jacksonish +countenance, and a Henry Clay—Davy Crockett—“Long John” +Wentworth build of body. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood from his youth up had had a curious interest in quaint characters, +and he was interesting to them; they “took” to him. He could, if he +chose to take the trouble, fit himself in with the odd psychology of almost any +individual. In his early peregrinations in La Salle Street he inquired after +clever traders on ’change, and then gave them one small commission after +another in order to get acquainted. Thus he stumbled one morning on old Peter +Laughlin, wheat and corn trader, who had an office in La Salle Street near +Madison, and who did a modest business gambling for himself and others in grain +and Eastern railway shares. Laughlin was a shrewd, canny American, originally, +perhaps, of Scotch extraction, who had all the traditional American blemishes +of uncouthness, tobacco-chewing, profanity, and other small vices. Cowperwood +could tell from looking at him that he must have a fund of information +concerning every current Chicagoan of importance, and this fact alone was +certain to be of value. Then the old man was direct, plain-spoken, +simple-appearing, and wholly unpretentious—qualities which Cowperwood +deemed invaluable. +</p> + +<p> +Once or twice in the last three years Laughlin had lost heavily on private +“corners” that he had attempted to engineer, and the general +feeling was that he was now becoming cautious, or, in other words, afraid. +“Just the man,” Cowperwood thought. So one morning he called upon +Laughlin, intending to open a small account with him. +</p> + +<p> +“Henry,” he heard the old man say, as he entered Laughlin’s +fair-sized but rather dusty office, to a young, preternaturally solemn-looking +clerk, a fit assistant for Peter Laughlin, “git me them there Pittsburg +and Lake Erie sheers, will you?” Seeing Cowperwood waiting, he added, +“What kin I do for ye?” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood smiled. “So he calls them ‘sheers,’ does +he?” he thought. “Good! I think I’ll like him.” +</p> + +<p> +He introduced himself as coming from Philadelphia, and went on to say that he +was interested in various Chicago ventures, inclined to invest in any good +stock which would rise, and particularly desirous to buy into some +corporation—public utility preferred—which would be certain to grow +with the expansion of the city. +</p> + +<p> +Old Laughlin, who was now all of sixty years of age, owned a seat on the Board, +and was worth in the neighborhood of two hundred thousand dollars, looked at +Cowperwood quizzically. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, now, if you’d ’a’ come along here ten or fifteen +years ago you might ’a’ got in on the ground floor of a lot of +things,” he observed. “There was these here gas companies, now, +that them Otway and Apperson boys got in on, and then all these here +street-railways. Why, I’m the feller that told Eddie Parkinson what a +fine thing he could make out of it if he would go and organize that North State +Street line. He promised me a bunch of sheers if he ever worked it out, but he +never give ’em to me. I didn’t expect him to, though,” he +added, wisely, and with a glint. “I’m too old a trader for that. +He’s out of it now, anyway. That Michaels-Kennelly crowd skinned him. +Yep, if you’d ’a’ been here ten or fifteen years ago you +might ’a’ got in on that. ’Tain’t no use +a-thinkin’ about that, though, any more. Them sheers is sellin’ fer +clost onto a hundred and sixty.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood smiled. “Well, Mr. Laughlin,” he observed, “you +must have been on ’change a long time here. You seem to know a good deal +of what has gone on in the past.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yep, ever since 1852,” replied the old man. He had a thick growth +of upstanding hair looking not unlike a rooster’s comb, a long and what +threatened eventually to become a Punch-and-Judy chin, a slightly aquiline +nose, high cheek-bones, and hollow, brown-skinned cheeks. His eyes were as +clear and sharp as those of a lynx. +</p> + +<p> +“To tell you the truth, Mr. Laughlin,” went on Cowperwood, +“what I’m really out here in Chicago for is to find a man with whom +I can go into partnership in the brokerage business. Now I’m in the +banking and brokerage business myself in the East. I have a firm in +Philadelphia and a seat on both the New York and Philadelphia exchanges. I have +some affairs in Fargo also. Any trade agency can tell you about me. You have a +Board of Trade seat here, and no doubt you do some New York and Philadelphia +exchange business. The new firm, if you would go in with me, could handle it +all direct. I’m a rather strong outside man myself. I’m thinking of +locating permanently in Chicago. What would you say now to going into business +with me? Do you think we could get along in the same office space?” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood had a way, when he wanted to be pleasant, of beating the fingers of +his two hands together, finger for finger, tip for tip. He also smiled at the +same time—or, rather, beamed—his eyes glowing with a warm, +magnetic, seemingly affectionate light. +</p> + +<p> +As it happened, old Peter Laughlin had arrived at that psychological moment +when he was wishing that some such opportunity as this might appear and be +available. He was a lonely man, never having been able to bring himself to +trust his peculiar temperament in the hands of any woman. As a matter of fact, +he had never understood women at all, his relations being confined to those sad +immoralities of the cheapest character which only money—grudgingly given, +at that—could buy. He lived in three small rooms in West Harrison Street, +near Throup, where he cooked his own meals at times. His one companion was a +small spaniel, simple and affectionate, a she dog, Jennie by name, with whom he +slept. Jennie was a docile, loving companion, waiting for him patiently by day +in his office until he was ready to go home at night. He talked to this spaniel +quite as he would to a human being (even more intimately, perhaps), taking the +dog’s glances, tail-waggings, and general movements for answer. In the +morning when he arose, which was often as early as half past four, or even +four—he was a brief sleeper—he would begin by pulling on his +trousers (he seldom bathed any more except at a down-town barber shop) and +talking to Jennie. +</p> + +<p> +“Git up, now, Jinnie,” he would say. “It’s time to git +up. We’ve got to make our coffee now and git some breakfast. I can see +yuh, lyin’ there, pertendin’ to be asleep. Come on, now! +You’ve had sleep enough. You’ve been sleepin’ as long as I +have.” +</p> + +<p> +Jennie would be watching him out of the corner of one loving eye, her tail +tap-tapping on the bed, her free ear going up and down. +</p> + +<p> +When he was fully dressed, his face and hands washed, his old string tie pulled +around into a loose and convenient knot, his hair brushed upward, Jennie would +get up and jump demonstratively about, as much as to say, “You see how +prompt I am.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the way,” old Laughlin would comment. “Allers +last. Yuh never git up first, do yuh, Jinnie? Allers let yer old man do that, +don’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +On bitter days, when the car-wheels squeaked and one’s ears and fingers +seemed to be in danger of freezing, old Laughlin, arrayed in a heavy, dusty +greatcoat of ancient vintage and a square hat, would carry Jennie down-town in +a greenish-black bag along with some of his beloved “sheers” which +he was meditating on. Only then could he take Jennie in the cars. On other days +they would walk, for he liked exercise. He would get to his office as early as +seven-thirty or eight, though business did not usually begin until after nine, +and remain until four-thirty or five, reading the papers or calculating during +the hours when there were no customers. Then he would take Jennie and go for a +walk or to call on some business acquaintance. His home room, the newspapers, +the floor of the exchange, his offices, and the streets were his only +resources. He cared nothing for plays, books, pictures, music—and for +women only in his one-angled, mentally impoverished way. His limitations were +so marked that to a lover of character like Cowperwood he was +fascinating—but Cowperwood only used character. He never idled over it +long artistically. +</p> + +<p> +As Cowperwood suspected, what old Laughlin did not know about Chicago financial +conditions, deals, opportunities, and individuals was scarcely worth knowing. +Being only a trader by instinct, neither an organizer nor an executive, he had +never been able to make any great constructive use of his knowledge. His gains +and his losses he took with reasonable equanimity, exclaiming over and over, +when he lost: “Shucks! I hadn’t orter have done that,” and +snapping his fingers. When he won heavily or was winning he munched tobacco +with a seraphic smile and occasionally in the midst of trading would exclaim: +“You fellers better come in. It’s a-gonta rain some more.” He +was not easy to trap in any small gambling game, and only lost or won when +there was a free, open struggle in the market, or when he was engineering some +little scheme of his own. +</p> + +<p> +The matter of this partnership was not arranged at once, although it did not +take long. Old Peter Laughlin wanted to think it over, although he had +immediately developed a personal fancy for Cowperwood. In a way he was the +latter’s victim and servant from the start. They met day after day to +discuss various details and terms; finally, true to his instincts, old Peter +demanded a full half interest. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, you don’t want that much, Laughlin,” Cowperwood +suggested, quite blandly. They were sitting in Laughlin’s private office +between four and five in the afternoon, and Laughlin was chewing tobacco with +the sense of having a fine, interesting problem before him. “I have a +seat on the New York Stock Exchange,” he went on, “and that’s +worth forty thousand dollars. My seat on the Philadelphia exchange is worth +more than yours here. They will naturally figure as the principal assets of the +firm. It’s to be in your name. I’ll be liberal with you, though. +Instead of a third, which would be fair, I’ll make it forty-nine per +cent., and we’ll call the firm Peter Laughlin & Co. I like you, and I +think you can be of a lot of use to me. I know you will make more money through +me than you have alone. I could go in with a lot of these silk-stocking fellows +around here, but I don’t want to. You’d better decide right now, +and let’s get to work.” +</p> + +<p> +Old Laughlin was pleased beyond measure that young Cowperwood should want to go +in with him. He had become aware of late that all of the young, smug newcomers +on ’change considered him an old fogy. Here was a strong, brave young +Easterner, twenty years his junior, evidently as shrewd as himself—more +so, he feared—who actually proposed a business alliance. Besides, +Cowperwood, in his young, healthy, aggressive way, was like a breath of spring. +</p> + +<p> +“I ain’t keerin’ so much about the name,” rejoined +Laughlin. “You can fix it that-a-way if you want to. Givin’ you +fifty-one per cent. gives you charge of this here shebang. All right, though; I +ain’t a-kickin’. I guess I can manage allus to git what’s +a-comin’ to me. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a bargain, then,” said Cowperwood. “We’ll +want new offices, Laughlin, don’t you think? This one’s a little +dark.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fix it up any way you like, Mr. Cowperwood. It’s all the same to +me. I’ll be glad to see how yer do it.” +</p> + +<p> +In a week the details were completed, and two weeks later the sign of Peter +Laughlin & Co., grain and commission merchants, appeared over the door of a +handsome suite of rooms on the ground floor of a corner at La Salle and +Madison, in the heart of the Chicago financial district. +</p> + +<p> +“Get onto old Laughlin, will you?” one broker observed to another, +as they passed the new, pretentious commission-house with its splendid +plate-glass windows, and observed the heavy, ornate bronze sign placed on +either side of the door, which was located exactly on the corner. +“What’s struck him? I thought he was almost all through. +Who’s the Company?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know. Some fellow from the East, I think.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, he’s certainly moving up. Look at the plate glass, will +you?” +</p> + +<p> +It was thus that Frank Algernon Cowperwood’s Chicago financial career was +definitely launched. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a>CHAPTER V.<br/> +Concerning A Wife And Family</h2> + +<p> +If any one fancies for a moment that this commercial move on the part of +Cowperwood was either hasty or ill-considered they but little appreciate the +incisive, apprehensive psychology of the man. His thoughts as to life and +control (tempered and hardened by thirteen months of reflection in the Eastern +District Penitentiary) had given him a fixed policy. He could, should, and +would rule alone. No man must ever again have the least claim on him save that +of a suppliant. He wanted no more dangerous combinations such as he had had +with Stener, the man through whom he had lost so much in Philadelphia, and +others. By right of financial intellect and courage he was first, and would so +prove it. Men must swing around him as planets around the sun. +</p> + +<p> +Moreover, since his fall from grace in Philadelphia he had come to think that +never again, perhaps, could he hope to become socially acceptable in the sense +in which the so-called best society of a city interprets the phrase; and +pondering over this at odd moments, he realized that his future allies in all +probability would not be among the rich and socially important—the +clannish, snobbish elements of society—but among the beginners and +financially strong men who had come or were coming up from the bottom, and who +had no social hopes whatsoever. There were many such. If through luck and +effort he became sufficiently powerful financially he might then hope to +dictate to society. Individualistic and even anarchistic in character, and +without a shred of true democracy, yet temperamentally he was in sympathy with +the mass more than he was with the class, and he understood the mass better. +Perhaps this, in a way, will explain his desire to connect himself with a +personality so naive and strange as Peter Laughlin. He had annexed him as a +surgeon selects a special knife or instrument for an operation, and, shrewd as +old Laughlin was, he was destined to be no more than a tool in +Cowperwood’s strong hands, a mere hustling messenger, content to take +orders from this swiftest of moving brains. For the present Cowperwood was +satisfied to do business under the firm name of Peter Laughlin & +Co.—as a matter of fact, he preferred it; for he could thus keep himself +sufficiently inconspicuous to avoid undue attention, and gradually work out one +or two coups by which he hoped to firmly fix himself in the financial future of +Chicago. +</p> + +<p> +As the most essential preliminary to the social as well as the financial +establishment of himself and Aileen in Chicago, Harper Steger, +Cowperwood’s lawyer, was doing his best all this while to ingratiate +himself in the confidence of Mrs. Cowperwood, who had no faith in lawyers any +more than she had in her recalcitrant husband. She was now a tall, severe, and +rather plain woman, but still bearing the marks of the former passive charm +that had once interested Cowperwood. Notable crows’-feet had come about +the corners of her nose, mouth, and eyes. She had a remote, censorious, +subdued, self-righteous, and even injured air. +</p> + +<p> +The cat-like Steger, who had all the graceful contemplative air of a prowling +Tom, was just the person to deal with her. A more suavely cunning and +opportunistic soul never was. His motto might well have been, speak softly and +step lightly. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Mrs. Cowperwood,” he argued, seated in her modest West +Philadelphia parlor one spring afternoon, “I need not tell you what a +remarkable man your husband is, nor how useless it is to combat him. Admitting +all his faults—and we can agree, if you please, that they are +many”—Mrs. Cowperwood stirred with irritation—“still it +is not worth while to attempt to hold him to a strict account. You +know”—and Mr. Steger opened his thin, artistic hands in a +deprecatory way—“what sort of a man Mr. Cowperwood is, and whether +he can be coerced or not. He is not an ordinary man, Mrs. Cowperwood. No man +could have gone through what he has and be where he is to-day, and be an +average man. If you take my advice you will let him go his way. Grant him a +divorce. He is willing, even anxious to make a definite provision for you and +your children. He will, I am sure, look liberally after their future. But he is +becoming very irritable over your unwillingness to give him a legal separation, +and unless you do I am very much afraid that the whole matter will be thrown +into the courts. If, before it comes to that, I could effect an arrangement +agreeable to you, I would be much pleased. As you know, I have been greatly +grieved by the whole course of your recent affairs. I am intensely sorry that +things are as they are.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Steger lifted his eyes in a very pained, deprecatory way. He regretted +deeply the shifty currents of this troubled world. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Cowperwood for perhaps the fifteenth or twentieth time heard him to the +end in patience. Cowperwood would not return. Steger was as much her friend as +any other lawyer would be. Besides, he was socially agreeable to her. Despite +his Machiavellian profession, she half believed him. He went over, tactfully, a +score of additional points. Finally, on the twenty-first visit, and with +seemingly great distress, he told her that her husband had decided to break +with her financially, to pay no more bills, and do nothing until his +responsibility had been fixed by the courts, and that he, Steger, was about to +retire from the case. Mrs. Cowperwood felt that she must yield; she named her +ultimatum. If he would fix two hundred thousand dollars on her and the children +(this was Cowperwood’s own suggestion) and later on do something +commercially for their only son, Frank, junior, she would let him go. She +disliked to do it. She knew that it meant the triumph of Aileen Butler, such as +it was. But, after all, that wretched creature had been properly disgraced in +Philadelphia. It was not likely she could ever raise her head socially anywhere +any more. She agreed to file a plea which Steger would draw up for her, and by +that oily gentleman’s machinations it was finally wormed through the +local court in the most secret manner imaginable. The merest item in three of +the Philadelphia papers some six weeks later reported that a divorce had been +granted. When Mrs. Cowperwood read it she wondered greatly that so little +attention had been attracted by it. She had feared a much more extended +comment. She little knew the cat-like prowlings, legal and journalistic, of her +husband’s interesting counsel. When Cowperwood read it on one of his +visits to Chicago he heaved a sigh of relief. At last it was really true. Now +he could make Aileen his wife. He telegraphed her an enigmatic message of +congratulation. When Aileen read it she thrilled from head to foot. Now, +shortly, she would become the legal bride of Frank Algernon Cowperwood, the +newly enfranchised Chicago financier, and then— +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” she said, in her Philadelphia home, when she read it, +“isn’t that splendid! Now I’ll be Mrs. Cowperwood. Oh, +dear!” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Frank Algernon Cowperwood number one, thinking over her husband’s +liaison, failure, imprisonment, pyrotechnic operations at the time of the Jay +Cooke failure, and his present financial ascendancy, wondered at the mystery of +life. There must be a God. The Bible said so. Her husband, evil though he was, +could not be utterly bad, for he had made ample provision for her, and the +children liked him. Certainly, at the time of the criminal prosecution he was +no worse than some others who had gone free. Yet he had been convicted, and she +was sorry for that and had always been. He was an able and ruthless man. She +hardly knew what to think. The one person she really did blame was the +wretched, vain, empty-headed, ungodly Aileen Butler, who had been his +seductress and was probably now to be his wife. God would punish her, no doubt. +He must. So she went to church on Sundays and tried to believe, come what +might, that all was for the best. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a>CHAPTER VI.<br/> +The New Queen of the Home</h2> +<p> +The day Cowperwood and Aileen were married—it was in an obscure village +called Dalston, near Pittsburg, in western Pennsylvania, where they had stopped +off to manage this matter—he had said to her: “I want to tell you, +dear, that you and I are really beginning life all over. Now it depends on how +well we play this game as to how well we succeed. If you will listen to me we +won’t try to do anything much socially in Chicago for the present. Of +course we’ll have to meet a few people. That can’t be avoided. Mr. +and Mrs. Addison are anxious to meet you, and I’ve delayed too long in +that matter as it is. But what I mean is that I don’t believe it’s +advisable to push this social exchange too far. People are sure to begin to +make inquiries if we do. My plan is to wait a little while and then build a +really fine house so that we won’t need to rebuild. We’re going to +go to Europe next spring, if things go right, and we may get some ideas over +there. I’m going to put in a good big gallery,” he concluded. +“While we’re traveling we might as well see what we can find in the +way of pictures and so on.” +</p> + +<p> +Aileen was thrilling with anticipation. “Oh, Frank,” she said to +him, quite ecstatically, “you’re so wonderful! You do everything +you want, don’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not quite,” he said, deprecatingly; “but it isn’t for +not wanting to. Chance has a little to say about some of these chings, +Aileen.” +</p> + +<p> +She stood in front of him, as she often did, her plump, ringed hands on his +shoulders, and looked into those steady, lucid pools—his eyes. Another +man, less leonine, and with all his shifting thoughts, might have had to +contend with the handicap of a shifty gaze; he fronted the queries and +suspicions of the world with a seeming candor that was as disarming as that of +a child. The truth was he believed in himself, and himself only, and thence +sprang his courage to think as he pleased. Aileen wondered, but could get no +answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you big tiger!” she said. “You great, big lion! +Boo!” +</p> + +<p> +He pinched her cheek and smiled. “Poor Aileen!” he thought. She +little knew the unsolvable mystery that he was even to himself—to himself +most of all. +</p> + +<p> +Immediately after their marriage Cowperwood and Aileen journeyed to Chicago +direct, and took the best rooms that the Tremont provided, for the time being. +A little later they heard of a comparatively small furnished house at +Twenty-third and Michigan Avenue, which, with horses and carriages thrown in, +was to be had for a season or two on lease. They contracted for it at once, +installing a butler, servants, and the general service of a well-appointed +home. Here, because he thought it was only courteous, and not because he +thought it was essential or wise at this time to attempt a social onslaught, he +invited the Addisons and one or two others whom he felt sure would +come—Alexander Rambaud, president of the Chicago & Northwestern, and +his wife, and Taylor Lord, an architect whom he had recently called into +consultation and whom he found socially acceptable. Lord, like the Addisons, +was in society, but only as a minor figure. +</p> + +<p> +Trust Cowperwood to do the thing as it should be done. The place they had +leased was a charming little gray-stone house, with a neat flight of granite, +balustraded steps leading up to its wide-arched door, and a judicious use of +stained glass to give its interior an artistically subdued atmosphere. +Fortunately, it was furnished in good taste. Cowperwood turned over the matter +of the dinner to a caterer and decorator. Aileen had nothing to do but dress, +and wait, and look her best. +</p> + +<p> +“I needn’t tell you,” he said, in the morning, on leaving, +“that I want you to look nice to-night, pet. I want the Addisons and Mr. +Rambaud to like you.” +</p> + +<p> +A hint was more than sufficient for Aileen, though really it was not needed. On +arriving at Chicago she had sought and discovered a French maid. Although she +had brought plenty of dresses from Philadelphia, she had been having additional +winter costumes prepared by the best and most expensive mistress of the art in +Chicago—Theresa Donovan. Only the day before she had welcomed home a +golden-yellow silk under heavy green lace, which, with her reddish-gold hair +and her white arms and neck, seemed to constitute an unusual harmony. Her +boudoir on the night of the dinner presented a veritable riot of silks, satins, +laces, lingerie, hair ornaments, perfumes, jewels—anything and everything +which might contribute to the feminine art of being beautiful. Once in the +throes of a toilet composition, Aileen invariably became restless and +energetic, almost fidgety, and her maid, Fadette, was compelled to move +quickly. Fresh from her bath, a smooth, ivory Venus, she worked quickly through +silken lingerie, stockings and shoes, to her hair. Fadette had an idea to +suggest for the hair. Would Madame let her try a new swirl she had seen? Madame +would—yes. So there were movings of her mass of rich glinting tresses +this way and that. Somehow it would not do. A braided effect was then tried, +and instantly discarded; finally a double looping, without braids, low over the +forehead, caught back with two dark-green bands, crossing like an X above the +center of her forehead and fastened with a diamond sunburst, served admirably. +In her filmy, lacy boudoir costume of pink silk Aileen stood up and surveyed +herself in the full-length mirror. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she said, turning her head this way and that. +</p> + +<p> +Then came the dress from Donovan’s, rustling and crisping. She slipped +into it wonderingly, critically, while Fadette worked at the back, the arms, +about her knees, doing one little essential thing after another. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Madame!” she exclaimed. “Oh, charmant! Ze hair, it go +weeth it perfect. It ees so full, so beyutiful here”—she pointed to +the hips, where the lace formed a clinging basque. “Oh, tees varee, varee +nize.” +</p> + +<p> +Aileen glowed, but with scarcely a smile. She was concerned. It wasn’t so +much her toilet, which must be everything that it should be—but this Mr. +Addison, who was so rich and in society, and Mr. Rambaud, who was very +powerful, Frank said, must like her. It was the necessity to put her best foot +forward now that was really troubling her. She must interest these men +mentally, perhaps, as well as physically, and with social graces, and that was +not so easy. For all her money and comfort in Philadelphia she had never been +in society in its best aspects, had never done social entertaining of any real +importance. Frank was the most important man who had ever crossed her path. No +doubt Mr. Rambaud had a severe, old-fashioned wife. How would she talk to her? +And Mrs. Addison! She would know and see everything. Aileen almost talked out +loud to herself in a consoling way as she dressed, so strenuous were her +thoughts; but she went on, adding the last touches to her physical graces. +</p> + +<p> +When she finally went down-stairs to see how the dining and reception rooms +looked, and Fadette began putting away the welter of discarded +garments—she was a radiant vision—a splendid greenish-gold figure, +with gorgeous hair, smooth, soft, shapely ivory arms, a splendid neck and bust, +and a swelling form. She felt beautiful, and yet she was a little +nervous—truly. Frank himself would be critical. She went about looking +into the dining-room, which, by the caterer’s art, had been transformed +into a kind of jewel-box glowing with flowers, silver, gold, tinted glass, and +the snowy whiteness of linen. It reminded her of an opal flashing all its soft +fires. She went into the general reception-room, where was a grand piano +finished in pink and gold, upon which, with due thought to her one +accomplishment—her playing—she had arranged the songs and +instrumental pieces she did best. Aileen was really not a brilliant musician. +For the first time in her life she felt matronly—as if now she were not a +girl any more, but a woman grown, with some serious responsibilities, and yet +she was not really suited to the role. As a matter of fact, her thoughts were +always fixed on the artistic, social, and dramatic aspects of life, with +unfortunately a kind of nebulosity of conception which permitted no +condensation into anything definite or concrete. She could only be wildly and +feverishly interested. Just then the door clicked to Frank’s key—it +was nearing six—and in he came, smiling, confident, a perfect atmosphere +of assurance. +</p> + +<p> +“Well!” he observed, surveying her in the soft glow of the +reception-room lighted by wall candles judiciously arranged. “Who’s +the vision floating around here? I’m almost afraid to touch you. Much +powder on those arms?” +</p> + +<p> +He drew her into his arms, and she put up her mouth with a sense of relief. +Obviously, he must think that she looked charming. +</p> + +<p> +“I am chalky, I guess. You’ll just have to stand it, though. +You’re going to dress, anyhow.” +</p> + +<p> +She put her smooth, plump arms about his neck, and he felt pleased. This was +the kind of a woman to have—a beauty. Her neck was resplendent with a +string of turquoise, her fingers too heavily jeweled, but still beautiful. She +was faintly redolent of hyacinth or lavender. Her hair appealed to him, and, +above all, the rich yellow silk of her dress, flashing fulgurously through the +closely netted green. +</p> + +<p> +“Charming, girlie. You’ve outdone yourself. I haven’t seen +this dress before. Where did you get it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Here in Chicago.” +</p> + +<p> +He lifted her warm fingers, surveying her train, and turned her about. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t need any advice. You ought to start a school.” +</p> + +<p> +“Am I all right?” she queried, smartly, but with a sense of +self-distrust for the moment, and all because of him. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re perfect. Couldn’t be nicer. Splendid!” +</p> + +<p> +She took heart. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish your friends would think so. You’d better hurry.” +</p> + +<p> +He went up-stairs, and she followed, looking first into the dining-room again. +At least that was right. Surely Frank was a master. +</p> + +<p> +At seven the plop of the feet of carriage-horses was heard, and a moment later +Louis, the butler, was opening the door. Aileen went down, a little nervous, a +little frigid, trying to think of many pleasant things, and wondering whether +she would really succeed in being entertaining. Cowperwood accompanied her, a +very different person in so far as mood and self-poise were concerned. To +himself his own future was always secure, and that of Aileen’s if he +wished to make it so. The arduous, upward-ascending rungs of the social ladder +that were troubling her had no such significance to him. +</p> + +<p> +The dinner, as such simple things go, was a success from what might be called a +managerial and pictorial point of view. Cowperwood, because of his varied +tastes and interests, could discuss railroading with Mr. Rambaud in a very +definite and illuminating way; could talk architecture with Mr. Lord as a +student, for instance, of rare promise would talk with a master; and with a +woman like Mrs. Addison or Mrs. Rambaud he could suggest or follow appropriate +leads. Aileen, unfortunately, was not so much at home, for her natural state +and mood were remote not so much from a serious as from an accurate conception +of life. So many things, except in a very nebulous and suggestive way, were +sealed books to Aileen—merely faint, distant tinklings. She knew nothing +of literature except certain authors who to the truly cultured might seem +banal. As for art, it was merely a jingle of names gathered from +Cowperwood’s private comments. Her one redeeming feature was that she was +truly beautiful herself—a radiant, vibrating <i>objet d’art</i>. A +man like Rambaud, remote, conservative, constructive, saw the place of a woman +like Aileen in the life of a man like Cowperwood on the instant. She was such a +woman as he would have prized himself in a certain capacity. +</p> + +<p> +Sex interest in all strong men usually endures unto the end, governed sometimes +by a stoic resignation. The experiment of such attraction can, as they well +know, be made over and over, but to what end? For many it becomes too +troublesome. Yet the presence of so glittering a spectacle as Aileen on this +night touched Mr. Rambaud with an ancient ambition. He looked at her almost +sadly. Once he was much younger. But alas, he had never attracted the flaming +interest of any such woman. As he studied her now he wished that he might have +enjoyed such good fortune. +</p> + +<p> +In contrast with Aileen’s orchid glow and tinted richness Mrs. +Rambaud’s simple gray silk, the collar of which came almost to her ears, +was disturbing—almost reproving—but Mrs. Rambaud’s ladylike +courtesy and generosity made everything all right. She came out of intellectual +New England—the Emerson-Thoreau-Channing Phillips school of +philosophy—and was broadly tolerant. As a matter of fact, she liked +Aileen and all the Orient richness she represented. “Such a sweet little +house this is,” she said, smilingly. “We’ve noticed it often. +We’re not so far removed from you but what we might be called +neighbors.” +</p> + +<p> +Aileen’s eyes spoke appreciation. Although she could not fully grasp Mrs. +Rambaud, she understood her, in a way, and liked her. She was probably +something like her own mother would have been if the latter had been highly +educated. While they were moving into the reception-room Taylor Lord was +announced. Cowperwood took his hand and brought him forward to the others. +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Cowperwood,” said Lord, admiringly—a tall, rugged, +thoughtful person—“let me be one of many to welcome you to Chicago. +After Philadelphia you will find some things to desire at first, but we all +come to like it eventually.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’m sure I shall,” smiled Aileen. +</p> + +<p> +“I lived in Philadelphia years ago, but only for a little while,” +added Lord. “I left there to come here.” +</p> + +<p> +The observation gave Aileen the least pause, but she passed it over lightly. +This sort of accidental reference she must learn to expect; there might be much +worse bridges to cross. +</p> + +<p> +“I find Chicago all right,” she replied, briskly. +“There’s nothing the matter with it. It has more snap than +Philadelphia ever had.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m glad to hear you say that. I like it so much. Perhaps +it’s because I find such interesting things to do here.” +</p> + +<p> +He was admiring the splendor of her arms and hair. What need had beautiful +woman to be intellectual, anyhow, he was saying to himself, sensing that Aileen +might be deficient in ultimate refinement. +</p> + +<p> +Once more an announcement from the butler, and now Mr. and Mrs. Addison +entered. Addison was not at all concerned over coming here—liked the idea +of it; his own position and that of his wife in Chicago was secure. “How +are you, Cowperwood?” he beamed, laying one hand on the latter’s +shoulder. “This is fine of you to have us in to-night. Mrs. Cowperwood, +I’ve been telling your husband for nearly a year now that he should bring +you out here. Did he tell you?” (Addison had not as yet confided to his +wife the true history of Cowperwood and Aileen.) +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, indeed,” replied Aileen, gaily, feeling that Addison was +charmed by her beauty. “I’ve been wanting to come, too. It’s +his fault that I wasn’t here sooner.” +</p> + +<p> +Addison, looking circumspectly at Aileen, said to himself that she was +certainly a stunning-looking woman. So she was the cause of the first +wife’s suit. No wonder. What a splendid creature! He contrasted her with +Mrs. Addison, and to his wife’s disadvantage. She had never been as +striking, as stand-upish as Aileen, though possibly she might have more sense. +Jove! if he could find a woman like Aileen to-day. Life would take on a new +luster. And yet he had women—very carefully, very subterraneously. But he +had them. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s such a pleasure to meet you,” Mrs. Addison, a +corpulent, bejeweled lady, was saying to Aileen. “My husband and yours +have become the best of friends, apparently. We must see more of each +other.” +</p> + +<p> +She babbled on in a puffy social way, and Aileen felt as though she were +getting along swiftly. The butler brought in a great tray of appetizers and +cordials, and put them softly on a remote table. Dinner was served, and the +talk flowed on; they discussed the growth of the city, a new church that Lord +was building ten blocks farther out; Rambaud told about some humorous land +swindles. It was quite gay. Meanwhile Aileen did her best to become interested +in Mrs. Rambaud and Mrs. Addison. She liked the latter somewhat better, solely +because it was a little easier to talk to her. Mrs. Rambaud Aileen knew to be +the wiser and more charitable woman, but she frightened her a little; presently +she had to fall back on Mr. Lord’s help. He came to her rescue gallantly, +talking of everything that came into his mind. All the men outside of +Cowperwood were thinking how splendid Aileen was physically, how white were her +arms, how rounded her neck and shoulders, how rich her hair. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a>CHAPTER VII.<br/> +Chicago Gas</h2> + +<p> +Old Peter Laughlin, rejuvenated by Cowperwood’s electric ideas, was +making money for the house. He brought many bits of interesting gossip from the +floor, and such shrewd guesses as to what certain groups and individuals were +up to, that Cowperwood was able to make some very brilliant deductions. +</p> + +<p> +“By Gosh! Frank, I think I know exactly what them fellers are trying to +do,” Laughlin would frequently remark of a morning, after he had lain in +his lonely Harrison Street bed meditating the major portion of the night. +“That there Stock Yards gang” (and by gang he meant most of the +great manipulators, like Arneel, Hand, Schryhart and others) “are after +corn again. We want to git long o’ that now, or I miss my guess. What do +you think, huh?” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood, schooled by now in many Western subtleties which he had not +previously known, and daily becoming wiser, would as a rule give an +instantaneous decision. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re right. Risk a hundred thousand bushels. I think New York +Central is going to drop a point or two in a few days. We’d better go +short a point.” +</p> + +<p> +Laughlin could never figure out quite how it was that Cowperwood always seemed +to know and was ready to act quite as quickly in local matters as he was +himself. He understood his wisdom concerning Eastern shares and things dealt in +on the Eastern exchange, but these Chicago matters? +</p> + +<p> +“Whut makes you think that?” he asked Cowperwood, one day, quite +curiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Peter,” Cowperwood replied, quite simply, “Anton +Videra” (one of the directors of the Wheat and Corn Bank) “was in +here yesterday while you were on ’change, and he was telling me.” +He described a situation which Videra had outlined. +</p> + +<p> +Laughlin knew Videra as a strong, wealthy Pole who had come up in the last few +years. It was strange how Cowperwood naturally got in with these wealthy men +and won their confidence so quickly. Videra would never have become so +confidential with him. +</p> + +<p> +“Huh!” he exclaimed. “Well, if he says it it’s +more’n likely so.” +</p> + +<p> +So Laughlin bought, and Peter Laughlin & Co. won. +</p> + +<p> +But this grain and commission business, while it was yielding a profit which +would average about twenty thousand a year to each partner, was nothing more to +Cowperwood than a source of information. +</p> + +<p> +He wanted to “get in” on something that was sure to bring very +great returns within a reasonable time and that would not leave him in any such +desperate situation as he was at the time of the Chicago fire—spread out +very thin, as he put it. He had interested in his ventures a small group of +Chicago men who were watching him—Judah Addison, Alexander Rambaud, +Millard Bailey, Anton Videra—men who, although not supreme figures by any +means, had free capital. He knew that he could go to them with any truly sound +proposition. The one thing that most attracted his attention was the Chicago +gas situation, because there was a chance to step in almost unheralded in an as +yet unoccupied territory; with franchises once secured—the reader can +quite imagine how—he could present himself, like a Hamilcar Barca in the +heart of Spain or a Hannibal at the gates of Rome, with a demand for surrender +and a division of spoils. +</p> + +<p> +There were at this time three gas companies operating in the three different +divisions of the city—the three sections, or “sides,” as they +were called—South, West, and North, and of these the Chicago Gas, Light, +and Coke Company, organized in 1848 to do business on the South Side, was the +most flourishing and important. The People’s Gas, Light, and Coke +Company, doing business on the West Side, was a few years younger than the +South Chicago company, and had been allowed to spring into existence through +the foolish self-confidence of the organizer and directors of the South Side +company, who had fancied that neither the West Side nor the North Side was +going to develop very rapidly for a number of years to come, and had counted on +the city council’s allowing them to extend their mains at any time to +these other portions of the city. A third company, the North Chicago Gas +Illuminating Company, had been organized almost simultaneously with the West +Side company by the same process through which the other companies had been +brought into life—their avowed intention, like that of the West Side +company, being to confine their activities to the sections from which the +organizers presumably came. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood’s first project was to buy out and combine the three old city +companies. With this in view he looked up the holders in all three +corporations—their financial and social status. It was his idea that by +offering them three for one, or even four for one, for every dollar represented +by the market value of their stock he might buy in and capitalize the three +companies as one. Then, by issuing sufficient stock to cover all his +obligations, he would reap a rich harvest and at the same time leave himself in +charge. He approached Judah Addison first as the most available man to help +float a scheme of this kind. He did not want him as a partner so much as he +wanted him as an investor. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’ll tell you how I feel about this,” said Addison, +finally. “You’ve hit on a great idea here. It’s a wonder it +hasn’t occurred to some one else before. And you’ll want to keep +rather quiet about it, or some one else will rush in and do it. We have a lot +of venturesome men out here. But I like you, and I’m with you. Now it +wouldn’t be advisable for me to go in on this personally—not +openly, anyhow—but I’ll promise to see that you get some of the +money you want. I like your idea of a central holding company, or pool, with +you in charge as trustee, and I’m perfectly willing that you should +manage it, for I think you can do it. Anyhow, that leaves me out, apparently, +except as an Investor. But you will have to get two or three others to help +carry this guarantee with me. Have you any one in mind?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes,” replied Cowperwood. “Certainly. I merely came to +you first.” He mentioned Rambaud, Videra, Bailey, and others. +</p> + +<p> +“They’re all right,” said Addison, “if you can get +them. But I’m not sure, even then, that you can induce these other +fellows to sell out. They’re not investors in the ordinary sense. +They’re people who look on this gas business as their private business. +They started it. They like it. They built the gas-tanks and laid the mains. It +won’t be easy.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood found, as Addison predicted, that it was not such an easy matter to +induce the various stock-holders and directors in the old companies to come in +on any such scheme of reorganization. A closer, more unresponsive set of men he +was satisfied he had never met. His offer to buy outright at three or four for +one they refused absolutely. The stock in each case was selling from one +hundred and seventy to two hundred and ten, and intrinsically was worth more +every year, as the city was growing larger and its need of gas greater. At the +same time they were suspicious—one and all—of any combination +scheme by an outsider. Who was he? Whom did he represent? He could make it +clear that he had ample capital, but not who his backers were. The old officers +and directors fancied that it was a scheme on the part of some of the officers +and directors of one of the other companies to get control and oust them. Why +should they sell? Why be tempted by greater profits from their stock when they +were doing very well as it was? Because of his newness to Chicago and his lack +of connection as yet with large affairs Cowperwood was eventually compelled to +turn to another scheme—that of organizing new companies in the suburbs as +an entering-wedge of attack upon the city proper. Suburbs such as Lake View and +Hyde Park, having town or village councils of their own, were permitted to +grant franchises to water, gas, and street-railway companies duly incorporated +under the laws of the state. Cowperwood calculated that if he could form +separate and seemingly distinct companies for each of the villages and towns, +and one general company for the city later, he would be in a position to +dictate terms to the older organizations. It was simply a question of obtaining +his charters and franchises before his rivals had awakened to the situation. +</p> + +<p> +The one difficulty was that he knew absolutely nothing of the business of +gas—its practical manufacture and distribution—and had never been +particularly interested init. Street-railroading, his favorite form of +municipal profit-seeking, and one upon which he had acquired an almost endless +fund of specialized information, offered no present practical opportunity for +him here in Chicago. He meditated on the situation, did some reading on the +manufacture of gas, and then suddenly, as was his luck, found an implement +ready to his hand. +</p> + +<p> +It appeared that in the course of the life and growth of the South Side company +there had once been a smaller organization founded by a man by the name of +Sippens—Henry De Soto Sippens—who had entered and actually secured, +by some hocus-pocus, a franchise to manufacture and sell gas in the down-town +districts, but who had been annoyed by all sorts of legal processes until he +had finally been driven out or persuaded to get out. He was now in the +real-estate business in Lake View. Old Peter Laughlin knew him. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s a smart little cuss,” Laughlin told Cowperwood. +“I thort onct he’d make a go of it, but they ketched him where his +hair was short, and he had to let go. There was an explosion in his tank over +here near the river onct, an I think he thort them fellers blew him up. Anyhow, +he got out. I ain’t seen ner heard sight of him fer years.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood sent old Peter to look up Mr. Sippens and find out what he was +really doing, and whether he would be interested to get back in the gas +business. Enter, then, a few days later into the office of Peter Laughlin & +Co. Henry De Soto Sippens. He was a very little man, about fifty years of age; +he wore a high, four-cornered, stiff felt hat, with a short brown business coat +(which in summer became seersucker) and square-toed shoes; he looked for all +the world like a country drug or book store owner, with perhaps the air of a +country doctor or lawyer superadded. His cuffs protruded too far from his +coat-sleeves, his necktie bulged too far out of his vest, and his high hat was +set a little too far back on his forehead; otherwise he was acceptable, +pleasant, and interesting. He had short side-burns—reddish +brown—which stuck out quite defiantly, and his eyebrows were heavy. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Sippens,” said Cowperwood, blandly, “you were once in +the gas manufacturing and distributing business here in Chicago, weren’t +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think I know as much about the manufacture of gas as any one,” +replied Sippens, almost contentiously. “I worked at it for a number of +years.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, now, Mr. Sippens, I was thinking that it might be interesting to +start a little gas company in one of these outlying villages that are growing +so fast and see if we couldn’t make some money out of it. I’m not a +practical gas man myself, but I thought I might interest some one who +was.” He looked at Sippens in a friendly, estimating way. “I have +heard of you as some one who has had considerable experience in this field here +in Chicago. If I should get up a company of this kind, with considerable +backing, do you think you might be willing to take the management of it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I know all about this gas field,” Mr. Sippens was about to +say. “It can’t be done.” But he changed his mind before +opening his lips. “If I were paid enough,” he said, cautiously. +“I suppose you know what you have to contend with?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes,” Cowperwood replied, smiling. “What would you +consider ‘paid enough’ to mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, if I were given six thousand a year and a sufficient interest in the +company—say, a half, or something like that—I might consider +it,” replied Sippens, determined, as he thought, to frighten Cowperwood +off by his exorbitant demands. He was making almost six thousand dollars a year +out of his present business. +</p> + +<p> +“You wouldn’t think that four thousand in several +companies—say up to fifteen thousand dollars—and an interest of +about a tenth in each would be better?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Sippens meditated carefully on this. Plainly, the man before him was no +trifling beginner. He looked at Cowperwood shrewdly and saw at once, without +any additional explanation of any kind, that the latter was preparing a big +fight of some sort. Ten years before Sippens had sensed the immense +possibilities of the gas business. He had tried to “get in on it,” +but had been sued, waylaid, enjoined, financially blockaded, and finally blown +up. He had always resented the treatment he had received, and he had bitterly +regretted his inability to retaliate. He had thought his days of financial +effort were over, but here was a man who was subtly suggesting a stirring +fight, and who was calling him, like a hunter with horn, to the chase. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Mr. Cowperwood,” he replied, with less defiance and more +camaraderie, “if you could show me that you have a legitimate proposition +in hand I am a practical gas man. I know all about mains, franchise contracts, +and gas-machinery. I organized and installed the plant at Dayton, Ohio, and +Rochester, New York. I would have been rich if I had got here a little +earlier.” The echo of regret was in his voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, now, here’s your chance, Mr. Sippens,” urged +Cowperwood, subtly. “Between you and me there’s going to be a big +new gas company in the field. We’ll make these old fellows step up and +see us quickly. Doesn’t that interest you? There’ll be plenty of +money. It isn’t that that’s wanting—it’s an organizer, +a fighter, a practical gas man to build the plant, lay the mains, and so +on.” Cowperwood rose suddenly, straight and determined—a trick with +him when he wanted to really impress any one. He seemed to radiate force, +conquest, victory. “Do you want to come in?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I do, Mr. Cowperwood!” exclaimed Sippens, jumping to his +feet, putting on his hat and shoving it far back on his head. He looked like a +chest-swollen bantam rooster. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood took his extended hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Get your real-estate affairs in order. I’ll want you to get me a +franchise in Lake View shortly and build me a plant. I’ll give you all +the help you need. I’ll arrange everything to your satisfaction within a +week or so. We will want a good lawyer or two.” +</p> + +<p> +Sippens smiled ecstatically as he left the office. Oh, the wonder of this, and +after ten years! Now he would show those crooks. Now he had a real fighter +behind him—a man like himself. Now, by George, the fur would begin to +fly! Who was this man, anyhow? What a wonder! He would look him up. He knew +that from now on he would do almost anything Cowperwood wanted him to do. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap08"></a>CHAPTER VIII.<br/> +Now This is Fighting</h2> + +<p> +When Cowperwood, after failing in his overtures to the three city gas +companies, confided to Addison his plan of organizing rival companies in the +suburbs, the banker glared at him appreciatively. “You’re a smart +one!” he finally exclaimed. “You’ll do! I back you to +win!” He went on to advise Cowperwood that he would need the assistance +of some of the strong men on the various village councils. “They’re +all as crooked as eels’ teeth,” he went on. “But there are +one or two that are more crooked than others and safer—bell-wethers. Have +you got your lawyer?” +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t picked one yet, but I will. I’m looking around for +the right man now. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, of course, I needn’t tell you how important that is. There +is one man, old General Van Sickle, who has had considerable training in these +matters. He’s fairly reliable.” +</p> + +<p> +The entrance of Gen. Judson P. Van Sickle threw at the very outset a suggestive +light on the whole situation. The old soldier, over fifty, had been a general +of division during the Civil War, and had got his real start in life by filing +false titles to property in southern Illinois, and then bringing suits to +substantiate his fraudulent claims before friendly associates. He was now a +prosperous go-between, requiring heavy retainers, and yet not over-prosperous. +There was only one kind of business that came to the General—this kind; +and one instinctively compared him to that decoy sheep at the stock-yards that +had been trained to go forth into nervous, frightened flocks of its +fellow-sheep, balking at being driven into the slaughtering-pens, and lead them +peacefully into the shambles, knowing enough always to make his own way quietly +to the rear during the onward progress and thus escape. A dusty old lawyer, +this, with Heaven knows what welter of altered wills, broken promises, suborned +juries, influenced judges, bribed councilmen and legislators, +double-intentioned agreements and contracts, and a whole world of shifty legal +calculations and false pretenses floating around in his brain. Among the +politicians, judges, and lawyers generally, by reason of past useful services, +he was supposed to have some powerful connections. He liked to be called into +any case largely because it meant something to do and kept him from being +bored. When compelled to keep an appointment in winter, he would slip on an old +greatcoat of gray twill that he had worn until it was shabby, then, taking down +a soft felt hat, twisted and pulled out of shape by use, he would pull it low +over his dull gray eyes and amble forth. In summer his clothes looked as +crinkled as though he had slept in them for weeks. He smoked. In cast of +countenance he was not wholly unlike General Grant, with a short gray beard and +mustache which always seemed more or less unkempt and hair that hung down over +his forehead in a gray mass. The poor General! He was neither very happy nor +very unhappy—a doubting Thomas without faith or hope in humanity and +without any particular affection for anybody. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you how it is with these small councils, Mr. +Cowperwood,” observed Van Sickle, sagely, after the preliminaries of the +first interview had been dispensed with. +</p> + +<p> +“They’re worse than the city council almost, and that’s about +as bad as it can be. You can’t do anything without money where these +little fellows are concerned. I don’t like to be too hard on men, but +these fellows—” He shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“I understand,” commented Cowperwood. “They’re not very +pleasing, even after you make all allowances.” +</p> + +<p> +“Most of them,” went on the General, “won’t stay put +when you think you have them. They sell out. They’re just as apt as not +to run to this North Side Gas Company and tell them all about the whole thing +before you get well under way. Then you have to pay them more money, rival +bills will be introduced, and all that.” The old General pulled a long +face. “Still, there are one or two of them that are all right,” he +added, “if you can once get them interested—Mr. Duniway and Mr. +Gerecht.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not so much concerned with how it has to be done, +General,” suggested Cowperwood, amiably, “but I want to be sure +that it will be done quickly and quietly. I don’t want to be bothered +with details. Can it be done without too much publicity, and about what do you +think it is going to cost?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that’s pretty hard to say until I look into the +matter,” said the General, thoughtfully. “It might cost only four +and it might cost all of forty thousand dollars—even more. I can’t +tell. I’d like to take a little time and look into it.” The old +gentleman was wondering how much Cowperwood was prepared to spend. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, we won’t bother about that now. I’m willing to be as +liberal as necessary. I’ve sent for Mr. Sippens, the president of the +Lake View Gas and Fuel Company, and he’ll be here in a little while. You +will want to work with him as closely as you can.” The energetic Sippens +came after a few moments, and he and Van Sickle, after being instructed to be +mutually helpful and to keep Cowperwood’s name out of all matters +relating to this work, departed together. They were an odd pair—the dusty +old General phlegmatic, disillusioned, useful, but not inclined to feel so; and +the smart, chipper Sippens, determined to wreak a kind of poetic vengeance on +his old-time enemy, the South Side Gas Company, via this seemingly remote +Northside conspiracy. In ten minutes they were hand in glove, the General +describing to Sippens the penurious and unscrupulous brand of Councilman +Duniway’s politics and the friendly but expensive character of Jacob +Gerecht. Such is life. +</p> + +<p> +In the organization of the Hyde Park company Cowperwood, because he never cared +to put all his eggs in one basket, decided to secure a second lawyer and a +second dummy president, although he proposed to keep De Soto Sippens as general +practical adviser for all three or four companies. He was thinking this matter +over when there appeared on the scene a very much younger man than the old +General, one Kent Barrows McKibben, the only son of ex-Judge Marshall Scammon +McKibben, of the State Supreme Court. Kent McKibben was thirty-three years old, +tall, athletic, and, after a fashion, handsome. He was not at all vague +intellectually—that is, in the matter of the conduct of his +business—but dandified and at times remote. He had an office in one of +the best blocks in Dearborn Street, which he reached in a reserved, speculative +mood every morning at nine, unless something important called him down-town +earlier. It so happened that he had drawn up the deeds and agreements for the +real-estate company that sold Cowperwood his lots at Thirty-seventh Street and +Michigan Avenue, and when they were ready he journeyed to the latter’s +office to ask if there were any additional details which Cowperwood might want +to have taken into consideration. When he was ushered in, Cowperwood turned to +him his keen, analytical eyes and saw at once a personality he liked. McKibben +was just remote and artistic enough to suit him. He liked his clothes, his +agnostic unreadableness, his social air. McKibben, on his part, caught the +significance of the superior financial atmosphere at once. He noted +Cowperwood’s light-brown suit picked out with strands of red, his maroon +tie, and small cameo cuff-links. His desk, glass-covered, looked clean and +official. The woodwork of the rooms was all cherry, hand-rubbed and oiled, the +pictures interesting steel-engravings of American life, appropriately framed. +The typewriter—at that time just introduced—was in evidence, and +the stock-ticker—also new—was ticking volubly the prices current. +The secretary who waited on Cowperwood was a young Polish girl named Antoinette +Nowak, reserved, seemingly astute, dark, and very attractive. +</p> + +<p> +“What sort of business is it you handle, Mr. McKibben?” asked +Cowperwood, quite casually, in the course of the conversation. And after +listening to McKibben’s explanation he added, idly: “You might come +and see me some time next week. It is just possible that I may have something +in your line.” +</p> + +<p> +In another man McKibben would have resented this remote suggestion of future +aid. Now, instead, he was intensely pleased. The man before him gripped his +imagination. His remote intellectuality relaxed. When he came again and +Cowperwood indicated the nature of the work he might wish to have done McKibben +rose to the bait like a fish to a fly. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you would let me undertake that, Mr. Cowperwood,” he said, +quite eagerly. “It’s something I’ve never done, but I’m +satisfied I can do it. I live out in Hyde Park and know most of the councilmen. +I can bring considerable influence to bear for you.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood smiled pleasantly. +</p> + +<p> +So a second company, officered by dummies of McKibben’s selection, was +organized. De Soto Sippens, without old General Van Sickle’s knowledge, +was taken in as practical adviser. An application for a franchise was drawn up, +and Kent Barrows McKibben began silent, polite work on the South Side, coming +into the confidence, by degrees, of the various councilmen. +</p> + +<p> +There was still a third lawyer, Burton Stimson, the youngest but assuredly not +the least able of the three, a pale, dark-haired Romeoish youth with burning +eyes, whom Cowperwood had encountered doing some little work for Laughlin, and +who was engaged to work on the West Side with old Laughlin as ostensible +organizer and the sprightly De Soto Sippens as practical adviser. Stimson was +no mooning Romeo, however, but an eager, incisive soul, born very poor, eager +to advance himself. Cowperwood detected that pliability of intellect which, +while it might spell disaster to some, spelled success for him. He wanted the +intellectual servants. He was willing to pay them handsomely, to keep them +busy, to treat them with almost princely courtesy, but he must have the utmost +loyalty. Stimson, while maintaining his calm and reserve, could have kissed the +arch-episcopal hand. Such is the subtlety of contact. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Behold then at once on the North Side, the South Side, the West Side—dark +goings to and fro and walkings up and down in the earth. In Lake View old +General Van Sickle and De Soto Sippens, conferring with shrewd Councilman +Duniway, druggist, and with Jacob Gerecht, ward boss and wholesale butcher, +both of whom were agreeable but exacting, holding pleasant back-room and +drug-store confabs with almost tabulated details of rewards and benefits. In +Hyde Park, Mr. Kent Barrows McKibben, smug and well dressed, a Chesterfield +among lawyers, and with him one J. J. Bergdoll, a noble hireling, long-haired +and dusty, ostensibly president of the Hyde Park Gas and Fuel Company, +conferring with Councilman Alfred B. Davis, manufacturer of willow and rattan +ware, and Mr. Patrick Gilgan, saloon-keeper, arranging a prospective +distribution of shares, offering certain cash consideration, lots, favors, and +the like. Observe also in the village of Douglas and West Park on the West +Side, just over the city line, the angular, humorous Peter Laughlin and Burton +Stimson arranging a similar deal or deals. +</p> + +<p> +The enemy, the city gas companies, being divided into three factions, were in +no way prepared for what was now coming. When the news finally leaked out that +applications for franchises had been made to the several corporate village +bodies each old company suspected the other of invasion, treachery, robbery. +Pettifogging lawyers were sent, one by each company, to the village council in +each particular territory involved, but no one of the companies had as yet the +slightest idea who was back of it all or of the general plan of operations. +Before any one of them could reasonably protest, before it could decide that it +was willing to pay a very great deal to have the suburb adjacent to its +particular territory left free, before it could organize a legal fight, +councilmanic ordinances were introduced giving the applying company what it +sought; and after a single reading in each case and one open hearing, as the +law compelled, they were almost unanimously passed. There were loud cries of +dismay from minor suburban papers which had almost been forgotten in the +arrangement of rewards. The large city newspapers cared little at first, seeing +these were outlying districts; they merely made the comment that the villages +were beginning well, following in the steps of the city council in its +distinguished career of crime. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood smiled as he saw in the morning papers the announcement of the +passage of each ordinance granting him a franchise. He listened with comfort +thereafter on many a day to accounts by Laughlin, Sippens, McKibben, and Van +Sickle of overtures made to buy them out, or to take over their franchises. He +worked on plans with Sippens looking to the actual introduction of gas-plants. +There were bond issues now to float, stock to be marketed, contracts for +supplies to be awarded, actual reservoirs and tanks to be built, and pipes to +be laid. A pumped-up public opposition had to be smoothed over. In all this De +Soto Sippens proved a trump. With Van Sickle, McKibben, and Stimson as his +advisers in different sections of the city he would present tabloid +propositions to Cowperwood, to which the latter had merely to bow his head in +assent or say no. Then De Soto would buy, build, and excavate. Cowperwood was +so pleased that he was determined to keep De Soto with him permanently. De Soto +was pleased to think that he was being given a chance to pay up old scores and +to do large things; he was really grateful. +</p> + +<p> +“We’re not through with those sharpers,” he declared to +Cowperwood, triumphantly, one day. “They’ll fight us with suits. +They may join hands later. They blew up my gas-plant. They may blow up +ours.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let them blow,” said Cowperwood. “We can blow, too, and sue +also. I like lawsuits. We’ll tie them up so that they’ll beg for +quarter.” His eyes twinkled cheerfully. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap09"></a>CHAPTER IX.<br/> +In Search of Victory</h2> + +<p> +In the mean time the social affairs of Aileen had been prospering in a small +way, for while it was plain that they were not to be taken up at +once—that was not to be expected—it was also plain that they were +not to be ignored entirely. One thing that helped in providing a nice +harmonious working atmosphere was the obvious warm affection of Cowperwood for +his wife. While many might consider Aileen a little brash or crude, still in +the hands of so strong and capable a man as Cowperwood she might prove +available. So thought Mrs. Addison, for instance, and Mrs. Rambaud. McKibben +and Lord felt the same way. If Cowperwood loved her, as he seemed to do, he +would probably “put her through” successfully. And he really did +love her, after his fashion. He could never forget how splendid she had been to +him in those old days when, knowing full well the circumstances of his home, +his wife, his children, the probable opposition of her own family, she had +thrown over convention and sought his love. How freely she had given of hers! +No petty, squeamish bickering and dickering here. He had been “her +Frank” from the start, and he still felt keenly that longing in her to be +with him, to be his, which had produced those first wonderful, almost terrible +days. She might quarrel, fret, fuss, argue, suspect, and accuse him of +flirtation with other women; but slight variations from the norm in his case +did not trouble her—at least she argued that they wouldn’t. She had +never had any evidence. She was ready to forgive him anything, she said, and +she was, too, if only he would love her. +</p> + +<p> +“You devil,” she used to say to him, playfully. “I know you. +I can see you looking around. That’s a nice stenographer you have in the +office. I suppose it’s her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be silly, Aileen,” he would reply. “Don’t +be coarse. You know I wouldn’t take up with a stenographer. An office +isn’t the place for that sort of thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, isn’t it? Don’t silly me. I know you. Any old place is +good enough for you.” +</p> + +<p> +He laughed, and so did she. She could not help it. She loved him so. There was +no particular bitterness in her assaults. She loved him, and very often he +would take her in his arms, kiss her tenderly, and coo: “Are you my fine +big baby? Are you my red-headed doll? Do you really love me so much? Kiss me, +then.” Frankly, pagan passion in these two ran high. So long as they were +not alienated by extraneous things he could never hope for more delicious human +contact. There was no reaction either, to speak of, no gloomy disgust. She was +physically acceptable to him. He could always talk to her in a genial, teasing +way, even tender, for she did not offend his intellectuality with prudish or +conventional notions. Loving and foolish as she was in some ways, she would +stand blunt reproof or correction. She could suggest in a nebulous, blundering +way things that would be good for them to do. Most of all at present their +thoughts centered upon Chicago society, the new house, which by now had been +contracted for, and what it would do to facilitate their introduction and +standing. Never did a woman’s life look more rosy, Aileen thought. It was +almost too good to be true. Her Frank was so handsome, so loving, so generous. +There was not a small idea about him. What if he did stray from her at times? +He remained faithful to her spiritually, and she knew as yet of no single +instance in which he had failed her. She little knew, as much as she knew, how +blandly he could lie and protest in these matters. But he was fond of her just +the same, and he really had not strayed to any extent. +</p> + +<p> +By now also, Cowperwood had invested about one hundred thousand dollars in his +gas-company speculations, and he was jubilant over his prospects; the +franchises were good for twenty years. By that time he would be nearly sixty, +and he would probably have bought, combined with, or sold out to the older +companies at a great profit. The future of Chicago was all in his favor. He +decided to invest as much as thirty thousand dollars in pictures, if he could +find the right ones, and to have Aileen’s portrait painted while she was +still so beautiful. This matter of art was again beginning to interest him +immensely. Addison had four or five good pictures—a Rousseau, a Greuze, a +Wouverman, and one Lawrence—picked up Heaven knows where. A hotel-man by +the name of Collard, a dry-goods and real-estate merchant, was said to have a +very striking collection. Addison had told him of one Davis Trask, a hardware +prince, who was now collecting. There were many homes, he knew where art was +beginning to be assembled. He must begin, too. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood, once the franchises had been secured, had installed Sippens in his +own office, giving him charge for the time being. Small rented offices and +clerks were maintained in the region where practical plant-building was going +on. All sorts of suits to enjoin, annul, and restrain had been begun by the +various old companies, but McKibben, Stimson, and old General Van Sickle were +fighting these with Trojan vigor and complacency. It was a pleasant scene. +Still no one knew very much of Cowperwood’s entrance into Chicago as yet. +He was a very minor figure. His name had not even appeared in connection with +this work. Other men were being celebrated daily, a little to his envy. When +would he begin to shine? Soon, now, surely. So off they went in June, +comfortable, rich, gay, in the best of health and spirits, intent upon enjoying +to the full their first holiday abroad. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +It was a wonderful trip. Addison was good enough to telegraph flowers to New +York for Mrs. Cowperwood to be delivered on shipboard. McKibben sent books of +travel. Cowperwood, uncertain whether anybody would send flowers, ordered them +himself—two amazing baskets, which with Addison’s made +three—and these, with attached cards, awaited them in the lobby of the +main deck. Several at the captain’s table took pains to seek out the +Cowperwoods. They were invited to join several card-parties and to attend +informal concerts. It was a rough passage, however, and Aileen was sick. It was +hard to make herself look just nice enough, and so she kept to her room. She +was very haughty, distant to all but a few, and to these careful of her +conversation. She felt herself coming to be a very important person. +</p> + +<p> +Before leaving she had almost exhausted the resources of the Donovan +establishment in Chicago. Lingerie, boudoir costumes, walking-costumes, +riding-costumes, evening-costumes she possessed in plenty. She had a jewel-bag +hidden away about her person containing all of thirty thousand dollars’ +worth of jewels. Her shoes, stockings, hats, and accessories in general were +innumerable. Because of all this Cowperwood was rather proud of her. She had +such a capacity for life. His first wife had been pale and rather anemic, while +Aileen was fairly bursting with sheer physical vitality. She hummed and jested +and primped and posed. There are some souls that just are, without previous +revision or introspection. The earth with all its long past was a mere +suggestion to Aileen, dimly visualized if at all. She may have heard that there +were once dinosaurs and flying reptiles, but if so it made no deep impression +on her. Somebody had said, or was saying, that we were descended from monkeys, +which was quite absurd, though it might be true enough. On the sea the +thrashing hills of green water suggested a kind of immensity and terror, but +not the immensity of the poet’s heart. The ship was safe, the captain at +table in brass buttons and blue uniform, eager to be nice to her—told her +so. Her faith really, was in the captain. And there with her, always, was +Cowperwood, looking at this whole, moving spectacle of life with a suspicious, +not apprehensive, but wary eye, and saying nothing about it. +</p> + +<p> +In London letters given them by Addison brought several invitations to the +opera, to dinner, to Goodwood for a weekend, and so on. Carriages, tallyhoes, +cabs for riding were invoked. A week-end invitation to a houseboat on the +Thames was secured. Their English hosts, looking on all this as a financial +adventure, good financial wisdom, were courteous and civil, nothing more. +Aileen was intensely curious. She noted servants, manners, forms. Immediately +she began to think that America was not good enough, perhaps; it wanted so many +things. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Aileen, you and I have to live in Chicago for years and +years,” commented Cowperwood. “Don’t get wild. These people +don’t care for Americans, can’t you see that? They wouldn’t +accept us if we were over here—not yet, anyhow. We’re merely +passing strangers, being courteously entertained.” Cowperwood saw it all. +</p> + +<p> +Aileen was being spoiled in a way, but there was no help. She dressed and +dressed. The Englishmen used to look at her in Hyde Park, where she rode and +drove; at Claridges’ where they stayed; in Bond Street, where she +shopped. The Englishwomen, the majority of them remote, ultra-conservative, +simple in their tastes, lifted their eyes. Cowperwood sensed the situation, but +said nothing. He loved Aileen, and she was satisfactory to him, at least for +the present, anyhow, beautiful. If he could adjust her station in Chicago, that +would be sufficient for a beginning. After three weeks of very active life, +during which Aileen patronized the ancient and honorable glories of England, +they went on to Paris. +</p> + +<p> +Here she was quickened to a child-like enthusiasm. “You know,” she +said to Cowperwood, quite solemnly, the second morning, “the English +don’t know how to dress. I thought they did, but the smartest of them +copy the French. Take those men we saw last night in the Cafe d’Anglais. +There wasn’t an Englishman I saw that compared with them.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear, your tastes are exotic,” replied Cowperwood, who was +watching her with pleased interest while he adjusted his tie. “The French +smart crowd are almost too smart, dandified. I think some of those young +fellows had on corsets.” +</p> + +<p> +“What of it?” replied Aileen. “I like it. If you’re +going to be smart, why not be very smart?” +</p> + +<p> +“I know that’s your theory, my dear,” he said, “but it +can be overdone. There is such a thing as going too far. You have to compromise +even if you don’t look as well as you might. You can’t be too very +conspicuously different from your neighbors, even in the right +direction.” +</p> + +<p> +“You know,” she said, stopping and looking at him, “I believe +you’re going to get very conservative some day—like my +brothers.” +</p> + +<p> +She came over and touched his tie and smoothed his hair. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, one of us ought to be, for the good of the family,” he +commented, half smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not so sure, though, that it will be you, either.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a charming day. See how nice those white-marble statues look. +Shall we go to the Cluny or Versailles or Fontainbleau? To-night we ought to +see Bernhardt at the Francaise.” +</p> + +<p> +Aileen was so gay. It was so splendid to be traveling with her true husband at +last. +</p> + +<p> +It was on this trip that Cowperwood’s taste for art and life and his +determination to possess them revived to the fullest. He made the acquaintance +in London, Paris, and Brussels of the important art dealers. His conception of +great masters and the older schools of art shaped themselves. By one of the +dealers in London, who at once recognized in him a possible future patron, he +was invited with Aileen to view certain private collections, and here and there +was an artist, such as Lord Leighton, Dante Gabriel Rossetti, or Whistler, to +whom he was introduced casually, an interested stranger. These men only saw a +strong, polite, remote, conservative man. He realized the emotional, egotistic, +and artistic soul. He felt on the instant that there could be little in common +between such men and himself in so far as personal contact was concerned, yet +there was mutual ground on which they could meet. He could not be a slavish +admirer of anything, only a princely patron. So he walked and saw, wondering +how soon his dreams of grandeur were to be realized. +</p> + +<p> +In London he bought a portrait by Raeburn; in Paris a plowing scene by Millet, +a small Jan Steen, a battle piece by Meissonier, and a romantic courtyard scene +by Isabey. Thus began the revival of his former interest in art; the nucleus of +that future collection which was to mean so much to him in later years. +</p> + +<p> +On their return, the building of the new Chicago mansion created the next +interesting diversion in the lives of Aileen and Cowperwood. Because of some +chateaux they saw in France that form, or rather a modification of it as +suggested by Taylor Lord, was adopted. Mr. Lord figured that it would take all +of a year, perhaps a year and a half, to deliver it in perfect order, but time +was of no great importance in this connection. In the mean while they could +strengthen their social connections and prepare for that interesting day when +they should be of the Chicago elite. +</p> + +<p> +There were, at this time, several elements in Chicago—those who, having +grown suddenly rich from dull poverty, could not so easily forget the village +church and the village social standards; those who, having inherited wealth, or +migrated from the East where wealth was old, understood more of the <i>savoir +faire</i> of the game; and those who, being newly born into wealth and seeing +the drift toward a smarter American life, were beginning to wish they might +shine in it—these last the very young people. The latter were just +beginning to dream of dances at Kinsley’s, a stated Kirmess, and summer +diversions of the European kind, but they had not arrived as yet. The first +class, although by far the dullest and most bovine, was still the most powerful +because they were the richest, money as yet providing the highest standard. The +functions which these people provided were stupid to the verge of distraction; +really they were only the week-day receptions and Sunday-afternoon calls of +Squeedunk and Hohokus raised to the Nth power. The purpose of the whole matter +was to see and be seen. Novelty in either thought or action was decidedly +eschewed. It was, as a matter of fact, customariness of thought and action and +the quintessence of convention that was desired. The idea of introducing a +“play actress,” for instance, as was done occasionally in the East +or in London—never; even a singer or an artist was eyed askance. One +could easily go too far! But if a European prince should have strayed to +Chicago (which he never did) or if an Eastern social magnate chanced to stay +over a train or two, then the topmost circle of local wealth was prepared to +strain itself to the breaking-point. Cowperwood had sensed all this on his +arrival, but he fancied that if he became rich and powerful enough he and +Aileen, with their fine house to help them, might well be the leaven which +would lighten the whole lump. Unfortunately, Aileen was too obviously on the +qui vive for those opportunities which might lead to social recognition and +equality, if not supremacy. Like the savage, unorganized for protection and at +the mercy of the horrific caprice of nature, she was almost tremulous at times +with thoughts of possible failure. Almost at once she had recognized herself as +unsuited temperamentally for association with certain types of society women. +The wife of Anson Merrill, the great dry-goods prince, whom she saw in one of +the down-town stores one day, impressed her as much too cold and remote. Mrs. +Merrill was a woman of superior mood and education who found herself, in her +own estimation, hard put to it for suitable companionship in Chicago. She was +Eastern-bred-Boston—and familiar in an offhand way with the superior +world of London, which she had visited several times. Chicago at its best was +to her a sordid commercial mess. She preferred New York or Washington, but she +had to live here. Thus she patronized nearly all of those with whom she +condescended to associate, using an upward tilt of the head, a tired droop of +the eyelids, and a fine upward arching of the brows to indicate how trite it +all was. +</p> + +<p> +It was a Mrs. Henry Huddlestone who had pointed out Mrs. Merrill to Aileen. +Mrs. Huddlestone was the wife of a soap manufacturer living very close to the +Cowperwoods’ temporary home, and she and her husband were on the outer +fringe of society. She had heard that the Cowperwoods were people of wealth, +that they were friendly with the Addisons, and that they were going to build a +two-hundred-thousand-dollar mansion. (The value of houses always grows in the +telling.) That was enough. She had called, being three doors away, to leave her +card; and Aileen, willing to curry favor here and there, had responded. Mrs. +Huddlestone was a little woman, not very attractive in appearance, clever in a +social way, and eminently practical. +</p> + +<p> +“Speaking of Mrs. Merrill,” commented Mrs. Huddlestone, on this +particular day, “there she is—near the dress-goods counter. She +always carries that lorgnette in just that way.” +</p> + +<p> +Aileen turned and examined critically a tall, dark, slender woman of the high +world of the West, very remote, disdainful, superior. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t know her?” questioned Aileen, curiously, surveying +her at leisure. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” replied Mrs. Huddlestone, defensively. “They live on +the North Side, and the different sets don’t mingle so much.” +</p> + +<p> +As a matter of fact, it was just the glory of the principal families that they +were above this arbitrary division of “sides,” and could pick their +associates from all three divisions. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” observed Aileen, nonchalantly. She was secretly irritated to +think that Mrs. Huddlestone should find it necessary to point out Mrs. Merrill +to her as a superior person. +</p> + +<p> +“You know, she darkens her eyebrows a little, I think,” suggested +Mrs. Huddlestone, studying her enviously. “Her husband, they say, +isn’t the most faithful person in the world. There’s another woman, +a Mrs. Gladdens, that lives very close to them that he’s very much +interested in.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” said Aileen, cautiously. After her own Philadelphia +experience she had decided to be on her guard and not indulge in too much +gossip. Arrows of this particular kind could so readily fly in her direction. +</p> + +<p> +“But her set is really much the smartest,” complimented +Aileen’s companion. +</p> + +<p> +Thereafter it was Aileen’s ambition to associate with Mrs. Anson Merrill, +to be fully and freely accepted by her. She did not know, although she might +have feared, that that ambition was never to be realized. +</p> + +<p> +But there were others who had called at the first Cowperwood home, or with whom +the Cowperwoods managed to form an acquaintance. There were the Sunderland +Sledds, Mr. Sledd being general traffic manager of one of the southwestern +railways entering the city, and a gentleman of taste and culture and some +wealth; his wife an ambitious nobody. There were the Walter Rysam Cottons, +Cotton being a wholesale coffee-broker, but more especially a local social +litterateur; his wife a graduate of Vassar. There were the Norrie Simmses, +Simms being secretary and treasurer of the Douglas Trust and Savings Company, +and a power in another group of financial people, a group entirely distinct +from that represented by Addison and Rambaud. +</p> + +<p> +Others included the Stanislau Hoecksemas, wealthy furriers; the Duane +Kingslands, wholesale flour; the Webster Israelses, packers; the Bradford +Candas, jewelers. All these people amounted to something socially. They all had +substantial homes and substantial incomes, so that they were worthy of +consideration. The difference between Aileen and most of the women involved a +difference between naturalism and illusion. But this calls for some +explanation. +</p> + +<p> +To really know the state of the feminine mind at this time, one would have to +go back to that period in the Middle Ages when the Church flourished and the +industrious poet, half schooled in the facts of life, surrounded women with a +mystical halo. Since that day the maiden and the matron as well has been +schooled to believe that she is of a finer clay than man, that she was born to +uplift him, and that her favors are priceless. This rose-tinted mist of +romance, having nothing to do with personal morality, has brought about, +nevertheless, a holier-than-thou attitude of women toward men, and even of +women toward women. Now the Chicago atmosphere in which Aileen found herself +was composed in part of this very illusion. The ladies to whom she had been +introduced were of this high world of fancy. They conceived themselves to be +perfect, even as they were represented in religious art and in fiction. Their +husbands must be models, worthy of their high ideals, and other women must have +no blemish of any kind. Aileen, urgent, elemental, would have laughed at all +this if she could have understood. Not understanding, she felt diffident and +uncertain of herself in certain presences. +</p> + +<p> +Instance in this connection Mrs. Norrie Simms, who was a satellite of Mrs. +Anson Merrill. To be invited to the Anson Merrills’ for tea, dinner, +luncheon, or to be driven down-town by Mrs. Merrill, was paradise to Mrs. +Simms. She loved to recite the bon mots of her idol, to discourse upon her +astonishing degree of culture, to narrate how people refused on occasion to +believe that she was the wife of Anson Merrill, even though she herself +declared it—those old chestnuts of the social world which must have had +their origin in Egypt and Chaldea. Mrs. Simms herself was of a nondescript +type, not a real personage, clever, good-looking, tasteful, a social climber. +The two Simms children (little girls) had been taught all the social graces of +the day—to pose, smirk, genuflect, and the like, to the immense delight +of their elders. The nurse in charge was in uniform, the governess was a much +put-upon person. Mrs. Simms had a high manner, eyes for those above her only, a +serene contempt for the commonplace world in which she had to dwell. +</p> + +<p> +During the first dinner at which she entertained the Cowperwoods Mrs. Simms +attempted to dig into Aileen’s Philadelphia history, asking if she knew +the Arthur Leighs, the Trevor Drakes, Roberta Willing, or the Martyn Walkers. +Mrs. Simms did not know them herself, but she had heard Mrs. Merrill speak of +them, and that was enough of a handle whereby to swing them. Aileen, quick on +the defense, ready to lie manfully on her own behalf, assured her that she had +known them, as indeed she had—very casually—and before the rumor +which connected her with Cowperwood had been voiced abroad. This pleased Mrs. +Simms. +</p> + +<p> +“I must tell Nellie,” she said, referring thus familiarly to Mrs. +Merrill. +</p> + +<p> +Aileen feared that if this sort of thing continued it would soon be all over +town that she had been a mistress before she had been a wife, that she had been +the unmentioned corespondent in the divorce suit, and that Cowperwood had been +in prison. Only his wealth and her beauty could save her; and would they? +</p> + +<p> +One night they had been to dinner at the Duane Kingslands’, and Mrs. +Bradford Canda had asked her, in what seemed a very significant way, whether +she had ever met her friend Mrs. Schuyler Evans, of Philadelphia. This +frightened Aileen. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you suppose they must know, some of them, about us?” +she asked Cowperwood, on the way home. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose so,” he replied, thoughtfully. “I’m sure I +don’t know. I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you. If you worry +about it you’ll suggest it to them. I haven’t made any secret of my +term in prison in Philadelphia, and I don’t intend to. It wasn’t a +square deal, and they had no right to put me there.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know, dear,” replied Aileen, “it might not make so much +difference if they did know. I don’t see why it should. We are not the +only ones that have had marriage troubles, I’m sure. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s just one thing about this; either they accept us or they +don’t. If they don’t, well and good; we can’t help it. +We’ll go on and finish the house, and give them a chance to be decent. If +they won’t be, there are other cities. Money will arrange matters in New +York—that I know. We can build a real place there, and go in on equal +terms if we have money enough—and I will have money enough,” he +added, after a moment’s pondering. “Never fear. I’ll make +millions here, whether they want me to or not, and after that—well, after +that, we’ll see what we’ll see. Don’t worry. I haven’t +seen many troubles in this world that money wouldn’t cure.” +</p> + +<p> +His teeth had that even set that they always assumed when he was dangerously in +earnest. He took Aileen’s hand, however, and pressed it gently. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t worry,” he repeated. “Chicago isn’t the +only city, and we won’t be the poorest people in America, either, in ten +years. Just keep up your courage. It will all come out right. It’s +certain to.” +</p> + +<p> +Aileen looked out on the lamp-lit length of Michigan Avenue, down which they +were rolling past many silent mansions. The tops of all the lamps were white, +and gleamed through the shadows, receding to a thin point. It was dark, but +fresh and pleasant. Oh, if only Frank’s money could buy them position and +friendship in this interesting world; if it only would! She did not quite +realize how much on her own personality, or the lack of it, this struggle +depended. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap10"></a>CHAPTER X.<br/> +A Test</h2> + +<p> +The opening of the house in Michigan Avenue occurred late in November in the +fall of eighteen seventy-eight. When Aileen and Cowperwood had been in Chicago +about two years. Altogether, between people whom they had met at the races, at +various dinners and teas, and at receptions of the Union and Calumet Clubs (to +which Cowperwood, through Addison’s backing, had been admitted) and those +whom McKibben and Lord influenced, they were able to send invitations to about +three hundred, of whom some two hundred and fifty responded. Up to this time, +owing to Cowperwood’s quiet manipulation of his affairs, there had been +no comment on his past—no particular interest in it. He had money, +affable ways, a magnetic personality. The business men of the city—those +whom he met socially—were inclined to consider him fascinating and very +clever. Aileen being beautiful and graceful for attention, was accepted at more +or less her own value, though the kingly high world knew them not. +</p> + +<p> +It is amazing what a showing the socially unplaced can make on occasion where +tact and discrimination are used. There was a weekly social paper published in +Chicago at this time, a rather able publication as such things go, which +Cowperwood, with McKibben’s assistance, had pressed into service. Not +much can be done under any circumstances where the cause is not essentially +strong; but where, as in this case, there is a semblance of respectability, +considerable wealth, and great force and magnetism, all things are possible. +Kent McKibben knew Horton Biggers, the editor, who was a rather desolate and +disillusioned person of forty-five, gray, and depressed-looking—a sort of +human sponge or barnacle who was only galvanized into seeming interest and +cheerfulness by sheer necessity. Those were the days when the society editor +was accepted as a member of society—de facto—and treated more as a +guest than a reporter, though even then the tendency was toward elimination. +Working for Cowperwood, and liking him, McKibben said to Biggers one evening: +</p> + +<p> +“You know the Cowperwoods, don’t you, Biggers?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” replied the latter, who devoted himself barnacle-wise to the +more exclusive circles. “Who are they?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, he’s a banker over here in La Salle Street. They’re +from Philadelphia. Mrs. Cowperwood’s a beautiful woman—young and +all that. They’re building a house out here on Michigan Avenue. You ought +to know them. They’re going to get in, I think. The Addisons like them. +If you were to be nice to them now I think they’d appreciate it later. +He’s rather liberal, and a good fellow.” +</p> + +<p> +Biggers pricked up his ears. This social journalism was thin picking at best, +and he had very few ways of turning an honest penny. The would be’s and +half-in’s who expected nice things said of them had to subscribe, and +rather liberally, to his paper. Not long after this brief talk Cowperwood +received a subscription blank from the business office of the <i>Saturday +Review</i>, and immediately sent a check for one hundred dollars to Mr. Horton +Biggers direct. Subsequently certain not very significant personages noticed +that when the Cowperwoods dined at their boards the function received comment +by the <i>Saturday Review</i>, not otherwise. It looked as though the +Cowperwoods must be favored; but who were they, anyhow? +</p> + +<p> +The danger of publicity, and even moderate social success, is that scandal +loves a shining mark. When you begin to stand out the least way in life, as +separate from the mass, the cognoscenti wish to know who, what, and why. The +enthusiasm of Aileen, combined with the genius of Cowperwood, was for making +their opening entertainment a very exceptional affair, which, under the +circumstances, and all things considered, was a dangerous thing to do. As yet +Chicago was exceedingly slow socially. Its movements were, as has been said, +more or less bovine and phlegmatic. To rush in with something utterly brilliant +and pyrotechnic was to take notable chances. The more cautious members of +Chicago society, even if they did not attend, would hear, and then would come +ultimate comment and decision. +</p> + +<p> +The function began with a reception at four, which lasted until six-thirty, and +this was followed by a dance at nine, with music by a famous stringed orchestra +of Chicago, a musical programme by artists of considerable importance, and a +gorgeous supper from eleven until one in a Chinese fairyland of lights, at +small tables filling three of the ground-floor rooms. As an added fillip to the +occasion Cowperwood had hung, not only the important pictures which he had +purchased abroad, but a new one—a particularly brilliant Gerome, then in +the heyday of his exotic popularity—a picture of nude odalisques of the +harem, idling beside the highly colored stone marquetry of an oriental bath. It +was more or less “loose” art for Chicago, shocking to the +uninitiated, though harmless enough to the illuminati; but it gave a touch of +color to the art-gallery which the latter needed. There was also, newly arrived +and newly hung, a portrait of Aileen by a Dutch artist, Jan van Beers, whom +they had encountered the previous summer at Brussels. He had painted Aileen in +nine sittings, a rather brilliant canvas, high in key, with a summery, +out-of-door world behind her—a low stone-curbed pool, the red corner of a +Dutch brick palace, a tulip-bed, and a blue sky with fleecy clouds. Aileen was +seated on the curved arm of a stone bench, green grass at her feet, a +pink-and-white parasol with a lacy edge held idly to one side; her rounded, +vigorous figure clad in the latest mode of Paris, a white and blue striped-silk +walking-suit, with a blue-and-white-banded straw hat, wide-brimmed, airy, +shading her lusty, animal eyes. The artist had caught her spirit quite +accurately, the dash, the assumption, the bravado based on the courage of +inexperience, or lack of true subtlety. A refreshing thing in its way, a little +showy, as everything that related to her was, and inclined to arouse jealousy +in those not so liberally endowed by life, but fine as a character piece. In +the warm glow of the guttered gas-jets she looked particularly brilliant here, +pampered, idle, jaunty—the well-kept, stall-fed pet of the world. Many +stopped to see, and many were the comments, private and otherwise. +</p> + +<p> +This day began with a flurry of uncertainty and worried anticipation on the +part of Aileen. At Cowperwood’s suggestion she had employed a social +secretary, a poor hack of a girl, who had sent out all the letters, tabulated +the replies, run errands, and advised on one detail and another. Fadette, her +French maid, was in the throes of preparing for two toilets which would have to +be made this day, one by two o’clock at least, another between six and +eight. Her “<i>mon dieus</i>” and “<i>par bleus</i>” +could be heard continuously as she hunted for some article of dress or polished +an ornament, buckle, or pin. The struggle of Aileen to be perfect was, as +usual, severe. Her meditations, as to the most becoming gown to wear were +trying. Her portrait was on the east wall in the art-gallery, a spur to +emulation; she felt as though all society were about to judge her. Theresa +Donovan, the local dressmaker, had given some advice; but Aileen decided on a +heavy brown velvet constructed by Worth, of Paris—a thing of varying +aspects, showing her neck and arms to perfection, and composing charmingly with +her flesh and hair. She tried amethyst ear-rings and changed to topaz; she +stockinged her legs in brown silk, and her feet were shod in brown slippers +with red enamel buttons. +</p> + +<p> +The trouble with Aileen was that she never did these things with that ease +which is a sure sign of the socially efficient. She never quite so much +dominated a situation as she permitted it to dominate her. Only the superior +ease and graciousness of Cowperwood carried her through at times; but that +always did. When he was near she felt quite the great lady, suited to any +realm. When she was alone her courage, great as it was, often trembled in the +balance. Her dangerous past was never quite out of her mind. +</p> + +<p> +At four Kent McKibben, smug in his afternoon frock, his quick, receptive eyes +approving only partially of all this show and effort, took his place in the +general reception-room, talking to Taylor Lord, who had completed his last +observation and was leaving to return later in the evening. If these two had +been closer friends, quite intimate, they would have discussed the +Cowperwoods’ social prospects; but as it was, they confined themselves to +dull conventionalities. At this moment Aileen came down-stairs for a moment, +radiant. Kent McKibben thought he had never seen her look more beautiful. After +all, contrasted with some of the stuffy creatures who moved about in society, +shrewd, hard, bony, calculating, trading on their assured position, she was +admirable. It was a pity she did not have more poise; she ought to be a little +harder—not quite so genial. Still, with Cowperwood at her side, she might +go far. +</p> + +<p> +“Really, Mrs. Cowperwood,” he said, “it is all most charming. +I was just telling Mr. Lord here that I consider the house a triumph.” +</p> + +<p> +From McKibben, who was in society, and with Lord, another “in” +standing by, this was like wine to Aileen. She beamed joyously. +</p> + +<p> +Among the first arrivals were Mrs. Webster Israels, Mrs. Bradford Canda, and +Mrs. Walter Rysam Cotton, who were to assist in receiving. These ladies did not +know that they were taking their future reputations for sagacity and +discrimination in their hands; they had been carried away by the show of luxury +of Aileen, the growing financial repute of Cowperwood, and the artistic +qualities of the new house. Mrs. Webster Israels’s mouth was of such a +peculiar shape that Aileen was always reminded of a fish; but she was not +utterly homely, and to-day she looked brisk and attractive. Mrs. Bradford +Canda, whose old rose and silver-gray dress made up in part for an amazing +angularity, but who was charming withal, was the soul of interest, for she +believed this to be a very significant affair. Mrs. Walter Rysam Cotton, a +younger woman than either of the others, had the polish of Vassar life about +her, and was “above” many things. Somehow she half suspected the +Cowperwoods might not do, but they were making strides, and might possibly +surpass all other aspirants. It behooved her to be pleasant. +</p> + +<p> +Life passes from individuality and separateness at times to a sort of +Monticelliesque mood of color, where individuality is nothing, the glittering +totality all. The new house, with its charming French windows on the ground +floor, its heavy bands of stone flowers and deep-sunk florated door, was soon +crowded with a moving, colorful flow of people. +</p> + +<p> +Many whom Aileen and Cowperwood did not know at all had been invited by +McKibben and Lord; they came, and were now introduced. The adjacent side +streets and the open space in front of the house were crowded with champing +horses and smartly veneered carriages. All with whom the Cowperwoods had been +the least intimate came early, and, finding the scene colorful and interesting, +they remained for some time. The caterer, Kinsley, had supplied a small army of +trained servants who were posted like soldiers, and carefully supervised by the +Cowperwood butler. The new dining-room, rich with a Pompeian scheme of color, +was aglow with a wealth of glass and an artistic arrangement of delicacies. The +afternoon costumes of the women, ranging through autumnal grays, purples, +browns, and greens, blended effectively with the brown-tinted walls of the +entry-hall, the deep gray and gold of the general living-room, the old-Roman +red of the dining-room, the white-and-gold of the music-room, and the neutral +sepia of the art-gallery. +</p> + +<p> +Aileen, backed by the courageous presence of Cowperwood, who, in the +dining-room, the library, and the art-gallery, was holding a private levee of +men, stood up in her vain beauty, a thing to see—almost to weep over, +embodying the vanity of all seeming things, the mockery of having and yet not +having. This parading throng that was more curious than interested, more +jealous than sympathetic, more critical than kind, was coming almost solely to +observe. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know, Mrs. Cowperwood,” Mrs. Simms remarked, lightly, +“your house reminds me of an art exhibit to-day. I hardly know +why.” +</p> + +<p> +Aileen, who caught the implied slur, had no clever words wherewith to reply. +She was not gifted in that way, but she flared with resentment. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think so?” she replied, caustically. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Simms, not all dissatisfied with the effect she had produced, passed on +with a gay air, attended by a young artist who followed amorously in her train. +</p> + +<p> +Aileen saw from this and other things like it how little she was really +“in.” The exclusive set did not take either her or Cowperwood +seriously as yet. She almost hated the comparatively dull Mrs. Israels, who had +been standing beside her at the time, and who had heard the remark; and yet +Mrs. Israels was much better than nothing. Mrs. Simms had condescended a mild +“how’d do” to the latter. +</p> + +<p> +It was in vain that the Addisons, Sledds, Kingslands, Hoecksemas, and others +made their appearance; Aileen was not reassured. However, after dinner the +younger set, influenced by McKibben, came to dance, and Aileen was at her best +in spite of her doubts. She was gay, bold, attractive. Kent McKibben, a past +master in the mazes and mysteries of the grand march, had the pleasure of +leading her in that airy, fairy procession, followed by Cowperwood, who gave +his arm to Mrs. Simms. Aileen, in white satin with a touch of silver here and +there and necklet, bracelet, ear-rings, and hair-ornament of diamonds, +glittered in almost an exotic way. She was positively radiant. McKibben, almost +smitten, was most attentive. +</p> + +<p> +“This is such a pleasure,” he whispered, intimately. “You are +very beautiful—a dream!” +</p> + +<p> +“You would find me a very substantial one,” returned Aileen. +“Would that I might find,” he laughed, gaily; and Aileen, gathering +the hidden significance, showed her teeth teasingly. Mrs. Simms, engrossed by +Cowperwood, could not hear as she would have liked. +</p> + +<p> +After the march Aileen, surrounded by a half-dozen of gay, rudely thoughtless +young bloods, escorted them all to see her portrait. The conservative commented +on the flow of wine, the intensely nude Gerome at one end of the gallery, and +the sparkling portrait of Aileen at the other, the enthusiasm of some of the +young men for her company. Mrs. Rambaud, pleasant and kindly, remarked to her +husband that Aileen was “very eager for life,” she thought. Mrs. +Addison, astonished at the material flare of the Cowperwoods, quite +transcending in glitter if not in size and solidity anything she and Addison +had ever achieved, remarked to her husband that “he must be making money +very fast.” +</p> + +<p> +“The man’s a born financier, Ella,” Addison explained, +sententiously. “He’s a manipulator, and he’s sure to make +money. Whether they can get into society I don’t know. He could if he +were alone, that’s sure. She’s beautiful, but he needs another kind +of woman, I’m afraid. She’s almost too good-looking.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what I think, too. I like her, but I’m afraid +she’s not going to play her cards right. It’s too bad, too.” +</p> + +<p> +Just then Aileen came by, a smiling youth on either side, her own face glowing +with a warmth of joy engendered by much flattery. The ball-room, which was +composed of the music and drawing rooms thrown into one, was now the objective. +It glittered before her with a moving throng; the air was full of the odor of +flowers, and the sound of music and voices. +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Cowperwood,” observed Bradford Canda to Horton Biggers, the +society editor, “is one of the prettiest women I have seen in a long +time. She’s almost too pretty.” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you think she’s taking?” queried the cautious +Biggers. “Charming, but she’s hardly cold enough, I’m afraid; +hardly clever enough. It takes a more serious type. She’s a little too +high-spirited. These old women would never want to get near her; she makes them +look too old. She’d do better if she were not so young and so +pretty.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what I think exactly,” said Biggers. As a matter of +fact, he did not think so at all; he had no power of drawing any such accurate +conclusions. But he believed it now, because Bradford Canda had said it. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap11"></a>CHAPTER XI.<br/> +The Fruits of Daring</h2> + +<p> +Next morning, over the breakfast cups at the Norrie Simmses’ and +elsewhere, the import of the Cowperwoods’ social efforts was discussed +and the problem of their eventual acceptance or non-acceptance carefully +weighed. +</p> + +<p> +“The trouble with Mrs. Cowperwood,” observed Mrs. Simms, “is +that she is too gauche. The whole thing was much too showy. The idea of her +portrait at one end of the gallery and that Gerome at the other! And then this +item in the <i>Press</i> this morning! Why, you’d really think they were in +society.” Mrs. Simms was already a little angry at having let herself be +used, as she now fancied she had been, by Taylor Lord and Kent McKibben, both +friends of hers. +</p> + +<p> +“What did you think of the crowd?” asked Norrie, buttering a roll. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, it wasn’t representative at all, of course. We were the most +important people they had there, and I’m sorry now that we went. Who are +the Israelses and the Hoecksemas, anyhow? That dreadful woman!” (She was +referring to Mrs. Hoecksema.) “I never listened to duller remarks in my +life.” +</p> + +<p> +“I was talking to Haguenin of the <i>Press</i> in the afternoon,” observed +Norrie. “He says that Cowperwood failed in Philadelphia before he came +here, and that there were a lot of lawsuits. Did you ever hear that?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. But she says she knows the Drakes and the Walkers there. I’ve +been intending to ask Nellie about that. I have often wondered why he should +leave Philadelphia if he was getting along so well. People don’t usually +do that.” +</p> + +<p> +Simms was envious already of the financial showing Cowperwood was making in +Chicago. Besides, Cowperwood’s manner bespoke supreme intelligence and +courage, and that is always resented by all save the suppliants or the +triumphant masters of other walks in life. Simms was really interested at last +to know something more about Cowperwood, something definite. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Before this social situation had time to adjust itself one way or the other, +however, a matter arose which in its way was far more vital, though Aileen +might not have thought so. The feeling between the new and old gas companies +was becoming strained; the stockholders of the older organization were getting +uneasy. They were eager to find out who was back of these new gas companies +which were threatening to poach on their exclusive preserves. Finally one of +the lawyers who had been employed by the North Chicago Gas Illuminating Company +to fight the machinations of De Soto Sippens and old General Van Sickle, +finding that the Lake View Council had finally granted the franchise to the new +company and that the Appellate Court was about to sustain it, hit upon the idea +of charging conspiracy and wholesale bribery of councilmen. Considerable +evidence had accumulated that Duniway, Jacob Gerecht, and others on the North +Side had been influenced by cash, and to bring legal action would delay final +approval of the franchises and give the old company time to think what else to +do. This North Side company lawyer, a man by the name of Parsons, had been +following up the movements of Sippens and old General Van Sickle, and had +finally concluded that they were mere dummies and pawns, and that the real +instigator in all this excitement was Cowperwood, or, if not he, then men whom +he represented. Parsons visited Cowperwood’s office one day in order to +see him; getting no satisfaction, he proceeded to look up his record and +connections. These various investigations and counter-schemings came to a head +in a court proceeding filed in the United States Circuit Court late in +November, charging Frank Algernon Cowperwood, Henry De Soto Sippens, Judson P. +Van Sickle, and others with conspiracy; this again was followed almost +immediately by suits begun by the West and South Side companies charging the +same thing. In each case Cowperwood’s name was mentioned as the secret +power behind the new companies, conspiring to force the old companies to buy +him out. His Philadelphia history was published, but only in part—a +highly modified account he had furnished the newspapers some time before. +Though conspiracy and bribery are ugly words, still lawyers’ charges +prove nothing. But a penitentiary record, for whatever reason served, coupled +with previous failure, divorce, and scandal (though the newspapers made only +the most guarded reference to all this), served to whet public interest and to +fix Cowperwood and his wife in the public eye. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood himself was solicited for an interview, but his answer was that he +was merely a financial agent for the three new companies, not an investor; and +that the charges, in so far as he was concerned, were untrue, mere legal +fol-de-rol trumped up to make the situation as annoying as possible. He +threatened to sue for libel. Nevertheless, although these suits eventually did +come to nothing (for he had fixed it so that he could not be traced save as a +financial agent in each case), yet the charges had been made, and he was now +revealed as a shrewd, manipulative factor, with a record that was certainly +spectacular. +</p> + +<p> +“I see,” said Anson Merrill to his wife, one morning at breakfast, +“that this man Cowperwood is beginning to get his name in the +papers.” He had the Times on the table before him, and was looking at a +headline which, after the old-fashioned pyramids then in vogue, read: +“Conspiracy charged against various Chicago citizens. Frank Algernon +Cowperwood, Judson P. Van Sickle, Henry De Soto Sippens, and others named in +Circuit Court complaint.” It went on to specify other facts. “I +supposed he was just a broker.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know much about them,” replied his wife, +“except what Bella Simms tells me. What does it say?” +</p> + +<p> +He handed her the paper. +</p> + +<p> +“I have always thought they were merely climbers,” continued Mrs. +Merrill. “From what I hear she is impossible. I never saw her.” +</p> + +<p> +“He begins well for a Philadelphian,” smiled Merrill. +“I’ve seen him at the Calumet. He looks like a very shrewd man to +me. He’s going about his work in a brisk spirit, anyhow.” +</p> + +<p> +Similarly Mr. Norman Schryhart, a man who up to this time had taken no thought +of Cowperwood, although he had noted his appearance about the halls of the +Calumet and Union League Clubs, began to ask seriously who he was. Schryhart, a +man of great physical and mental vigor, six feet tall, hale and stolid as an +ox, a very different type of man from Anson Merrill, met Addison one day at the +Calumet Club shortly after the newspaper talk began. Sinking into a great +leather divan beside him, he observed: +</p> + +<p> +“Who is this man Cowperwood whose name is in the papers these days, +Addison? You know: all these people. Didn’t you introduce him to me +once?” +</p> + +<p> +“I surely did,” replied Addison, cheerfully, who, in spite of the +attacks on Cowperwood, was rather pleased than otherwise. It was quite plain +from the concurrent excitement that attended all this struggle, that Cowperwood +must be managing things rather adroitly, and, best of all, he was keeping his +backers’ names from view. “He’s a Philadelphian by birth. He +came out here several years ago, and went into the grain and commission +business. He’s a banker now. A rather shrewd man, I should say. He has a +lot of money.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it true, as the papers say, that he failed for a million in +Philadelphia in 1871?” +</p> + +<p> +“In so far as I know, it is.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, was he in the penitentiary down there?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think so—yes. I believe it was for nothing really criminal, +though. There appears to have been some political-financial mix-up, from all I +can learn.” +</p> + +<p> +“And is he only forty, as the papers say?” +</p> + +<p> +“About that, I should judge. Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, this scheme of his looks rather pretentious to me—holding up +the old gas companies here. Do you suppose he’ll manage to do it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know that. All I know is what I have read in the +papers,” replied Addison, cautiously. As a matter of fact, he did not +care to talk about this business at all. Cowperwood was busy at this very time, +through an agent, attempting to effect a compromise and union of all interests +concerned. It was not going very well. +</p> + +<p> +“Humph!” commented Schryhart. He was wondering why men like +himself, Merrill, Arneel, and others had not worked into this field long ago or +bought out the old companies. He went away interested, and a day or two +later—even the next morning—had formulated a scheme. Not unlike +Cowperwood, he was a shrewd, hard, cold man. He believed in Chicago implicitly +and in all that related to its future. This gas situation, now that Cowperwood +had seen the point, was very clear to him. Even yet it might not be impossible +for a third party to step in and by intricate manipulation secure the much +coveted rewards. Perhaps Cowperwood himself could be taken over—who could +tell? +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Schryhart, being a very dominating type of person, did not believe in minor +partnerships or investments. If he went into a thing of this kind it was his +preference to rule. He decided to invite Cowperwood to visit the Schryhart +office and talk matters over. Accordingly, he had his secretary pen a note, +which in rather lofty phrases invited Cowperwood to call “on a matter of +importance.” +</p> + +<p> +Now just at this time, it so chanced, Cowperwood was feeling rather secure as +to his place in the Chicago financial world, although he was still smarting +from the bitterness of the aspersions recently cast upon him from various +quarters. Under such circumstances it was his temperament to evince a rugged +contempt for humanity, rich and poor alike. He was well aware that Schryhart, +although introduced, had never previously troubled to notice him. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Cowperwood begs me to say,” wrote Miss Antoinette Nowak, at +his dictation, “that he finds himself very much pressed for time at +present, but he would be glad to see Mr. Schryhart at his office at any +time.” +</p> + +<p> +This irritated the dominating, self-sufficient Schryhart a little, but +nevertheless he was satisfied that a conference could do no harm in this +instance—was advisable, in fact. So one Wednesday afternoon he journeyed +to the office of Cowperwood, and was most hospitably received. +</p> + +<p> +“How do you do, Mr. Schryhart,” observed Cowperwood, cordially, +extending his hand. “I’m glad to see you again. I believe we met +once before several years ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think so myself,” replied Mr. Schryhart, who was +broad-shouldered, square-headed, black-eyed, and with a short black mustache +gracing a firm upper lip. He had hard, dark, piercing eyes. “I see by the +papers, if they can be trusted,” he said, coming direct to the point, +“that you are interesting yourself in local gas. Is that true?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid the papers cannot be generally relied on,” +replied Cowperwood, quite blandly. “Would you mind telling me what makes +you interested to know whether I am or not?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, to tell the truth,” replied Schryhart, staring at the +financier, “I am interested in this local gas situation myself. It offers +a rather profitable field for investment, and several members of the old +companies have come to me recently to ask me to help them combine.” (This +was not true at all.) “I have been wondering what chance you thought you +had of winning along the lines you are now taking.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood smiled. “I hardly care to discuss that,” he said, +“unless I know much more of your motives and connections than I do at +present. Do I understand that you have really been appealed to by stockholders +of the old companies to come in and help adjust this matter?” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly,” said Schryhart. +</p> + +<p> +“And you think you can get them to combine? On what basis?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I should say it would be a simple matter to give each of them two or +three shares of a new company for one in each of the old. We could then elect +one set of officers, have one set of offices, stop all these suits, and leave +everybody happy.” +</p> + +<p> +He said this in an easy, patronizing way, as though Cowperwood had not really +thought it all out years before. It amazed the latter no little to see his own +scheme patronizingly brought back to him, and that, too, by a very powerful man +locally—one who thus far had chosen to overlook him utterly. +</p> + +<p> +“On what basis,” asked Cowperwood, cautiously, “would you +expect these new companies to come in?” +</p> + +<p> +“On the same basis as the others, if they are not too heavily +capitalized. I haven’t thought out all the details. Two or three for one, +according to investment. Of course, the prejudices of these old companies have +to be considered.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood meditated. Should or should he not entertain this offer? Here was a +chance to realize quickly by selling out to the old companies. Only Schryhart, +not himself, would be taking the big end in this manipulative deal. Whereas if +he waited—even if Schryhart managed to combine the three old companies +into one—he might be able to force better terms. He was not sure. Finally +he asked, “How much stock of the new company would be left in your +hands—or in the hands of the organizing group—after each of the old +and new companies had been provided for on this basis?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, possibly thirty-five or forty per cent. of the whole,” replied +Schryhart, ingratiatingly. “The laborer is worthy of his hire.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite so,” replied Cowperwood, smiling, “but, seeing that I +am the man who has been cutting the pole to knock this persimmon it seems to me +that a pretty good share of that should come to me; don’t you think +so?” +</p> + +<p> +“Just what do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“Just what I have said. I personally have organized the new companies +which have made this proposed combination possible. The plan you propose is +nothing more than what I have been proposing for some time. The officers and +directors of the old companies are angry at me merely because I am supposed to +have invaded the fields that belong to them. Now, if on account of that they +are willing to operate through you rather than through me, it seems to me that +I should have a much larger share in the surplus. My personal interest in these +new companies is not very large. I am really more of a fiscal agent than +anything else.” (This was not true, but Cowperwood preferred to have his +guest think so.) +</p> + +<p> +Schryhart smiled. “But, my dear sir,” he explained, “you +forget that I will be supplying nearly all the capital to do this.” +</p> + +<p> +“You forget,” retorted Cowperwood, “that I am not a novice. I +will guarantee to supply all the capital myself, and give you a good bonus for +your services, if you want that. The plants and franchises of the old and new +companies are worth something. You must remember that Chicago is +growing.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know that,” replied Schryhart, evasively, “but I also know +that you have a long, expensive fight ahead of you. As things are now you +cannot, of yourself, expect to bring these old companies to terms. They +won’t work with you, as I understand it. It will require an outsider like +myself—some one of influence, or perhaps, I had better say, of old +standing in Chicago, some one who knows these people—to bring about this +combination. Have you any one, do you think, who can do it better than +I?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is not at all impossible that I will find some one,” replied +Cowperwood, quite easily. +</p> + +<p> +“I hardly think so; certainly not as things are now. The old companies +are not disposed to work through you, and they are through me. Don’t you +think you had better accept my terms and allow me to go ahead and close this +matter up?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all on that basis,” replied Cowperwood, quite simply. +“We have invaded the enemies’ country too far and done too much. +Three for one or four for one—whatever terms are given the stockholders +of the old companies—is the best I will do about the new shares, and I +must have one-half of whatever is left for myself. At that I will have to +divide with others.” (This was not true either.) +</p> + +<p> +“No,” replied Schryhart, evasively and opposingly, shaking his +square head. “It can’t be done. The risks are too great. I might +allow you one-fourth, possibly—I can’t tell yet.” +</p> + +<p> +“One-half or nothing,” said Cowperwood, definitely. +</p> + +<p> +Schryhart got up. “That’s the best you will do, is it?” he +inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“The very best.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid then,” he said, “we can’t come to +terms. I’m sorry. You may find this a rather long and expensive +fight.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have fully anticipated that,” replied the financier. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap12"></a>CHAPTER XII.<br/> +A New Retainer</h2> + +<p> +Cowperwood, who had rebuffed Schryhart so courteously but firmly, was to learn +that he who takes the sword may well perish by the sword. His own watchful +attorney, on guard at the state capitol, where certificates of incorporation +were issued in the city and village councils, in the courts and so forth, was +not long in learning that a counter-movement of significance was under way. Old +General Van Sickle was the first to report that something was in the wind in +connection with the North Side company. He came in late one afternoon, his +dusty greatcoat thrown loosely about his shoulders, his small, soft hat low +over his shaggy eyes, and in response to Cowperwood’s “Evening, +General, what can I do for you?” seated himself portentously. +</p> + +<p> +“I think you’ll have to prepare for real rough weather in the +future, Captain,” he remarked, addressing the financier with a courtesy +title that he had fallen in the habit of using. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the trouble now?” asked Cowperwood. +</p> + +<p> +“No real trouble as yet, but there may be. Some one—I don’t +know who—is getting these three old companies together in one. +There’s a certificate of incorporation been applied for at Springfield +for the United Gas and Fuel Company of Chicago, and there are some +directors’ meetings now going on at the Douglas Trust Company. I got this +from Duniway, who seems to have friends somewhere that know.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood put the ends of his fingers together in his customary way and began +to tap them lightly and rhythmically. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me see—the Douglas Trust Company. Mr. Simms is president of +that. He isn’t shrewd enough to organize a thing of that kind. Who are +the incorporators?” +</p> + +<p> +The General produced a list of four names, none of them officers or directors +of the old companies. +</p> + +<p> +“Dummies, every one,” said Cowperwood, succinctly. “I think I +know,” he said, after a few moments’ reflection, “who is +behind it, General; but don’t let that worry you. They can’t harm +us if they do unite. They’re bound to sell out to us or buy us out +eventually.” +</p> + +<p> +Still it irritated him to think that Schryhart had succeeded in persuading the +old companies to combine on any basis; he had meant to have Addison go shortly, +posing as an outside party, and propose this very thing. Schryhart, he was +sure, had acted swiftly following their interview. He hurried to +Addison’s office in the Lake National. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you heard the news?” exclaimed that individual, the moment +Cowperwood appeared. “They’re planning to combine. It’s +Schryhart. I was afraid of that. Simms of the Douglas Trust is going to act as +the fiscal agent. I had the information not ten minutes ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“So did I,” replied Cowperwood, calmly. “We should have acted +a little sooner. Still, it isn’t our fault exactly. Do you know the terms +of agreement?” +</p> + +<p> +“They’re going to pool their stock on a basis of three to one, with +about thirty per cent. of the holding company left for Schryhart to sell or +keep, as he wants to. He guarantees the interest. We did that for +him—drove the game right into his bag.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nevertheless,” replied Cowperwood, “he still has us to deal +with. I propose now that we go into the city council and ask for a blanket +franchise. It can be had. If we should get it, it will bring them to their +knees. We will really be in a better position than they are with these smaller +companies as feeders. We can unite with ourselves.” +</p> + +<p> +“That will take considerable money, won’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not so much. We may never need to lay a pipe or build a plant. They will +offer to sell out, buy, or combine before that. We can fix the terms. Leave it +to me. You don’t happen to know by any chance this Mr. McKenty, who has +so much say in local affairs here—John J. McKenty?” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood was referring to a man who was at once gambler, rumored owner or +controller of a series of houses of prostitution, rumored maker of mayors and +aldermen, rumored financial backer of many saloons and contracting +companies—in short, the patron saint of the political and social +underworld of Chicago, and who was naturally to be reckoned with in matters +which related to the city and state legislative programme. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t,” said Addison; “but I can get you a letter. +Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t trouble to ask me that now. Get me as strong an introduction +as you can.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll have one for you to-day some time,” replied Addison, +efficiently. “I’ll send it over to you.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood went out while Addison speculated as to this newest move. Trust +Cowperwood to dig a pit into which the enemy might fall. He marveled sometimes +at the man’s resourcefulness. He never quarreled with the directness and +incisiveness of Cowperwood’s action. +</p> + +<p> +The man, McKenty, whom Cowperwood had in mind in this rather disturbing hour, +was as interesting and forceful an individual as one would care to meet +anywhere, a typical figure of Chicago and the West at the time. He was a +pleasant, smiling, bland, affable person, not unlike Cowperwood in magnetism +and subtlety, but different by a degree of animal coarseness (not visible on +the surface) which Cowperwood would scarcely have understood, and in a kind of +temperamental pull drawing to him that vast pathetic life of the underworld in +which his soul found its solution. There is a kind of nature, not artistic, not +spiritual, in no way emotional, nor yet unduly philosophical, that is +nevertheless a sphered content of life; not crystalline, perhaps, and yet not +utterly dark—an agate temperament, cloudy and strange. As a +three-year-old child McKenty had been brought from Ireland by his emigrant +parents during a period of famine. He had been raised on the far South Side in +a shanty which stood near a maze of railroad-tracks, and as a naked baby he had +crawled on its earthen floor. His father had been promoted to a section boss +after working for years as a day-laborer on the adjoining railroad, and John, +junior, one of eight other children, had been sent out early to do many +things—to be an errand-boy in a store, a messenger-boy for a telegraph +company, an emergency sweep about a saloon, and finally a bartender. This last +was his true beginning, for he was discovered by a keen-minded politician and +encouraged to run for the state legislature and to study law. Even as a +stripling what things had he not learned—robbery, ballot-box stuffing, +the sale of votes, the appointive power of leaders, graft, nepotism, vice +exploitation—all the things that go to make up (or did) the American +world of politics and financial and social strife. There is a strong assumption +in the upper walks of life that there is nothing to be learned at the bottom. +If you could have looked into the capacious but balanced temperament of John J. +McKenty you would have seen a strange wisdom there and stranger +memories—whole worlds of brutalities, tendernesses, errors, immoralities +suffered, endured, even rejoiced in—the hardy, eager life of the animal +that has nothing but its perceptions, instincts, appetites to guide it. Yet the +man had the air and the poise of a gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +To-day, at forty-eight, McKenty was an exceedingly important personage. His +roomy house on the West Side, at Harrison Street and Ashland Avenue, was +visited at sundry times by financiers, business men, office-holders, priests, +saloon-keepers—in short, the whole range and gamut of active, subtle, +political life. From McKenty they could obtain that counsel, wisdom, surety, +solution which all of them on occasion were anxious to have, and which in one +deft way and another—often by no more than gratitude and an +acknowledgment of his leadership—they were willing to pay for. To police +captains and officers whose places he occasionally saved, when they should +justly have been discharged; to mothers whose erring boys or girls he took out +of prison and sent home again; to keepers of bawdy houses whom he protected +from a too harsh invasion of the grafting propensities of the local police; to +politicians and saloon-keepers who were in danger of being destroyed by public +upheavals of one kind and another, he seemed, in hours of stress, when his +smooth, genial, almost artistic face beamed on them, like a heaven-sent son of +light, a kind of Western god, all-powerful, all-merciful, perfect. On the other +hand, there were ingrates, uncompromising or pharasaical religionists and +reformers, plotting, scheming rivals, who found him deadly to contend with. +There were many henchmen—runners from an almost imperial throne—to +do his bidding. He was simple in dress and taste, married and (apparently) very +happy, a professing though virtually non-practising Catholic, a suave, genial +Buddha-like man, powerful and enigmatic. +</p> + +<p> +When Cowperwood and McKenty first met, it was on a spring evening at the +latter’s home. The windows of the large house were pleasantly open, +though screened, and the curtains were blowing faintly in a light air. Along +with a sense of the new green life everywhere came a breath of stock-yards. +</p> + +<p> +On the presentation of Addison’s letter and of another, secured through +Van Sickle from a well-known political judge, Cowperwood had been invited to +call. On his arrival he was offered a drink, a cigar, introduced to Mrs. +McKenty—who, lacking an organized social life of any kind, was always +pleased to meet these celebrities of the upper world, if only for a +moment—and shown eventually into the library. Mrs. McKenty, as he might +have observed if he had had the eye for it, was plump and fifty, a sort of +superannuated Aileen, but still showing traces of a former hardy beauty, and +concealing pretty well the evidences that she had once been a prostitute. It so +happened that on this particular evening McKenty was in a most genial frame of +mind. There were no immediate political troubles bothering him just now. It was +early in May. Outside the trees were budding, the sparrows and robins were +voicing their several moods. A delicious haze was in the air, and some early +mosquitoes were reconnoitering the screens which protected the windows and +doors. Cowperwood, in spite of his various troubles, was in a complacent state +of mind himself. He liked life—even its very difficult +complications—perhaps its complications best of all. Nature was +beautiful, tender at times, but difficulties, plans, plots, schemes to unravel +and make smooth—these things were what made existence worth while. +</p> + +<p> +“Well now, Mr. Cowperwood,” McKenty began, when they finally +entered the cool, pleasant library, “what can I do for you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Mr. McKenty,” said Cowperwood, choosing his words and +bringing the finest resources of his temperament into play, “it +isn’t so much, and yet it is. I want a franchise from the Chicago city +council, and I want you to help me get it if you will. I know you may say to me +why not go to the councilmen direct. I would do that, except that there are +certain other elements—individuals—who might come to you. It +won’t offend you, I know, when I say that I have always understood that +you are a sort of clearing-house for political troubles in Chicago.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. McKenty smiled. “That’s flattering,” he replied, dryly. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, I am rather new myself to Chicago,” went on Cowperwood, +softly. “I have been here only a year or two. I come from Philadelphia. I +have been interested as a fiscal agent and an investor in several gas companies +that have been organized in Lake View, Hyde Park, and elsewhere outside the +city limits, as you may possibly have seen by the papers lately. I am not their +owner, in the sense that I have provided all or even a good part of the money +invested in them. I am not even their manager, except in a very general way. I +might better be called their promoter and guardian; but I am that for other +people and myself.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. McKenty nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Mr. McKenty, it was not very long after I started out to get +franchises to do business in Lake View and Hyde Park before I found myself +confronted by the interests which control the three old city gas companies. +They were very much opposed to our entering the field in Cook County anywhere, +as you may imagine, although we were not really crowding in on their field. +Since then they have fought me with lawsuits, injunctions, and charges of +bribery and conspiracy.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know,” put in Mr. McKenty. “I have heard something of +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite so,” replied Cowperwood. “Because of their opposition +I made them an offer to combine these three companies and the three new ones +into one, take out a new charter, and give the city a uniform gas service. They +would not do that—largely because I was an outsider, I think. Since then +another person, Mr. Schryhart”—McKenty nodded—“who has +never had anything to do with the gas business here, has stepped in and offered +to combine them. His plan is to do exactly what I wanted to do; only his +further proposition is, once he has the three old companies united, to invade +this new gas field of ours and hold us up, or force us to sell by obtaining +rival franchises in these outlying places. There is talk of combining these +suburbs with Chicago, as you know, which would allow these three down-town +franchises to become mutually operative with our own. This makes it essential +for us to do one of several things, as you may see—either to sell out on +the best terms we can now, or to continue the fight at a rather heavy expense +without making any attempt to strike back, or to get into the city council and +ask for a franchise to do business in the down-town section—a general +blanket franchise to sell gas in Chicago alongside of the old +companies—with the sole intention of protecting ourselves, as one of my +officers is fond of saying,” added Cowperwood, humorously. +</p> + +<p> +McKenty smiled again. “I see,” he said. “Isn’t that a +rather large order, though, Mr. Cowperwood, seeking a new franchise? Do you +suppose the general public would agree that the city needs an extra gas +company? It’s true the old companies haven’t been any too generous. +My own gas isn’t of the best.” He smiled vaguely, prepared to +listen further. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Mr. McKenty, I know that you are a practical man,” went on +Cowperwood, ignoring this interruption, “and so am I. I am not coming to +you with any vague story concerning my troubles and expecting you to be +interested as a matter of sympathy. I realize that to go into the city council +of Chicago with a legitimate proposition is one thing. To get it passed and +approved by the city authorities is another. I need advice and assistance, and +I am not begging it. If I could get a general franchise, such as I have +described, it would be worth a very great deal of money to me. It would help me +to close up and realize on these new companies which are entirely sound and +needed. It would help me to prevent the old companies from eating me up. As a +matter of fact, I must have such a franchise to protect my interests and give +me a running fighting chance. Now, I know that none of us are in politics or +finance for our health. If I could get such a franchise it would be worth from +one-fourth to one-half of all I personally would make out of it, providing my +plan of combining these new companies with the old ones should go +through—say, from three to four hundred thousand dollars.” (Here +again Cowperwood was not quite frank, but safe.) “It is needless to say +to you that I can command ample capital. This franchise would do that. Briefly, +I want to know if you won’t give me your political support in this matter +and join in with me on the basis that I propose? I will make it perfectly clear +to you beforehand who my associates are. I will put all the data and details on +the table before you so that you can see for yourself how things are. If you +should find at any time that I have misrepresented anything you are at full +liberty, of course, to withdraw. As I said before,” he concluded, +“I am not a beggar. I am not coming here to conceal any facts or to hide +anything which might deceive you as to the worth of all this to us. I want you +to know the facts. I want you to give me your aid on such terms as you think +are fair and equitable. Really the only trouble with me in this situation is +that I am not a silk stocking. If I were this gas war would have been adjusted +long ago. These gentlemen who are so willing to reorganize through Mr. +Schryhart are largely opposed to me because I am—comparatively—a +stranger in Chicago and not in their set. If I were”—he moved his +hand slightly—“I don’t suppose I would be here this evening +asking for your favor, although that does not say that I am not glad to be +here, or that I would not be glad to work with you in any way that I might. +Circumstances simply have not thrown me across your path before.” +</p> + +<p> +As he talked his eye fixed McKenty steadily, almost innocently; and the latter, +following him clearly, felt all the while that he was listening to a strange, +able, dark, and very forceful man. There was no beating about the bush here, no +squeamishness of spirit, and yet there was subtlety—the kind McKenty +liked. While he was amused by Cowperwood’s casual reference to the silk +stockings who were keeping him out, it appealed to him. He caught the point of +view as well as the intention of it. Cowperwood represented a new and rather +pleasing type of financier to him. Evidently, he was traveling in able company +if one could believe the men who had introduced him so warmly. McKenty, as +Cowperwood was well aware, had personally no interest in the old companies and +also—though this he did not say—no particular sympathy with them. +They were just remote financial corporations to him, paying political tribute +on demand, expecting political favors in return. Every few weeks now they were +in council, asking for one gas-main franchise after another (special privileges +in certain streets), asking for better (more profitable) light-contracts, +asking for dock privileges in the river, a lower tax rate, and so forth and so +on. McKenty did not pay much attention to these things personally. He had a +subordinate in council, a very powerful henchman by the name of Patrick +Dowling, a meaty, vigorous Irishman and a true watch-dog of graft for the +machine, who worked with the mayor, the city treasurer, the city tax +receiver—in fact, all the officers of the current +administration—and saw that such minor matters were properly equalized. +Mr. McKenty had only met two or three of the officers of the South Side Gas +Company, and that quite casually. He did not like them very well. The truth was +that the old companies were officered by men who considered politicians of the +McKenty and Dowling stripe as very evil men; if they paid them and did other +such wicked things it was because they were forced to do so. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” McKenty replied, lingering his thin gold watch-chain in a +thoughtful manner, “that’s an interesting scheme you have. Of +course the old companies wouldn’t like your asking for a rival franchise, +but once you had it they couldn’t object very well, could they?” He +smiled. Mr. McKenty spoke with no suggestion of a brogue. “From one point +of view it might be looked upon as bad business, but not entirely. They would +be sure to make a great cry, though they haven’t been any too kind to the +public themselves. But if you offered to combine with them I see no objection. +It’s certain to be as good for them in the long run as it is for you. +This merely permits you to make a better bargain.” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly,” said Cowperwood. +</p> + +<p> +“And you have the means, you tell me, to lay mains in every part of the +city, and fight with them for business if they won’t give in?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have the means,” said Cowperwood, “or if I haven’t I +can get them.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. McKenty looked at Mr. Cowperwood very solemnly. There was a kind of mutual +sympathy, understanding, and admiration between the two men, but it was still +heavily veiled by self-interest. To Mr. McKenty Cowperwood was interesting +because he was one of the few business men he had met who were not ponderous, +pharasaical, even hypocritical when they were dealing with him. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Mr. Cowperwood,” he +said, finally. “I’ll take it all under consideration. Let me think +it over until Monday, anyhow. There is more of an excuse now for the +introduction of a general gas ordinance than there would be a little +later—I can see that. Why don’t you draw up your proposed franchise +and let me see it? Then we might find out what some of the other gentlemen of +the city council think.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood almost smiled at the word “gentlemen.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have already done that,” he said. “Here it is.” +</p> + +<p> +McKenty took it, surprised and yet pleased at this evidence of business +proficiency. He liked a strong manipulator of this kind—the more since he +was not one himself, and most of those that he did know were thin-blooded and +squeamish. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me take this,” he said. “I’ll see you next Monday +again if you wish. Come Monday.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood got up. “I thought I’d come and talk to you direct, Mr. +McKenty,” he said, “and now I’m glad that I did. You will +find, if you will take the trouble to look into this matter, that it is just as +I represent it. There is a very great deal of money here in one way and +another, though it will take some little time to work it out.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. McKenty saw the point. “Yes,” he said, sweetly, “to be +sure.” +</p> + +<p> +They looked into each other’s eyes as they shook hands. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not sure but you haven’t hit upon a very good idea +here,” concluded McKenty, sympathetically. “A very good idea, +indeed. Come and see me again next Monday, or about that time, and I’ll +let you know what I think. Come any time you have anything else you want of me. +I’ll always be glad to see you. It’s a fine night, isn’t +it?” he added, looking out as they neared the door. “A nice moon +that!” he added. A sickle moon was in the sky. “Good night.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap13"></a>CHAPTER XIII.<br/> +The Die is Cast</h2> + +<p> +The significance of this visit was not long in manifesting itself. At the top, +in large affairs, life goes off into almost inexplicable tangles of +personalities. Mr. McKenty, now that the matter had been called to his +attention, was interested to learn about this gas situation from all +sides—whether it might not be more profitable to deal with the Schryhart +end of the argument, and so on. But his eventual conclusion was that +Cowperwood’s plan, as he had outlined it, was the most feasible for +political purposes, largely because the Schryhart faction, not being in a +position where they needed to ask the city council for anything at present, +were so obtuse as to forget to make overtures of any kind to the bucaneering +forces at the City Hall. +</p> + +<p> +When Cowperwood next came to McKenty’s house the latter was in a +receptive frame of mind. “Well,” he said, after a few genial +preliminary remarks, “I’ve been learning what’s going on. +Your proposition is fair enough. Organize your company, and arrange your plan +conditionally. Then introduce your ordinance, and we’ll see what can be +done.” They went into a long, intimate discussion as to how the +forthcoming stock should be divided, how it was to be held in escrow by a +favorite bank of Mr. McKenty’s until the terms of the agreement under the +eventual affiliation with the old companies or the new union company should be +fulfilled, and details of that sort. It was rather a complicated arrangement, +not as satisfactory to Cowperwood as it might have been, but satisfactory in +that it permitted him to win. It required the undivided services of General Van +Sickle, Henry De Soto Sippens, Kent Barrows McKibben, and Alderman Dowling for +some little time. But finally all was in readiness for the coup. +</p> + +<p> +On a certain Monday night, therefore, following the Thursday on which, +according to the rules of the city council, an ordinance of this character +would have to be introduced, the plan, after being publicly broached but this +very little while, was quickly considered by the city council and passed. There +had been really no time for public discussion. This was just the thing, of +course, that Cowperwood and McKenty were trying to avoid. On the day following +the particular Thursday on which the ordinance had been broached in council as +certain to be brought up for passage, Schryhart, through his lawyers and the +officers of the old individual gas companies, had run to the newspapers and +denounced the whole thing as plain robbery; but what were they to do? There was +so little time for agitation. True the newspapers, obedient to this larger +financial influence, began to talk of “fair play to the old +companies,” and the uselessness of two large rival companies in the field +when one would serve as well. Still the public, instructed or urged by the +McKenty agents to the contrary, were not prepared to believe it. They had not +been so well treated by the old companies as to make any outcry on their +behalf. +</p> + +<p> +Standing outside the city council door, on the Monday evening when the bill was +finally passed, Mr. Samuel Blackman, president of the South Side Gas Company, a +little, wispy man with shoe-brush whiskers, declared emphatically: +</p> + +<p> +“This is a scoundrelly piece of business. If the mayor signs that he +should be impeached. There is not a vote in there to-night that has not been +purchased—not one. This is a fine element of brigandage to introduce into +Chicago; why, people who have worked years and years to build up a business are +not safe!” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s true, every word of it,” complained Mr. Jordan Jules, +president of the North Side company, a short, stout man with a head like an egg +lying lengthwise, a mere fringe of hair, and hard, blue eyes. He was with Mr. +Hudson Baker, tall and ambling, who was president of the West Chicago company. +All of these had come to protest. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s that scoundrel from Philadelphia. He’s the cause of all +our troubles. It’s high time the respectable business element of Chicago +realized just what sort of a man they have to deal with in him. He ought to be +driven out of here. Look at his Philadelphia record. They sent him to the +penitentiary down there, and they ought to do it here.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Baker, very recently the guest of Schryhart, and his henchman, too, was +also properly chagrined. “The man is a charlatan,” he protested to +Blackman. “He doesn’t play fair. It is plain that he doesn’t +belong in respectable society.” +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless, and in spite of this, the ordinance was passed. It was a bitter +lesson for Mr. Norman Schryhart, Mr. Norrie Simms, and all those who had +unfortunately become involved. A committee composed of all three of the old +companies visited the mayor; but the latter, a tool of McKenty, giving his +future into the hands of the enemy, signed it just the same. Cowperwood had his +franchise, and, groan as they might, it was now necessary, in the language of a +later day, “to step up and see the captain.” Only Schryhart felt +personally that his score with Cowperwood was not settled. He would meet him on +some other ground later. The next time he would try to fight fire with fire. +But for the present, shrewd man that he was, he was prepared to compromise. +</p> + +<p> +Thereafter, dissembling his chagrin as best he could, he kept on the lookout +for Cowperwood at both of the clubs of which he was a member; but Cowperwood +had avoided them during this period of excitement, and Mahomet would have to go +to the mountain. So one drowsy June afternoon Mr. Schryhart called at +Cowperwood’s office. He had on a bright, new, steel-gray suit and a straw +hat. From his pocket, according to the fashion of the time, protruded a neat, +blue-bordered silk handkerchief, and his feet were immaculate in new, shining +Oxford ties. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sailing for Europe in a few days, Mr. Cowperwood,” he +remarked, genially, “and I thought I’d drop round to see if you and +I could reach some agreement in regard to this gas situation. The officers of +the old companies naturally feel that they do not care to have a rival in the +field, and I’m sure that you are not interested in carrying on a useless +rate war that won’t leave anybody any profit. I recall that you were +willing to compromise on a half-and-half basis with me before, and I was +wondering whether you were still of that mind.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sit down, sit down, Mr. Schryhart,” remarked Cowperwood, +cheerfully, waving the new-comer to a chair. “I’m pleased to see +you again. No, I’m no more anxious for a rate war than you are. As a +matter of fact, I hope to avoid it; but, as you see, things have changed +somewhat since I saw you. The gentlemen who have organized and invested their +money in this new city gas company are perfectly willing—rather anxious, +in fact—to go on and establish a legitimate business. They feel all the +confidence in the world that they can do this, and I agree with them. A +compromise might be effected between the old and the new companies, but not on +the basis on which I was willing to settle some time ago. A new company has +been organized since then, stock issued, and a great deal of money +expended.” (This was not true.) “That stock will have to figure in +any new agreement. I think a general union of all the companies is desirable, +but it will have to be on a basis of one, two, three, or four +shares—whatever is decided—at par for all stock involved.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Schryhart pulled a long face. “Don’t you think that’s +rather steep?” he said, solemnly. +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all, not at all!” replied Cowperwood. “You know these +new expenditures were not undertaken voluntarily.” (The irony of this did +not escape Mr. Schryhart, but he said nothing.) +</p> + +<p> +“I admit all that, but don’t you think, since your shares are worth +practically nothing at present, that you ought to be satisfied if they were +accepted at par?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t see why,” replied Cowperwood. “Our future +prospects are splendid. There must be an even adjustment here or nothing. What +I want to know is how much treasury stock you would expect to have in the safe +for the promotion of this new organization after all the old stockholders have +been satisfied?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, as I thought before, from thirty to forty per cent. of the total +issue,” replied Schryhart, still hopeful of a profitable adjustment. +“I should think it could be worked on that basis.” +</p> + +<p> +“And who gets that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, the organizer,” said Schryhart, evasively. “Yourself, +perhaps, and myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“And how would you divide it? Half and half, as before?” +</p> + +<p> +“I should think that would be fair.” +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t enough,” returned Cowperwood, incisively. +“Since I talked to you last I have been compelled to shoulder obligations +and make agreements which I did not anticipate then. The best I can do now is +to accept three-fourths.” +</p> + +<p> +Schryhart straightened up determinedly and offensively. This was outrageous, he +thought, impossible! The effrontery of it! +</p> + +<p> +“It can never be done, Mr. Cowperwood,” he replied, forcefully. +“You are trying to unload too much worthless stock on the company as it +is. The old companies’ stock is selling right now, as you know, for from +one-fifty to two-ten. Your stock is worth nothing. If you are to be given two +or three for one for that, and three-fourths of the remainder in the treasury, +I for one want nothing to do with the deal. You would be in control of the +company, and it will be water-logged, at that. Talk about getting something for +nothing! The best I would suggest to the stockholders of the old companies +would be half and half. And I may say to you frankly, although you may not +believe it, that the old companies will not join in with you in any scheme that +gives you control. They are too much incensed. Feeling is running too high. It +will mean a long, expensive fight, and they will never compromise. Now, if you +have anything really reasonable to offer I would be glad to hear it. Otherwise +I am afraid these negotiations are not going to come to anything.” +</p> + +<p> +“Share and share alike, and three-fourths of the remainder,” +repeated Cowperwood, grimly. “I do not want to control. If they want to +raise the money and buy me out on that basis I am willing to sell. I want a +decent return for investments I have made, and I am going to have it. I cannot +speak for the others behind me, but as long as they deal through me that is +what they will expect.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Schryhart went angrily away. He was exceedingly wroth. This proposition as +Cowperwood now outlined it was bucaneering at its best. He proposed for himself +to withdraw from the old companies if necessary, to close out his holdings and +let the old companies deal with Cowperwood as best they could. So long as he +had anything to do with it, Cowperwood should never gain control of the gas +situation. Better to take him at his suggestion, raise the money and buy him +out, even at an exorbitant figure. Then the old gas companies could go along +and do business in their old-fashioned way without being disturbed. This +bucaneer! This upstart! What a shrewd, quick, forceful move he had made! It +irritated Mr. Schryhart greatly. +</p> + +<p> +The end of all this was a compromise in which Cowperwood accepted one-half of +the surplus stock of the new general issue, and two for one of every share of +stock for which his new companies had been organized, at the same time selling +out to the old companies—clearing out completely. It was a most +profitable deal, and he was enabled to provide handsomely not only for Mr. +McKenty and Addison, but for all the others connected with him. It was a +splendid coup, as McKenty and Addison assured him. Having now done so much, he +began to turn his eyes elsewhere for other fields to conquer. +</p> + +<p> +But this victory in one direction brought with it corresponding reverses in +another: the social future of Cowperwood and Aileen was now in great jeopardy. +Schryhart, who was a force socially, having met with defeat at the hands of +Cowperwood, was now bitterly opposed to him. Norrie Simms naturally sided with +his old associates. But the worst blow came through Mrs. Anson Merrill. Shortly +after the housewarming, and when the gas argument and the conspiracy charges +were rising to their heights, she had been to New York and had there chanced to +encounter an old acquaintance of hers, Mrs. Martyn Walker, of Philadelphia, one +of the circle which Cowperwood once upon a time had been vainly ambitious to +enter. Mrs. Merrill, aware of the interest the Cowperwoods had aroused in Mrs. +Simms and others, welcomed the opportunity to find out something definite. +</p> + +<p> +“By the way, did you ever chance to hear of a Frank Algernon Cowperwood +or his wife in Philadelphia?” she inquired of Mrs. Walker. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, my dear Nellie,” replied her friend, nonplussed that a woman +so smart as Mrs. Merrill should even refer to them, “have those people +established themselves in Chicago? His career in Philadelphia was, to say the +least, spectacular. He was connected with a city treasurer there who stole five +hundred thousand dollars, and they both went to the penitentiary. That +wasn’t the worst of it! He became intimate with some young girl—a +Miss Butler, the sister of Owen Butler, by the way, who is now such a power +down there, and—” She merely lifted her eyes. “While he was +in the penitentiary her father died and the family broke up. I even heard it +rumored that the old gentleman killed himself.” (She was referring to +Aileen’s father, Edward Malia Butler.) “When he came out of the +penitentiary Cowperwood disappeared, and I did hear some one say that he had +gone West, and divorced his wife and married again. His first wife is still +living in Philadelphia somewhere with his two children.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Merrill was properly astonished, but she did not show it. “Quite an +interesting story, isn’t it?” she commented, distantly, thinking +how easy it would be to adjust the Cowperwood situation, and how pleased she +was that she had never shown any interest in them. “Did you ever see +her—his new wife?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think so, but I forget where. I believe she used to ride and drive a +great deal in Philadelphia.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did she have red hair?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes. She was a very striking blonde.” +</p> + +<p> +“I fancy it must be the same person. They have been in the papers +recently in Chicago. I wanted to be sure.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Merrill was meditating some fine comments to be made in the future. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose now they’re trying to get into Chicago society?” +Mrs. Walker smiled condescendingly and contemptuously—as much at Chicago +society as at the Cowperwoods. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s possible that they might attempt something like that in the +East and succeed—I’m sure I don’t know,” replied Mrs. +Merrill, caustically, resenting the slur, “but attempting and achieving +are quite different things in Chicago.” +</p> + +<p> +The answer was sufficient. It ended the discussion. When next Mrs. Simms was +rash enough to mention the Cowperwoods, or, rather, the peculiar publicity in +connection with him, her future viewpoint was definitely fixed for her. +</p> + +<p> +“If you take my advice,” commented Mrs. Merrill, finally, +“the less you have to do with these friends of yours the better. I know +all about them. You might have seen that from the first. They can never be +accepted.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Merrill did not trouble to explain why, but Mrs. Simms through her husband +soon learned the whole truth, and she was righteously indignant and even +terrified. Who was to blame for this sort of thing, anyhow? she thought. Who +had introduced them? The Addisons, of course. But the Addisons were socially +unassailable, if not all-powerful, and so the best had to be made of that. But +the Cowperwoods could be dropped from the lists of herself and her friends +instantly, and that was now done. A sudden slump in their social significance +began to manifest itself, though not so swiftly but what for the time being it +was slightly deceptive. +</p> + +<p> +The first evidence of change which Aileen observed was when the customary cards +and invitations for receptions and the like, which had come to them quite +freely of late, began to decline sharply in number, and when the guests to her +own Wednesday afternoons, which rather prematurely she had ventured to +establish, became a mere negligible handful. At first she could not understand +this, not being willing to believe that, following so soon upon her apparent +triumph as a hostess in her own home, there could be so marked a decline in her +local importance. Of a possible seventy-five or fifty who might have called or +left cards, within three weeks after the housewarming only twenty responded. A +week later it had declined to ten, and within five weeks, all told, there was +scarcely a caller. It is true that a very few of the unimportant—those +who had looked to her for influence and the self-protecting Taylor Lord and +Kent McKibben, who were commercially obligated to Cowperwood—were still +faithful, but they were really worse than nothing. Aileen was beside herself +with disappointment, opposition, chagrin, shame. There are many natures, +rhinoceros-bided and iron-souled, who can endure almost any rebuff in the hope +of eventual victory, who are almost too thick-skinned to suffer, but hers was +not one of these. Already, in spite of her original daring in regard to the +opinion of society and the rights of the former Mrs. Cowperwood, she was +sensitive on the score of her future and what her past might mean to her. +Really her original actions could be attributed to her youthful passion and the +powerful sex magnetism of Cowperwood. Under more fortunate circumstances she +would have married safely enough and without the scandal which followed. As it +was now, her social future here needed to end satisfactorily in order to +justify herself to herself, and, she thought, to him. +</p> + +<p> +“You may put the sandwiches in the ice-box,” she said to Louis, the +butler, after one of the earliest of the “at home” failures, +referring to the undue supply of pink-and-blue-ribboned titbits which, uneaten, +honored some fine Sevres with their presence. “Send the flowers to the +hospital. The servants may drink the claret cup and lemonade. Keep some of the +cakes fresh for dinner.” +</p> + +<p> +The butler nodded his head. “Yes, Madame,” he said. Then, by way of +pouring oil on what appeared to him to be a troubled situation, he added: +“Eet’s a rough day. I suppose zat has somepsing to do weeth +it.” +</p> + +<p> +Aileen was aflame in a moment. She was about to exclaim: “Mind your +business!” but changed her mind. “Yes, I presume so,” was her +answer, as she ascended to her room. If a single poor “at home” was +to be commented on by servants, things were coming to a pretty pass. She waited +until the next week to see whether this was the weather or a real change in +public sentiment. It was worse than the one before. The singers she had engaged +had to be dismissed without performing the service for which they had come. +Kent McKibben and Taylor Lord, very well aware of the rumors now flying about, +called, but in a remote and troubled spirit. Aileen saw that, too. An affair of +this kind, with only these two and Mrs. Webster Israels and Mrs. Henry +Huddlestone calling, was a sad indication of something wrong. She had to plead +illness and excuse herself. The third week, fearing a worse defeat than before, +Aileen pretended to be ill. She would see how many cards were left. There were +just three. That was the end. She realized that her “at homes” were +a notable failure. +</p> + +<p> +At the same time Cowperwood was not to be spared his share in the distrust and +social opposition which was now rampant. +</p> + +<p> +His first inkling of the true state of affairs came in connection with a dinner +which, on the strength of an old invitation, they unfortunately attended at a +time when Aileen was still uncertain. It had been originally arranged by the +Sunderland Sledds, who were not so much socially, and who at the time it +occurred were as yet unaware of the ugly gossip going about, or at least of +society’s new attitude toward the Cowperwoods. At this time it was +understood by nearly all—the Simms, Candas, Cottons, and +Kingslands—that a great mistake had been made, and that the Cowperwoods +were by no means admissible. +</p> + +<p> +To this particular dinner a number of people, whom the latter knew, had been +invited. Uniformly all, when they learned or recalled that the Cowperwoods were +expected, sent eleventh-hour regrets—“so sorry.” Outside the +Sledds there was only one other couple—the Stanislau Hoecksemas, for whom +the Cowperwoods did not particularly care. It was a dull evening. Aileen +complained of a headache, and they went home. +</p> + +<p> +Very shortly afterward, at a reception given by their neighbors, the +Haatstaedts, to which they had long since been invited, there was an evident +shyness in regard to them, quite new in its aspect, although the hosts +themselves were still friendly enough. Previous to this, when strangers of +prominence had been present at an affair of this kind they were glad to be +brought over to the Cowperwoods, who were always conspicuous because of +Aileen’s beauty. On this day, for no reason obvious to Aileen or +Cowperwood (although both suspected), introductions were almost uniformly +refused. There were a number who knew them, and who talked casually, but the +general tendency on the part of all was to steer clear of them. Cowperwood +sensed the difficulty at once. “I think we’d better leave +early,” he remarked to Aileen, after a little while. “This +isn’t very interesting.” +</p> + +<p> +They returned to their own home, and Cowperwood to avoid discussion went +down-town. He did not care to say what he thought of this as yet. +</p> + +<p> +It was previous to a reception given by the Union League that the first real +blow was struck at him personally, and that in a roundabout way. Addison, +talking to him at the Lake National Bank one morning, had said quite +confidentially, and out of a clear sky: +</p> + +<p> +“I want to tell you something, Cowperwood. You know by now something +about Chicago society. You also know where I stand in regard to some things you +told me about your past when I first met you. Well, there’s a lot of talk +going around about you now in regard to all that, and these two clubs to which +you and I belong are filled with a lot of two-faced, double-breasted hypocrites +who’ve been stirred up by this talk of conspiracy in the papers. There +are four or five stockholders of the old companies who are members, and they +are trying to drive you out. They’ve looked up that story you told me, +and they’re talking about filing charges with the house committees at +both places. Now, nothing can come of it in either case—they’ve +been talking to me; but when this next reception comes along you’ll know +what to do. They’ll have to extend you an invitation; but they +won’t mean it.” (Cowperwood understood.) “This whole thing is +certain to blow over, in my judgment; it will if I have anything to do with it; +but for the present—” +</p> + +<p> +He stared at Cowperwood in a friendly way. +</p> + +<p> +The latter smiled. “I expected something like this, Judah, to tell you +the truth,” he said, easily. “I’ve expected it all along. You +needn’t worry about me. I know all about this. I’ve seen which way +the wind is blowing, and I know how to trim my sails.” +</p> + +<p> +Addison reached out and took his hand. “But don’t resign, whatever +you do,” he said, cautiously. “That would be a confession of +weakness, and they don’t expect you to. I wouldn’t want you to. +Stand your ground. This whole thing will blow over. They’re jealous, I +think.” +</p> + +<p> +“I never intended to,” replied Cowperwood. “There’s no +legitimate charge against me. I know it will all blow over if I’m given +time enough.” Nevertheless he was chagrined to think that he should be +subjected to such a conversation as this with any one. +</p> + +<p> +Similarly in other ways “society”—so called—was quite +able to enforce its mandates and conclusions. +</p> + +<p> +The one thing that Cowperwood most resented, when he learned of it much later, +was a snub direct given to Aileen at the door of the Norrie Simmses’; she +called there only to be told that Mrs. Simms was not at home, although the +carriages of others were in the street. A few days afterward Aileen, much to +his regret and astonishment—for he did not then know the +cause—actually became ill. +</p> + +<p> +If it had not been for Cowperwood’s eventual financial triumph over all +opposition—the complete routing of the enemy—in the struggle for +control in the gas situation—the situation would have been hard, indeed. +As it was, Aileen suffered bitterly; she felt that the slight was principally +directed at her, and would remain in force. In the privacy of their own home +they were compelled eventually to admit, the one to the other, that their house +of cards, resplendent and forceful looking as it was, had fallen to the ground. +Personal confidences between people so closely united are really the most +trying of all. Human souls are constantly trying to find each other, and rarely +succeeding. +</p> + +<p> +“You know,” he finally said to her once, when he came in rather +unexpectedly and found her sick in bed, her eyes wet, and her maid dismissed +for the day, “I understand what this is all about. To tell you the truth, +Aileen, I rather expected it. We have been going too fast, you and I. We have +been pushing this matter too hard. Now, I don’t like to see you taking it +this way, dear. This battle isn’t lost. Why, I thought you had more +courage than this. Let me tell you something which you don’t seem to +remember. Money will solve all this sometime. I’m winning in this fight +right now, and I’ll win in others. They are coming to me. Why, dearie, +you oughtn’t to despair. You’re too young. I never do. You’ll +win yet. We can adjust this matter right here in Chicago, and when we do we +will pay up a lot of scores at the same time. We’re rich, and we’re +going to be richer. That will settle it. Now put on a good face and look +pleased; there are plenty of things to live for in this world besides society. +Get up now and dress, and we’ll go for a drive and dinner down-town. You +have me yet. Isn’t that something?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes,” sighed Aileen, heavily; but she sank back again. She put +her arms about his neck and cried, as much out of joy over the consolation he +offered as over the loss she had endured. “It was as much for you as for +me,” she sighed. +</p> + +<p> +“I know that,” he soothed; “but don’t worry about it +now. You will come out all right. We both will. Come, get up.” +Nevertheless, he was sorry to see her yield so weakly. It did not please him. +He resolved some day to have a grim adjustment with society on this score. +Meanwhile Aileen was recovering her spirits. She was ashamed of her weakness +when she saw how forcefully he faced it all. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Frank,” she exclaimed, finally, “you’re always so +wonderful. You’re such a darling.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind,” he said, cheerfully. “If we don’t win +this game here in Chicago, we will somewhere.” +</p> + +<p> +He was thinking of the brilliant manner in which he had adjusted his affairs +with the old gas companies and Mr. Schryhart, and how thoroughly he would +handle some other matters when the time came. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap14"></a>CHAPTER XIV.<br/> +Undercurrents</h2> + +<p> +It was during the year that followed their social repudiation, and the next and +the next, that Cowperwood achieved a keen realization of what it would mean to +spend the rest of his days in social isolation, or at least confined in his +sources of entertainment to a circle or element which constantly reminded him +of the fact that he was not identified with the best, or, at least, not the +most significant, however dull that might be. When he had first attempted to +introduce Aileen into society it was his idea that, however tame they might +chance to find it to begin with, they themselves, once admitted, could make it +into something very interesting and even brilliant. Since the time the +Cowperwoods had been repudiated, however, they had found it necessary, if they +wished any social diversion at all, to fall back upon such various minor +elements as they could scrape an acquaintance with—passing actors and +actresses, to whom occasionally they could give a dinner; artists and singers +whom they could invite to the house upon gaining an introduction; and, of +course, a number of the socially unimportant, such as the Haatstaedts, +Hoecksemas, Videras, Baileys, and others still friendly and willing to come in +a casual way. Cowperwood found it interesting from time to time to invite a +business friend, a lover of pictures, or some young artist to the house to +dinner or for the evening, and on these occasions Aileen was always present. +The Addisons called or invited them occasionally. But it was a dull game, the +more so since their complete defeat was thus all the more plainly indicated. +</p> + +<p> +This defeat, as Cowperwood kept reflecting, was really not his fault at all. He +had been getting along well enough personally. If Aileen had only been a +somewhat different type of woman! Nevertheless, he was in no way prepared to +desert or reproach her. She had clung to him through his stormy prison days. +She had encouraged him when he needed encouragement. He would stand by her and +see what could be done a little later; but this ostracism was a rather dreary +thing to endure. Besides, personally, he appeared to be becoming more and more +interesting to men and to women. The men friends he had made he +retained—Addison, Bailey, Videra, McKibben, Rambaud, and others. There +were women in society, a number of them, who regretted his disappearance if not +that of Aileen. Occasionally the experiment would be tried of inviting him +without his wife. At first he refused invariably; later he went alone +occasionally to a dinner-party without her knowledge. +</p> + +<p> +It was during this interregnum that Cowperwood for the first time clearly began +to get the idea that there was a marked difference between him and Aileen +intellectually and spiritually; and that while he might be in accord with her +in many ways—emotionally, physically, idyllicly—there were, +nevertheless, many things which he could do alone which she could not +do—heights to which he could rise where she could not possibly follow. +Chicago society might be a negligible quantity, but he was now to contrast her +sharply with the best of what the Old World had to offer in the matter of +femininity, for following their social expulsion in Chicago and his financial +victory, he once more decided to go abroad. In Rome, at the Japanese and +Brazilian embassies (where, because of his wealth, he gained introduction), and +at the newly established Italian Court, he encountered at a distance charming +social figures of considerable significance—Italian countesses, English +ladies of high degree, talented American women of strong artistic and social +proclivities. As a rule they were quick to recognize the charm of his manner, +the incisiveness and grip of his mind, and to estimate at all its worth the +high individuality of his soul; but he could also always see that Aileen was +not so acceptable. She was too rich in her entourage, too showy. Her glowing +health and beauty was a species of affront to the paler, more sublimated souls +of many who were not in themselves unattractive. +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t that the typical American for you,” he heard a woman +remark, at one of those large, very general court receptions to which so many +are freely admitted, and to which Aileen had been determined to go. He was +standing aside talking to an acquaintance he had made—an English-speaking +Greek banker stopping at the Grand Hotel—while Aileen promenaded with the +banker’s wife. The speaker was an Englishwoman. “So gaudy, so +self-conscious, and so naive!” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood turned to look. It was Aileen, and the lady speaking was undoubtedly +well bred, thoughtful, good-looking. He had to admit that much that she said +was true, but how were you to gage a woman like Aileen, anyhow? She was not +reprehensible in any way—just a full-blooded animal glowing with a love +of life. She was attractive to him. It was too bad that people of obviously +more conservative tendencies were so opposed to her. Why could they not see +what he saw—a kind of childish enthusiasm for luxury and show which +sprang, perhaps, from the fact that in her youth she had not enjoyed the social +opportunities which she needed and longed for. He felt sorry for her. At the +same time he was inclined to feel that perhaps now another type of woman would +be better for him socially. If he had a harder type, one with keener artistic +perceptions and a penchant for just the right social touch or note, how much +better he would do! He came home bringing a Perugino, brilliant examples of +Luini, Previtali, and Pinturrichio (this last a portrait of Caesar Borgia), +which he picked up in Italy, to say nothing of two red African vases of great +size that he found in Cairo, a tall gilt Louis Fifteenth standard of carved +wood that he discovered in Rome, two ornate candelabra from Venice for his +walls, and a pair of Italian torcheras from Naples to decorate the corners of +his library. It was thus by degrees that his art collection was growing. +</p> + +<p> +At the same time it should be said, in the matter of women and the sex +question, his judgment and views had begun to change tremendously. When he had +first met Aileen he had many keen intuitions regarding life and sex, and above +all clear faith that he had a right to do as he pleased. Since he had been out +of prison and once more on his upward way there had been many a stray glance +cast in his direction; he had so often had it clearly forced upon him that he +was fascinating to women. Although he had only so recently acquired Aileen +legally, yet she was years old to him as a mistress, and the first +engrossing—it had been almost all-engrossing—enthusiasm was over. +He loved her not only for her beauty, but for her faithful enthusiasm; but the +power of others to provoke in him a momentary interest, and passion even, was +something which he did not pretend to understand, explain, or moralize about. +So it was and so he was. He did not want to hurt Aileen’s feelings by +letting her know that his impulses thus wantonly strayed to others, but so it +was. +</p> + +<p> +Not long after he had returned from the European trip he stopped one afternoon +in the one exclusive drygoods store in State Street to purchase a tie. As he +was entering a woman crossed the aisle before him, from one counter to +another—a type of woman which he was coming to admire, but only from a +rather distant point of view, seeing them going here and there in the world. +She was a dashing type, essentially smart and trig, with a neat figure, dark +hair and eyes, an olive skin, small mouth, quaint nose—all in all quite a +figure for Chicago at the time. She had, furthermore, a curious look of current +wisdom in her eyes, an air of saucy insolence which aroused Cowperwood’s +sense of mastery, his desire to dominate. To the look of provocation and +defiance which she flung him for the fraction of a second he returned a +curiously leonine glare which went over her like a dash of cold water. It was +not a hard look, however, merely urgent and full of meaning. She was the +vagrom-minded wife of a prosperous lawyer who was absorbed in his business and +in himself. She pretended indifference for a moment after the first glance, but +paused a little way off as if to examine some laces. Cowperwood looked after +her to catch a second fleeting, attracted look. He was on his way to several +engagements which he did not wish to break, but he took out a note-book, wrote +on a slip of paper the name of a hotel, and underneath: “Parlor, second +floor, Tuesday, 1 P.M.” Passing by where she stood, he put it into her +gloved hand, which was hanging by her side. The fingers closed over it +automatically. She had noted his action. On the day and hour suggested she was +there, although he had given no name. That liaison, while delightful to him, +was of no great duration. The lady was interesting, but too fanciful. +</p> + +<p> +Similarly, at the Henry Huddlestones’, one of their neighbors at the +first Michigan Avenue house they occupied, he encountered one evening at a +small dinner-party a girl of twenty-three who interested him greatly—for +the moment. Her name was not very attractive—Ella F. Hubby, as he +eventually learned—but she was not unpleasing. Her principal charm was a +laughing, hoydenish countenance and roguish eyes. She was the daughter of a +well-to-do commission merchant in South Water Street. That her interest should +have been aroused by that of Cowperwood in her was natural enough. She was +young, foolish, impressionable, easily struck by the glitter of a reputation, +and Mrs. Huddlestone had spoken highly of Cowperwood and his wife and the great +things he was doing or was going to do. When Ella saw him, and saw that he was +still young-looking, with the love of beauty in his eyes and a force of +presence which was not at all hard where she was concerned, she was charmed; +and when Aileen was not looking her glance kept constantly wandering to his +with a laughing signification of friendship and admiration. It was the most +natural thing in the world for him to say to her, when they had adjourned to +the drawing-room, that if she were in the neighborhood of his office some day +she might care to look in on him. The look he gave her was one of keen +understanding, and brought a look of its own kind, warm and flushing, in +return. She came, and there began a rather short liaison. It was interesting +but not brilliant. The girl did not have sufficient temperament to bind him +beyond a period of rather idle investigation. +</p> + +<p> +There was still, for a little while, another woman, whom he had known—a +Mrs. Josephine Ledwell, a smart widow, who came primarily to gamble on the +Board of Trade, but who began to see at once, on introduction, the charm of a +flirtation with Cowperwood. She was a woman not unlike Aileen in type, a little +older, not so good-looking, and of a harder, more subtle commercial type of +mind. She rather interested Cowperwood because she was so trig, +self-sufficient, and careful. She did her best to lure him on to a liaison with +her, which finally resulted, her apartment on the North Side being the center +of this relationship. It lasted perhaps six weeks. Through it all he was quite +satisfied that he did not like her so very well. Any one who associated with +him had Aileen’s present attractiveness to contend with, as well as the +original charm of his first wife. It was no easy matter. +</p> + +<p> +It was during this period of social dullness, however, which somewhat +resembled, though it did not exactly parallel his first years with his first +wife, that Cowperwood finally met a woman who was destined to leave a marked +impression on his life. He could not soon forget her. Her name was Rita +Sohlberg. She was the wife of Harold Sohlberg, a Danish violinist who was then +living in Chicago, a very young man; but she was not a Dane, and he was by no +means a remarkable violinist, though he had unquestionably the musical +temperament. +</p> + +<p> +You have perhaps seen the would-be’s, the nearly’s, the pretenders +in every field—interesting people all—devoted with a kind of mad +enthusiasm to the thing they wish to do. They manifest in some ways all the +externals or earmarks of their professional traditions, and yet are as sounding +brass and tinkling cymbals. You would have had to know Harold Sohlberg only a +little while to appreciate that he belonged to this order of artists. He had a +wild, stormy, November eye, a wealth of loose, brownish-black hair combed +upward from the temples, with one lock straggling Napoleonically down toward +the eyes; cheeks that had almost a babyish tint to them; lips much too rich, +red, and sensuous; a nose that was fine and large and full, but only faintly +aquiline; and eyebrows and mustache that somehow seemed to flare quite like his +errant and foolish soul. He had been sent away from Denmark (Copenhagen) +because he had been a never-do-well up to twenty-five and because he was +constantly falling in love with women who would not have anything to do with +him. Here in Chicago as a teacher, with his small pension of forty dollars a +month sent him by his mother, he had gained a few pupils, and by practising a +kind of erratic economy, which kept him well dressed or hungry by turns, he had +managed to make an interesting showing and pull himself through. He was only +twenty-eight at the time he met Rita Greenough, of Wichita, Kansas, and at the +time they met Cowperwood Harold was thirty-four and she twenty-seven. +</p> + +<p> +She had been a student at the Chicago Fine Arts School, and at various student +affairs had encountered Harold when he seemed to play divinely, and when life +was all romance and art. Given the spring, the sunshine on the lake, white +sails of ships, a few walks and talks on pensive afternoons when the city swam +in a golden haze, and the thing was done. There was a sudden Saturday afternoon +marriage, a runaway day to Milwaukee, a return to the studio now to be fitted +out for two, and then kisses, kisses, kisses until love was satisfied or eased. +</p> + +<p> +But life cannot exist on that diet alone, and so by degrees the difficulties +had begun to manifest themselves. Fortunately, the latter were not allied with +sharp financial want. Rita was not poor. Her father conducted a small but +profitable grain elevator at Wichita, and, after her sudden marriage, decided +to continue her allowance, though this whole idea of art and music in its upper +reaches was to him a strange, far-off, uncertain thing. A thin, meticulous, +genial person interested in small trade opportunities, and exactly suited to +the rather sparse social life of Wichita, he found Harold as curious as a bomb, +and preferred to handle him gingerly. Gradually, however, being a very human if +simple person, he came to be very proud of it—boasted in Wichita of Rita +and her artist husband, invited them home to astound the neighbors during the +summer-time, and the fall brought his almost farmer-like wife on to see them +and to enjoy trips, sight-seeing, studio teas. It was amusing, typically +American, naive, almost impossible from many points of view. +</p> + +<p> +Rita Sohlberg was of the semi-phlegmatic type, soft, full-blooded, with a body +that was going to be fat at forty, but which at present was deliciously +alluring. Having soft, silky, light-brown hair, the color of light dust, and +moist gray-blue eyes, with a fair skin and even, white teeth, she was +flatteringly self-conscious of her charms. She pretended in a gay, childlike +way to be unconscious of the thrill she sent through many susceptible males, +and yet she knew well enough all the while what she was doing and how she was +doing it; it pleased her so to do. She was conscious of the wonder of her +smooth, soft arms and neck, the fullness and seductiveness of her body, the +grace and perfection of her clothing, or, at least, the individuality and taste +which she made them indicate. She could take an old straw-hat form, a ribbon, a +feather, or a rose, and with an innate artistry of feeling turn it into a bit +of millinery which somehow was just the effective thing for her. She chose +naive combinations of white and blues, pinks and white, browns and pale +yellows, which somehow suggested her own soul, and topped them with great +sashes of silky brown (or even red) ribbon tied about her waist, and large, +soft-brimmed, face-haloing hats. She was a graceful dancer, could sing a +little, could play feelingly—sometimes brilliantly—and could draw. +Her art was a makeshift, however; she was no artist. The most significant thing +about her was her moods and her thoughts, which were uncertain, casual, +anarchic. Rita Sohlberg, from the conventional point of view, was a dangerous +person, and yet from her own point of view at this time she was not so at +all—just dreamy and sweet. +</p> + +<p> +A part of the peculiarity of her state was that Sohlberg had begun to +disappoint Rita—sorely. Truth to tell, he was suffering from that most +terrible of all maladies, uncertainty of soul and inability to truly find +himself. At times he was not sure whether he was cut out to be a great +violinist or a great composer, or merely a great teacher, which last he was +never willing really to admit. “I am an arteest,” he was fond of +saying. “Ho, how I suffer from my temperament!” And again: +“These dogs! These cows! These pigs!” This of other people. The +quality of his playing was exceedingly erratic, even though at times it +attained to a kind of subtlety, tenderness, awareness, and charm which brought +him some attention. As a rule, however, it reflected the chaotic state of his +own brain. He would play violently, feverishly, with a wild passionateness of +gesture which robbed him of all ability to control his own technic. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Harold!” Rita used to exclaim at first, ecstatically. Later +she was not so sure. +</p> + +<p> +Life and character must really get somewhere to be admirable, and Harold, +really and truly, did not seem to be getting anywhere. He taught, stormed, +dreamed, wept; but he ate his three meals a day, Rita noticed, and he took an +excited interest at times in other women. To be the be-all and end-all of some +one man’s life was the least that Rita could conceive or concede as the +worth of her personality, and so, as the years went on and Harold began to be +unfaithful, first in moods, transports, then in deeds, her mood became +dangerous. She counted them up—a girl music pupil, then an art student, +then the wife of a banker at whose house Harold played socially. There followed +strange, sullen moods on the part of Rita, visits home, groveling repentances +on the part of Harold, tears, violent, passionate reunions, and then the same +thing over again. What would you? +</p> + +<p> +Rita was not jealous of Harold any more; she had lost faith in his ability as a +musician. But she was disappointed that her charms were not sufficient to blind +him to all others. That was the fly in the ointment. It was an affront to her +beauty, and she was still beautiful. She was unctuously full-bodied, not quite +so tall as Aileen, not really as large, but rounder and plumper, softer and +more seductive. Physically she was not well set up, so vigorous; but her eyes +and mouth and the roving character of her mind held a strange lure. Mentally +she was much more aware than Aileen, much more precise in her knowledge of art, +music, literature, and current events; and in the field of romance she was much +more vague and alluring. She knew many things about flowers, precious stones, +insects, birds, characters in fiction, and poetic prose and verse generally. +</p> + +<p> +At the time the Cowperwoods first met the Sohlbergs the latter still had their +studio in the New Arts Building, and all was seemingly as serene as a May +morning, only Harold was not getting along very well. He was drifting. The +meeting was at a tea given by the Haatstaedts, with whom the Cowperwoods were +still friendly, and Harold played. Aileen, who was there alone, seeing a chance +to brighten her own life a little, invited the Sohlbergs, who seemed rather +above the average, to her house to a musical evening. They came. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +On this occasion Cowperwood took one look at Sohlberg and placed him exactly. +“An erratic, emotional temperament,” he thought. “Probably +not able to place himself for want of consistency and application.” But +he liked him after a fashion. Sohlberg was interesting as an artistic type or +figure—quite like a character in a Japanese print might be. He greeted +him pleasantly. +</p> + +<p> +“And Mrs. Sohlberg, I suppose,” he remarked, feelingly, catching a +quick suggestion of the rhythm and sufficiency and naive taste that went with +her. She was in simple white and blue—small blue ribbons threaded above +lacy flounces in the skin. Her arms and throat were deliciously soft and bare. +Her eyes were quick, and yet soft and babyish—petted eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“You know,” she said to him, with a peculiar rounded formation of +the mouth, which was a characteristic of her when she talked—a pretty, +pouty mouth, “I thought we would never get heah at all. There was a +fire”—she pronounced it fy-yah—“at Twelfth +Street” (the Twelfth was Twalfth in her mouth) “and the engines +were all about there. Oh, such sparks and smoke! And the flames coming out of +the windows! The flames were a very dark red—almost orange and black. +They’re pretty when they’re that way—don’t you think +so?” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood was charmed. “Indeed, I do,” he said, genially, using a +kind of superior and yet sympathetic air which he could easily assume on +occasion. He felt as though Mrs. Sohlberg might be a charming daughter to +him—she was so cuddling and shy—and yet he could see that she was +definite and individual. Her arms and face, he told himself, were lovely. Mrs. +Sohlberg only saw before her a smart, cold, exact man—capable, very, she +presumed—with brilliant, incisive eyes. How different from Harold, she +thought, who would never be anything much—not even famous. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m so glad you brought your violin,” Aileen was saying to +Harold, who was in another corner. “I’ve been looking forward to +your coming to play for us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very nize ov you, I’m sure,” Sohlberg replied, with his +sweety drawl. “Such a nize plaze you have here—all these loafly +books, and jade, and glass.” +</p> + +<p> +He had an unctuous, yielding way which was charming, Aileen thought. He should +have a strong, rich woman to take care of him. He was like a stormy, erratic +boy. +</p> + +<p> +After refreshments were served Sohlberg played. Cowperwood was interested by +his standing figure—his eyes, his hair—but he was much more +interested in Mrs. Sohlberg, to whom his look constantly strayed. He watched +her hands on the keys, her fingers, the dimples at her elbows. What an adorable +mouth, he thought, and what light, fluffy hair! But, more than that, there was +a mood that invested it all—a bit of tinted color of the mind that +reached him and made him sympathetic and even passionate toward her. She was +the kind of woman he would like. She was somewhat like Aileen when she was six +years younger (Aileen was now thirty-three, and Mrs. Sohlberg twenty-seven), +only Aileen had always been more robust, more vigorous, less nebulous. Mrs. +Sohlberg (he finally thought it out for himself) was like the rich tinted +interior of a South Sea oyster-shell—warm, colorful, delicate. But there +was something firm there, too. Nowhere in society had he seen any one like her. +She was rapt, sensuous, beautiful. He kept his eyes on her until finally she +became aware that he was gazing at her, and then she looked back at him in an +arch, smiling way, fixing her mouth in a potent line. Cowperwood was +captivated. Was she vulnerable? was his one thought. Did that faint smile mean +anything more than mere social complaisance? Probably not, but could not a +temperament so rich and full be awakened to feeling by his own? When she was +through playing he took occasion to say: “Wouldn’t you like to +stroll into the gallery? Are you fond of pictures?” He gave her his arm. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, you know,” said Mrs. Sohlberg, quaintly—very +captivatingly, he thought, because she was so pretty—“at one time I +thought I was going to be a great artist. Isn’t that funny! I sent my +father one of my drawings inscribed ‘to whom I owe it all.’ You +would have to see the drawing to see how funny that is.” +</p> + +<p> +She laughed softly. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood responded with a refreshed interest in life. Her laugh was as +grateful to him as a summer wind. “See,” he said, gently, as they +entered the room aglow with the soft light produced by guttered jets, +“here is a Luini bought last winter.” It was “The Mystic +Marriage of St. Catharine.” He paused while she surveyed the rapt +expression of the attenuated saint. “And here,” he went on, +“is my greatest find so far.” They were before the crafty +countenance of Caesar Borgia painted by Pinturrichio. +</p> + +<p> +“What a strange face!” commented Mrs. Sohlberg, naively. “I +didn’t know any one had ever painted him. He looks somewhat like an +artist himself, doesn’t he?” She had never read the involved and +quite Satanic history of this man, and only knew the rumor of his crimes and +machinations. +</p> + +<p> +“He was, in his way,” smiled Cowperwood, who had had an outline of +his life, and that of his father, Pope Alexander VI., furnished him at the time +of the purchase. Only so recently had his interest in Caesar Borgia begun. Mrs. +Sohlberg scarcely gathered the sly humor of it. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes, and here is Mrs. Cowperwood,” she commented, turning to +the painting by Van Beers. “It’s high in key, isn’t +it?” she said, loftily, but with an innocent loftiness that appealed to +him. He liked spirit and some presumption in a woman. “What brilliant +colors! I like the idea of the garden and the clouds.” +</p> + +<p> +She stepped back, and Cowperwood, interested only in her, surveyed the line of +her back and the profile of her face. Such co-ordinated perfection of line and +color! +</p> + +<p> +“Where every motion weaves and sings,” he might have commented. +Instead he said: “That was in Brussels. The clouds were an afterthought, +and that vase on the wall, too.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s very good, I think,” commented Mrs. Sohlberg, and moved +away. +</p> + +<p> +“How do you like this Israels?” he asked. It was the painting +called “The Frugal Meal.” +</p> + +<p> +“I like it,” she said, “and also your Bastien Le-Page,” +referring to “The Forge.” “But I think your old masters are +much more interesting. If you get many more you ought to put them together in a +room. Don’t you think so? I don’t care for your Gerome very +much.” She had a cute drawl which he considered infinitely alluring. +</p> + +<p> +“Why not?” asked Cowperwood. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it’s rather artificial; don’t you think so? I like the +color, but the women’s bodies are too perfect, I should say. It’s +very pretty, though.” +</p> + +<p> +He had little faith in the ability of women aside from their value as objects +of art; and yet now and then, as in this instance, they revealed a sweet +insight which sharpened his own. Aileen, he reflected, would not be capable of +making a remark such as this. She was not as beautiful now as this +woman—not as alluringly simple, naive, delicious, nor yet as wise. Mrs. +Sohlberg, he reflected shrewdly, had a kind of fool for a husband. Would she +take an interest in him, Frank Cowperwood? Would a woman like this surrender on +any basis outside of divorce and marriage? He wondered. On her part, Mrs. +Sohlberg was thinking what a forceful man Cowperwood was, and how close he had +stayed by her. She felt his interest, for she had often seen these symptoms in +other men and knew what they meant. She knew the pull of her own beauty, and, +while she heightened it as artfully as she dared, yet she kept aloof, too, +feeling that she had never met any one as yet for whom it was worth while to be +different. But Cowperwood—he needed someone more soulful than Aileen, she +thought. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap15"></a>CHAPTER XV.<br/> +A New Affection</h2> + +<p> +The growth of a relationship between Cowperwood and Rita Sohlberg was fostered +quite accidentally by Aileen, who took a foolishly sentimental interest in +Harold which yet was not based on anything of real meaning. She liked him +because he was a superlatively gracious, flattering, emotional man where +women—pretty women—were concerned. She had some idea she could send +him pupils, and, anyhow, it was nice to call at the Sohlberg studio. Her social +life was dull enough as it was. So she went, and Cowperwood, mindful of Mrs. +Sohlberg, came also. Shrewd to the point of destruction, he encouraged Aileen +in her interest in them. He suggested that she invite them to dinner, that they +give a musical at which Sohlberg could play and be paid. There were boxes at +the theaters, tickets for concerts sent, invitations to drive Sundays or other +days. +</p> + +<p> +The very chemistry of life seems to play into the hands of a situation of this +kind. Once Cowperwood was thinking vividly, forcefully, of her, Rita began to +think in like manner of him. Hourly he grew more attractive, a strange, +gripping man. Beset by his mood, she was having the devil’s own time with +her conscience. Not that anything had been said as yet, but he was investing +her, gradually beleaguering her, sealing up, apparently, one avenue after +another of escape. One Thursday afternoon, when neither Aileen nor he could +attend the Sohlberg tea, Mrs. Sohlberg received a magnificent bunch of +Jacqueminot roses. “For your nooks and corners,” said a card. She +knew well enough from whom it came and what it was worth. There were all of +fifty dollars worth of roses. It gave her breath of a world of money that she +had never known. Daily she saw the name of his banking and brokerage firm +advertised in the papers. Once she met him in Merrill’s store at noon, +and he invited her to lunch; but she felt obliged to decline. Always he looked +at her with such straight, vigorous eyes. To think that her beauty had done or +was doing this! Her mind, quite beyond herself, ran forward to an hour when +perhaps this eager, magnetic man would take charge of her in a way never +dreamed of by Harold. But she went on practising, shopping, calling, reading, +brooding over Harold’s inefficiency, and stopping oddly sometimes to +think—the etherealized grip of Cowperwood upon her. Those strong hands of +his—how fine they were—and those large, soft-hard, incisive eyes. +The puritanism of Wichita (modified sometime since by the art life of Chicago, +such as it was) was having a severe struggle with the manipulative subtlety of +the ages—represented in this man. +</p> + +<p> +“You know you are very elusive,” he said to her one evening at the +theater when he sat behind her during the entr’acte, and Harold and +Aileen had gone to walk in the foyer. The hubbub of conversation drowned the +sound of anything that might be said. Mrs. Sohlberg was particularly pleasing +in a lacy evening gown. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” she replied, amusedly, flattered by his attention and acutely +conscious of his physical nearness. By degrees she had been yielding herself to +his mood, thrilling at his every word. “It seems to me I am very +stable,” she went on. “I’m certainly substantial +enough.” +</p> + +<p> +She looked at her full, smooth arm lying on her lap. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood, who was feeling all the drag of her substantiality, but in addition +the wonder of her temperament, which was so much richer than Aileen’s, +was deeply moved. Those little blood moods that no words ever (or rarely) +indicate were coming to him from her—faint zephyr-like emanations of +emotions, moods, and fancies in her mind which allured him. She was like Aileen +in animality, but better, still sweeter, more delicate, much richer +spiritually. Or was he just tired of Aileen for the present, he asked himself +at times. No, no, he told himself that could not be. Rita Sohlberg was by far +the most pleasing woman he had ever known. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but elusive, just the same,” he went on, leaning toward her. +“You remind me of something that I can find no word for—a bit of +color or a perfume or tone—a flash of something. I follow you in my +thoughts all the time now. Your knowledge of art interests me. I like your +playing—it is like you. You make me think of delightful things that have +nothing to do with the ordinary run of my life. Do you understand?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is very nice,” she said, “if I do.” She took a +breath, softly, dramatically. “You make me think vain things, you +know.” (Her mouth was a delicious O.) “You paint a pretty +picture.” She was warm, flushed, suffused with a burst of her own +temperament. +</p> + +<p> +“You are like that,” he went on, insistently. “You make me +feel like that all the time. You know,” he added, leaning over her chair, +“I sometimes think you have never lived. There is so much that would +complete your perfectness. I should like to send you abroad or take +you—anyhow, you should go. You are very wonderful to me. Do you find me +at all interesting to you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but”—she paused—“you know I am afraid of +all this and of you.” Her mouth had that same delicious formation which +had first attracted him. “I don’t think we had better talk like +this, do you? Harold is very jealous, or would be. What do you suppose Mrs. +Cowperwood would think?” +</p> + +<p> +“I know very well, but we needn’t stop to consider that now, need +we? It will do her no harm to let me talk to you. Life is between individuals, +Rita. You and I have very much in common. Don’t you see that? You are +infinitely the most interesting woman I have ever known. You are bringing me +something I have never known. Don’t you see that? I want you to tell me +something truly. Look at me. You are not happy as you are, are you? Not +perfectly happy?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” She smoothed her fan with her fingers. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you happy at all?” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought I was once. I’m not any more, I think.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is so plain why,” he commented. “You are so much more +wonderful than your place gives you scope for. You are an individual, not an +acolyte to swing a censer for another. Mr. Sohlberg is very interesting, but +you can’t be happy that way. It surprises me you haven’t seen +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” she exclaimed, with a touch of weariness, “but perhaps +I have.” +</p> + +<p> +He looked at her keenly, and she thrilled. “I don’t think +we’d better talk so here,” she replied. “You’d better +be—” +</p> + +<p> +He laid his hand on the back of her chair, almost touching her shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Rita,” he said, using her given name again, “you wonderful +woman!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” she breathed. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Cowperwood did not see Mrs. Sohlberg again for over a week—ten days +exactly—when one afternoon Aileen came for him in a new kind of trap, +having stopped first to pick up the Sohlbergs. Harold was up in front with her +and she had left a place behind for Cowperwood with Rita. She did not in the +vaguest way suspect how interested he was—his manner was so deceptive. +Aileen imagined that she was the superior woman of the two, the better-looking, +the better-dressed, hence the more ensnaring. She could not guess what a lure +this woman’s temperament had for Cowperwood, who was so brisk, dynamic, +seemingly unromantic, but who, just the same, in his nature concealed (under a +very forceful exterior) a deep underlying element of romance and fire. +</p> + +<p> +“This is charming,” he said, sinking down beside Rita. “What +a fine evening! And the nice straw hat with the roses, and the nice linen +dress. My, my!” The roses were red; the dress white, with thin, green +ribbon run through it here and there. She was keenly aware of the reason for +his enthusiasm. He was so different from Harold, so healthy and out-of-doorish, +so able. To-day Harold had been in tantrums over fate, life, his lack of +success. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I shouldn’t complain so much if I were you,” she had +said to him, bitterly. “You might work harder and storm less.” +</p> + +<p> +This had produced a scene which she had escaped by going for a walk. Almost at +the very moment when she had returned Aileen had appeared. It was a way out. +</p> + +<p> +She had cheered up, and accepted, dressed. So had Sohlberg. Apparently smiling +and happy, they had set out on the drive. Now, as Cowperwood spoke, she glanced +about her contentedly. “I’m lovely,” she thought, “and +he loves me. How wonderful it would be if we dared.” But she said aloud: +“I’m not so very nice. It’s just the day—don’t +you think so? It’s a simple dress. I’m not very happy, though, +to-night, either.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter?” he asked, cheeringly, the rumble of the +traffic destroying the carrying-power of their voices. He leaned toward her, +very anxious to solve any difficulty which might confront her, perfectly +willing to ensnare her by kindness. “Isn’t there something I can +do? We’re going now for a long ride to the pavilion in Jackson Park, and +then, after dinner, we’ll come back by moonlight. Won’t that be +nice? You must be smiling now and like yourself—happy. You have no reason +to be otherwise that I know of. I will do anything for you that you want +done—that can be done. You can have anything you want that I can give +you. What is it? You know how much I think of you. If you leave your affairs to +me you would never have any troubles of any kind.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it isn’t anything you can do—not now, anyhow. My +affairs! Oh yes. What are they? Very simple, all.” +</p> + +<p> +She had that delicious atmosphere of remoteness even from herself. He was +enchanted. +</p> + +<p> +“But you are not simple to me, Rita,” he said, softly, “nor +are your affairs. They concern me very much. You are so important to me. I have +told you that. Don’t you see how true it is? You are a strange complexity +to me—wonderful. I’m mad over you. Ever since I saw you last I have +been thinking, thinking. If you have troubles let me share them. You are so +much to me—my only trouble. I can fix your life. Join it with mine. I +need you, and you need me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she said, “I know.” Then she paused. +“It’s nothing much,” she went on—“just a +quarrel.” +</p> + +<p> +“What over?” +</p> + +<p> +“Over me, really.” The mouth was delicious. “I can’t +swing the censer always, as you say.” That thought of his had stuck. +“It’s all right now, though. Isn’t the day lovely, +be-yoot-i-ful!” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood looked at her and shook his head. She was such a treasure—so +inconsequential. Aileen, busy driving and talking, could not see or hear. She +was interested in Sohlberg, and the southward crush of vehicles on Michigan +Avenue was distracting her attention. As they drove swiftly past budding trees, +kempt lawns, fresh-made flower-beds, open windows—the whole seductive +world of spring—Cowperwood felt as though life had once more taken a +fresh start. His magnetism, if it had been visible, would have enveloped him +like a glittering aura. Mrs. Sohlberg felt that this was going to be a +wonderful evening. +</p> + +<p> +The dinner was at the Park—an open-air chicken a la Maryland affair, with +waffles and champagne to help out. Aileen, flattered by Sohlberg’s gaiety +under her spell, was having a delightful time, jesting, toasting, laughing, +walking on the grass. Sohlberg was making love to her in a foolish, +inconsequential way, as many men were inclined to do; but she was putting him +off gaily with “silly boy” and “hush.” She was so sure +of herself that she was free to tell Cowperwood afterward how emotional he was +and how she had to laugh at him. Cowperwood, quite certain that she was +faithful, took it all in good part. Sohlberg was such a dunce and such a happy +convenience ready to his hand. “He’s not a bad sort,” he +commented. “I rather like him, though I don’t think he’s so +much of a violinist.” +</p> + +<p> +After dinner they drove along the lake-shore and out through an open bit of +tree-blocked prairie land, the moon shining in a clear sky, filling the fields +and topping the lake with a silvery effulgence. Mrs. Sohlberg was being +inoculated with the virus Cowperwood, and it was taking deadly effect. The +tendency of her own disposition, however lethargic it might seem, once it was +stirred emotionally, was to act. She was essentially dynamic and passionate. +Cowperwood was beginning to stand out in her mind as the force that he was. It +would be wonderful to be loved by such a man. There would be an eager, vivid +life between them. It frightened and drew her like a blazing lamp in the dark. +To get control of herself she talked of art, people, of Paris, Italy, and he +responded in like strain, but all the while he smoothed her hand, and once, +under the shadow of some trees, he put his hand to her hair, turned her face, +and put his mouth softly to her cheek. She flushed, trembled, turned pale, in +the grip of this strange storm, but drew herself together. It was +wonderful—heaven. Her old life was obviously going to pieces. +</p> + +<p> +“Listen,” he said, guardedly. “Will you meet me to-morrow at +three just beyond the Rush Street bridge? I will pick you up promptly. You +won’t have to wait a moment.” +</p> + +<p> +She paused, meditating, dreaming, almost hypnotized by his strange world of +fancy. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you?” he asked, eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“Wait,” she said, softly. “Let me think. Can I?” +</p> + +<p> +She paused. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she said, after a time, drawing in a deep breath. +“Yes”—as if she had arranged something in her mind. +</p> + +<p> +“My sweet,” he whispered, pressing her arm, while he looked at her +profile in the moonlight. +</p> + +<p> +“But I’m doing a great deal,” she replied, softly, a little +breathless and a little pale. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap16"></a>CHAPTER XVI.<br/> +A Fateful Interlude</h2> + +<p> +Cowperwood was enchanted. He kept the proposed tryst with eagerness and found +her all that he had hoped. She was sweeter, more colorful, more elusive than +anybody he had ever known. In their charming apartment on the North Side which +he at once engaged, and where he sometimes spent mornings, evenings, +afternoons, as opportunity afforded, he studied her with the most critical eye +and found her almost flawless. She had that boundless value which youth and a +certain insouciance of manner contribute. There was, delicious to relate, no +melancholy in her nature, but a kind of innate sufficiency which neither looked +forward to nor back upon troublesome ills. She loved beautiful things, but was +not extravagant; and what interested him and commanded his respect was that no +urgings of his toward prodigality, however subtly advanced, could affect her. +She knew what she wanted, spent carefully, bought tastefully, arrayed herself +in ways which appealed to him as the flowers did. His feeling for her became at +times so great that he wished, one might almost have said, to destroy +it—to appease the urge and allay the pull in himself, but it was useless. +The charm of her endured. His transports would leave her refreshed apparently, +prettier, more graceful than ever, it seemed to him, putting back her ruffled +hair with her hand, mouthing at herself prettily in the glass, thinking of many +remote delicious things at once. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you remember that picture we saw in the art store the other day, +Algernon?” she would drawl, calling him by his second name, which she had +adopted for herself as being more suited to his moods when with her and more +pleasing to her. Cowperwood had protested, but she held to it. “Do you +remember that lovely blue of the old man’s coat?” (It was an +“Adoration of the Magi.”) “Wasn’t that +be-yoot-i-ful?” +</p> + +<p> +She drawled so sweetly and fixed her mouth in such an odd way that he was +impelled to kiss her. “You clover blossom,” he would say to her, +coming over and taking her by the arms. “You sprig of cherry bloom. You +Dresden china dream.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now, are you going to muss my hair, when I’ve just managed to fix +it?” +</p> + +<p> +The voice was the voice of careless, genial innocence—and the eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I am, minx.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but you mustn’t smother me, you know. Really, you know you +almost hurt me with your mouth. Aren’t you going to be nice to me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sweet. But I want to hurt you, too.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, if you must.” +</p> + +<p> +But for all his transports the lure was still there. She was like a butterfly, +he thought, yellow and white or blue and gold, fluttering over a hedge of wild +rose. +</p> + +<p> +In these intimacies it was that he came quickly to understand how much she knew +of social movements and tendencies, though she was just an individual of the +outer fringe. She caught at once a clear understanding of his social point of +view, his art ambition, his dreams of something better for himself in every +way. She seemed to see clearly that he had not as yet realized himself, that +Aileen was not just the woman for him, though she might be one. She talked of +her own husband after a time in a tolerant way—his foibles, defects, +weaknesses. She was not unsympathetic, he thought, just weary of a state that +was not properly balanced either in love, ability, or insight. Cowperwood had +suggested that she could take a larger studio for herself and Harold—do +away with the petty economies that had hampered her and him—and explain +it all on the grounds of a larger generosity on the part of her family. At +first she objected; but Cowperwood was tactful and finally brought it about. He +again suggested a little while later that she should persuade Harold to go to +Europe. There would be the same ostensible reason—additional means from +her relatives. Mrs. Sohlberg, thus urged, petted, made over, assured, came +finally to accept his liberal rule—to bow to him; she became as contented +as a cat. With caution she accepted of his largess, and made the cleverest use +of it she could. For something over a year neither Sohlberg nor Aileen was +aware of the intimacy which had sprung up. Sohlberg, easily bamboozled, went +back to Denmark for a visit, then to study in Germany. Mrs. Sohlberg followed +Cowperwood to Europe the following year. At Aix-les-Bains, Biarritz, Paris, +even London, Aileen never knew that there was an additional figure in the +background. Cowperwood was trained by Rita into a really finer point of view. +He came to know better music, books, even the facts. She encouraged him in his +idea of a representative collection of the old masters, and begged him to be +cautious in his selection of moderns. He felt himself to be delightfully +situated indeed. +</p> + +<p> +The difficulty with this situation, as with all such where an individual +ventures thus bucaneeringly on the sea of sex, is the possibility of those +storms which result from misplaced confidence, and from our built-up system of +ethics relating to property in women. To Cowperwood, however, who was a law +unto himself, who knew no law except such as might be imposed upon him by his +lack of ability to think, this possibility of entanglement, wrath, rage, pain, +offered no particular obstacle. It was not at all certain that any such thing +would follow. Where the average man might have found one such liaison difficult +to manage, Cowperwood, as we have seen, had previously entered on several such +affairs almost simultaneously; and now he had ventured on yet another; in the +last instance with much greater feeling and enthusiasm. The previous affairs +had been emotional makeshifts at best—more or less idle philanderings in +which his deeper moods and feelings were not concerned. In the case of Mrs. +Sohlberg all this was changed. For the present at least she was really all in +all to him. But this temperamental characteristic of his relating to his love +of women, his artistic if not emotional subjection to their beauty, and the +mystery of their personalities led him into still a further affair, and this +last was not so fortunate in its outcome. +</p> + +<p> +Antoinette Nowak had come to him fresh from a West Side high school and a +Chicago business college, and had been engaged as his private stenographer and +secretary. This girl had blossomed forth into something exceptional, as +American children of foreign parents are wont to do. You would have scarcely +believed that she, with her fine, lithe body, her good taste in dress, her +skill in stenography, bookkeeping, and business details, could be the daughter +of a struggling Pole, who had first worked in the Southwest Chicago Steel +Mills, and who had later kept a fifth-rate cigar, news, and stationery store in +the Polish district, the merchandise of playing-cards and a back room for +idling and casual gaming being the principal reasons for its existence. +Antoinette, whose first name had not been Antoinette at all, but Minka (the +Antoinette having been borrowed by her from an article in one of the Chicago +Sunday papers), was a fine dark, brooding girl, ambitious and hopeful, who ten +days after she had accepted her new place was admiring Cowperwood and following +his every daring movement with almost excited interest. To be the wife of such +a man, she thought—to even command his interest, let alone his +affection—must be wonderful. After the dull world she had known—it +seemed dull compared to the upper, rarefied realms which she was beginning to +glimpse through him—and after the average men in the real-estate office +over the way where she had first worked, Cowperwood, in his good clothes, his +remote mood, his easy, commanding manner, touched the most ambitious chords of +her being. One day she saw Aileen sweep in from her carriage, wearing warm +brown furs, smart polished boots, a street-suit of corded brown wool, and a fur +toque sharpened and emphasized by a long dark-red feather which shot upward +like a dagger or a quill pen. Antoinette hated her. She conceived herself to be +better, or as good at least. Why was life divided so unfairly? What sort of a +man was Cowperwood, anyhow? One night after she had written out a discreet but +truthful history of himself which he had dictated to her, and which she had +sent to the Chicago newspapers for him soon after the opening of his brokerage +office in Chicago, she went home and dreamed of what he had told her, only +altered, of course, as in dreams. She thought that Cowperwood stood beside her +in his handsome private office in La Salle Street and asked her: +</p> + +<p> +“Antoinette, what do you think of me?” Antoinette was nonplussed, +but brave. In her dream she found herself intensely interested in him. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I don’t know what to think. I’m so sorry,” was her +answer. Then he laid his hand on hers, on her cheek, and she awoke. She began +thinking, what a pity, what a shame that such a man should ever have been in +prison. He was so handsome. He had been married twice. Perhaps his first wife +was very homely or very mean-spirited. She thought of this, and the next day +went to work meditatively. Cowperwood, engrossed in his own plans, was not +thinking of her at present. He was thinking of the next moves in his +interesting gas war. And Aileen, seeing her one day, merely considered her an +underling. The woman in business was such a novelty that as yet she was +<i>declassé</i>. Aileen really thought nothing of Antoinette at all. +</p> + +<p> +Somewhat over a year after Cowperwood had become intimate with Mrs. Sohlberg +his rather practical business relations with Antoinette Nowak took on a more +intimate color. What shall we say of this—that he had already wearied of +Mrs. Sohlberg? Not in the least. He was desperately fond of her. Or that he +despised Aileen, whom he was thus grossly deceiving? Not at all. She was to him +at times as attractive as ever—perhaps more so for the reason that her +self-imagined rights were being thus roughly infringed upon. He was sorry for +her, but inclined to justify himself on the ground that these other +relations—with possibly the exception of Mrs. Sohlherg—were not +enduring. If it had been possible to marry Mrs. Sohlberg he might have done so, +and he did speculate at times as to whether anything would ever induce Aileen +to leave him; but this was more or less idle speculation. He rather fancied +they would live out their days together, seeing that he was able thus easily to +deceive her. But as for a girl like Antoinette Nowak, she figured in that +braided symphony of mere sex attraction which somehow makes up that geometric +formula of beauty which rules the world. She was charming in a dark way, +beautiful, with eyes that burned with an unsatisfied fire; and Cowperwood, +although at first only in the least moved by her, became by degrees interested +in her, wondering at the amazing, transforming power of the American +atmosphere. +</p> + +<p> +“Are your parents English, Antoinette?” he asked her, one morning, +with that easy familiarity which he assumed to all underlings and minor +intellects—an air that could not be resented in him, and which was +usually accepted as a compliment. +</p> + +<p> +Antoinette, clean and fresh in a white shirtwaist, a black walking-skirt, a +ribbon of black velvet about her neck, and her long, black hair laid in a heavy +braid low over her forehead and held close by a white celluloid comb, looked at +him with pleased and grateful eyes. She had been used to such different types +of men—the earnest, fiery, excitable, sometimes drunken and swearing men +of her childhood, always striking, marching, praying in the Catholic churches; +and then the men of the business world, crazy over money, and with no +understanding of anything save some few facts about Chicago and its momentary +possibilities. In Cowperwood’s office, taking his letters and hearing him +talk in his quick, genial way with old Laughlin, Sippens, and others, she had +learned more of life than she had ever dreamed existed. He was like a vast open +window out of which she was looking upon an almost illimitable landscape. +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir,” she replied, dropping her slim, firm, white hand, +holding a black lead-pencil restfully on her notebook. She smiled quite +innocently because she was pleased. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought not,” he said, “and yet you’re American +enough.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know how it is,” she said, quite solemnly. “I +have a brother who is quite as American as I am. We don’t either of us +look like our father or mother.” +</p> + +<p> +“What does your brother do?” he asked, indifferently. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s one of the weighers at Arneel & Co. He expects to be a +manager sometime.” She smiled. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood looked at her speculatively, and after a momentary return glance she +dropped her eyes. Slowly, in spite of herself, a telltale flush rose and +mantled her brown cheeks. It always did when he looked at her. +</p> + +<p> +“Take this letter to General Van Sickle,” he began, on this +occasion quite helpfully, and in a few minutes she had recovered. She could not +be near Cowperwood for long at a time, however, without being stirred by a +feeling which was not of her own willing. He fascinated and suffused her with a +dull fire. She sometimes wondered whether a man so remarkable would ever be +interested in a girl like her. +</p> + +<p> +The end of this essential interest, of course, was the eventual assumption of +Antoinette. One might go through all the dissolving details of days in which +she sat taking dictation, receiving instructions, going about her office duties +in a state of apparently chill, practical, commercial single-mindedness; but it +would be to no purpose. As a matter of fact, without in any way affecting the +preciseness and accuracy of her labor, her thoughts were always upon the man in +the inner office—the strange master who was then seeing his men, and in +between, so it seemed, a whole world of individuals, solemn and commercial, who +came, presented their cards, talked at times almost interminably, and went +away. It was the rare individual, however, she observed, who had the long +conversation with Cowperwood, and that interested her the more. His +instructions to her were always of the briefest, and he depended on her native +intelligence to supply much that he scarcely more than suggested. +</p> + +<p> +“You understand, do you?” was his customary phrase. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she would reply. +</p> + +<p> +She felt as though she were fifty times as significant here as she had ever +been in her life before. +</p> + +<p> +The office was clean, hard, bright, like Cowperwood himself. The morning sun, +streaming in through an almost solid glass east front shaded by pale-green +roller curtains, came to have an almost romantic atmosphere for her. +Cowperwood’s private office, as in Philadelphia, was a solid cherry-wood +box in which he could shut himself completely—sight-proof, sound-proof. +When the door was closed it was sacrosanct. He made it a rule, sensibly, to +keep his door open as much as possible, even when he was dictating, sometimes +not. It was in these half-hours of dictation—the door open, as a rule, +for he did not care for too much privacy—that he and Miss Nowak came +closest. After months and months, and because he had been busy with the other +woman mentioned, of whom she knew nothing, she came to enter sometimes with a +sense of suffocation, sometimes of maidenly shame. It would never have occurred +to her to admit frankly that she wanted Cowperwood to make love to her. It +would have frightened her to have thought of herself as yielding easily, and +yet there was not a detail of his personality that was not now burned in her +brain. His light, thick, always smoothly parted hair, his wide, clear, +inscrutable eyes, his carefully manicured hands, so full and firm, his fresh +clothing of delicate, intricate patterns—how these fascinated her! He +seemed always remote except just at the moment of doing something, when, +curiously enough, he seemed intensely intimate and near. +</p> + +<p> +One day, after many exchanges of glances in which her own always fell +sharply—in the midst of a letter—he arose and closed the half-open +door. She did not think so much of that, as a rule—it had happened +before—but now, to-day, because of a studied glance he had given her, +neither tender nor smiling, she felt as though something unusual were about to +happen. Her own body was going hot and cold by turns—her neck and hands. +She had a fine figure, finer than she realized, with shapely limbs and torso. +Her head had some of the sharpness of the old Greek coinage, and her hair was +plaited as in ancient cut stone. Cowperwood noted it. He came back and, without +taking his seat, bent over her and intimately took her hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Antoinette,” he said, lifting her gently. +</p> + +<p> +She looked up, then arose—for he slowly drew her—breathless, the +color gone, much of the capable practicality that was hers completely +eliminated. She felt limp, inert. She pulled at her hand faintly, and then, +lifting her eyes, was fixed by that hard, insatiable gaze of his. Her head +swam—her eyes were filled with a telltale confusion. +</p> + +<p> +“Antoinette!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she murmured. +</p> + +<p> +“You love me, don’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +She tried to pull herself together, to inject some of her native rigidity of +soul into her air—that rigidity which she always imagined would never +desert her—but it was gone. There came instead to her a picture of the +far Blue Island Avenue neighborhood from which she emanated—its low brown +cottages, and then this smart, hard office and this strong man. He came out of +such a marvelous world, apparently. A strange foaming seemed to be in her +blood. She was deliriously, deliciously numb and happy. +</p> + +<p> +“Antoinette!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I don’t know what I think,” she gasped. “I— +Oh yes, I do, I do.” +</p> + +<p> +“I like your name,” he said, simply. “Antoinette.” And +then, pulling her to him, he slipped his arm about her waist. +</p> + +<p> +She was frightened, numb, and then suddenly, not so much from shame as shock, +tears rushed to her eyes. She turned and put her hand on the desk and hung her +head and sobbed. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Antoinette,” he asked, gently, bending over her, “are +you so much unused to the world? I thought you said you loved me. Do you want +me to forget all this and go on as before? I can, of course, if you can, you +know.” +</p> + +<p> +He knew that she loved him, wanted him. +</p> + +<p> +She heard him plainly enough, shaking. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you?” he said, after a time, giving her moments in which to +recover. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, let me cry!” she recovered herself sufficiently to say, quite +wildly. “I don’t know why I’m crying. It’s just because +I’m nervous, I suppose. Please don’t mind me now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Antoinette,” he repeated, “look at me! Will you stop?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh no, not now. My eyes are so bad.” +</p> + +<p> +“Antoinette! Come, look!” He put his hand under her chin. +“See, I’m not so terrible.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” she said, when her eyes met his again, “I—” +And then she folded her arms against his breast while he petted her hand and +held her close. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not so bad, Antoinette. It’s you as much as it is me. +You do love me, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes—oh yes!” +</p> + +<p> +“And you don’t mind?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. It’s all so strange.” Her face was hidden. +</p> + +<p> +“Kiss me, then.” +</p> + +<p> +She put up her lips and slipped her arms about him. He held her close. +</p> + +<p> +He tried teasingly to make her say why she cried, thinking the while of what +Aileen or Rita would think if they knew, but she would not at +first—admitting later that it was a sense of evil. Curiously she also +thought of Aileen, and how, on occasion, she had seen her sweep in and out. Now +she was sharing with her (the dashing Mrs. Cowperwood, so vain and superior) +the wonder of his affection. Strange as it may seem, she looked on it now as +rather an honor. She had risen in her own estimation—her sense of life +and power. Now, more than ever before, she knew something of life because she +knew something of love and passion. The future seemed tremulous with promise. +She went back to her machine after a while, thinking of this. What would it all +come to? she wondered, wildly. You could not have told by her eyes that she had +been crying. Instead, a rich glow in her brown cheeks heightened her beauty. No +disturbing sense of Aileen was involved with all this. Antoinette was of the +newer order that was beginning to privately question ethics and morals. She had +a right to her life, lead where it would. And to what it would bring her. The +feel of Cowperwood’s lips was still fresh on hers. What would the future +reveal to her now? What? +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap17"></a>CHAPTER XVII.<br/> +An Overture to Conflict</h2> + +<p> +The result of this understanding was not so important to Cowperwood as it was +to Antoinette. In a vagrant mood he had unlocked a spirit here which was fiery, +passionate, but in his case hopelessly worshipful. However much she might be +grieved by him, Antoinette, as he subsequently learned, would never sin against +his personal welfare. Yet she was unwittingly the means of first opening the +flood-gates of suspicion on Aileen, thereby establishing in the latter’s +mind the fact of Cowperwood’s persistent unfaithfulness. +</p> + +<p> +The incidents which led up to this were comparatively trivial—nothing +more, indeed, at first than the sight of Miss Nowak and Cowperwood talking +intimately in his office one afternoon when the others had gone and the fact +that she appeared to be a little bit disturbed by Aileen’s arrival. Later +came the discovery—though of this Aileen could not be absolutely +sure—of Cowperwood and Antoinette in a closed carriage one stormy +November afternoon in State Street when he was supposed to be out of the city. +She was coming out of Merrill’s store at the time, and just happened to +glance at the passing vehicle, which was running near the curb. Aileen, +although uncertain, was greatly shocked. Could it be possible that he had not +left town? She journeyed to his office on the pretext of taking old +Laughlin’s dog, Jennie, a pretty collar she had found; actually to find +if Antoinette were away at the same time. Could it be possible, she kept asking +herself, that Cowperwood had become interested in his own stenographer? The +fact that the office assumed that he was out of town and that Antoinette was +not there gave her pause. Laughlin quite innocently informed her that he +thought Miss Nowak had gone to one of the libraries to make up certain reports. +It left her in doubt. +</p> + +<p> +What was Aileen to think? Her moods and aspirations were linked so closely with +the love and success of Cowperwood that she could not, in spite of herself, but +take fire at the least thought of losing him. He himself wondered sometimes, as +he threaded the mesh-like paths of sex, what she would do once she discovered +his variant conduct. Indeed, there had been little occasional squabbles, not +sharp, but suggestive, when he was trifling about with Mrs. Kittridge, Mrs. +Ledwell, and others. There were, as may be imagined, from time to time +absences, brief and unimportant, which he explained easily, passional +indifferences which were not explained so easily, and the like; but since his +affections were not really involved in any of those instances, he had managed +to smooth the matter over quite nicely. +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you say that?” he would demand, when she suggested, apropos +of a trip or a day when she had not been with him, that there might have been +another. “You know there hasn’t. If I am going in for that sort of +thing you’ll learn it fast enough. Even if I did, it wouldn’t mean +that I was unfaithful to you spiritually.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, wouldn’t it?” exclaimed Aileen, resentfully, and with +some disturbance of spirit. “Well, you can keep your spiritual +faithfulness. I’m not going to be content with any sweet thoughts.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood laughed even as she laughed, for he knew she was right and he felt +sorry for her. At the same time her biting humor pleased him. He knew that she +did not really suspect him of actual infidelity; he was obviously so fond of +her. But she also knew that he was innately attractive to women, and that there +were enough of the philandering type to want to lead him astray and make her +life a burden. Also that he might prove a very willing victim. +</p> + +<p> +Sex desire and its fruition being such an integral factor in the marriage and +every other sex relation, the average woman is prone to study the periodic +manifestations that go with it quite as one dependent on the weather—a +sailor, or example—might study the barometer. In this Aileen was no +exception. She was so beautiful herself, and had been so much to Cowperwood +physically, that she had followed the corresponding evidences of feeling in him +with the utmost interest, accepting the recurring ebullitions of his physical +emotions as an evidence of her own enduring charm. As time went on, +however—and that was long before Mrs. Sohlberg or any one else had +appeared—the original flare of passion had undergone a form of +subsidence, though not noticeable enough to be disturbing. Aileen thought and +thought, but she did not investigate. Indeed, because of the precariousness of +her own situation as a social failure she was afraid to do so. +</p> + +<p> +With the arrival of Mrs. Sohlberg and then of Antoinette Nowak as factors in +the potpourri, the situation became more difficult. Humanly fond of Aileen as +Cowperwood was, and because of his lapses and her affection, desirous of being +kind, yet for the time being he was alienated almost completely from her. He +grew remote according as his clandestine affairs were drifting or blazing, +without, however, losing his firm grip on his financial affairs, and Aileen +noticed it. It worried her. She was so vain that she could scarcely believe +that Cowperwood could long be indifferent, and for a while her sentimental +interest in Sohlberg’s future and unhappiness of soul beclouded her +judgment; but she finally began to feel the drift of affairs. The pathos of all +this is that it so quickly descends into the realm of the unsatisfactory, the +banal, the pseudo intimate. Aileen noticed it at once. She tried protestations. +“You don’t kiss me the way you did once,” and then a little +later, “You haven’t noticed me hardly for four whole days. +What’s the matter?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I don’t know,” replied Cowperwood, easily; “I +guess I want you as much as ever. I don’t see that I am any +different.” He took her in his arms and petted and caressed her; but +Aileen was suspicious, nervous. +</p> + +<p> +The psychology of the human animal, when confronted by these tangles, these +ripping tides of the heart, has little to do with so-called reason or logic. It +is amazing how in the face of passion and the affections and the changing face +of life all plans and theories by which we guide ourselves fall to the ground. +Here was Aileen talking bravely at the time she invaded Mrs. Lillian +Cowperwood’s domain of the necessity of “her Frank” finding a +woman suitable to his needs, tastes, abilities, but now that the possibility of +another woman equally or possibly better suited to him was looming in the +offing—although she had no idea who it might be—she could not +reason in the same way. Her ox, God wot, was the one that was being gored. What +if he should find some one whom he could want more than he did her? Dear +heaven, how terrible that would be! What would she do? she asked herself, +thoughtfully. She lapsed into the blues one afternoon—almost +cried—she could scarcely say why. Another time she thought of all the +terrible things she would do, how difficult she would make it for any other +woman who invaded her preserves. However, she was not sure. Would she declare +war if she discovered another? She knew she would eventually; and yet she knew, +too, that if she did, and Cowperwood were set in his passion, thoroughly +alienated, it would do no good. It would be terrible, but what could she do to +win him back? That was the issue. Once warned, however, by her suspicious +questioning, Cowperwood was more mechanically attentive than ever. He did his +best to conceal his altered mood—his enthusiasms for Mrs. Sohlberg, his +interest in Antoinette Nowak—and this helped somewhat. +</p> + +<p> +But finally there was a detectable change. Aileen noticed it first after they +had been back from Europe nearly a year. At this time she was still interested +in Sohlberg, but in a harmlessly flirtatious way. She thought he might be +interesting physically, but would he be as delightful as Cowperwood? Never! +When she felt that Cowperwood himself might be changing she pulled herself up +at once, and when Antoinette appeared—the carriage +incident—Sohlberg lost his, at best, unstable charm. She began to +meditate on what a terrible thing it would be to lose Cowperwood, seeing that +she had failed to establish herself socially. Perhaps that had something to do +with his defection. No doubt it had. Yet she could not believe, after all his +protestations of affection in Philadelphia, after all her devotion to him in +those dark days of his degradation and punishment, that he would really turn on +her. No, he might stray momentarily, but if she protested enough, made a scene, +perhaps, he would not feel so free to injure her—he would remember and be +loving and devoted again. After seeing him, or imagining she had seen him, in +the carriage, she thought at first that she would question him, but later +decided that she would wait and watch more closely. Perhaps he was beginning to +run around with other women. There was safety in numbers—that she knew. +Her heart, her pride, was hurt, but not broken. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap18"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.<br/> +The Clash</h2> + +<p> +The peculiar personality of Rita Sohlberg was such that by her very action she +ordinarily allayed suspicion, or rather distracted it. Although a novice, she +had a strange ease, courage, or balance of soul which kept her whole and +self-possessed under the most trying of circumstances. She might have been +overtaken in the most compromising of positions, but her manner would always +have indicated ease, a sense of innocence, nothing unusual, for she had no +sense of moral degradation in this matter—no troublesome emotion as to +what was to flow from a relationship of this kind, no worry as to her own soul, +sin, social opinion, or the like. She was really interested in art and +life—a pagan, in fact. Some people are thus hardily equipped. It is the +most notable attribute of the hardier type of personalities—not +necessarily the most brilliant or successful. You might have said that her soul +was naively unconscious of the agony of others in loss. She would have taken +any loss to herself with an amazing equableness—some qualms, of course, +but not many—because her vanity and sense of charm would have made her +look forward to something better or as good. +</p> + +<p> +She had called on Aileen quite regularly in the past, with or without Harold, +and had frequently driven with the Cowperwoods or joined them at the theater or +elsewhere. She had decided, after becoming intimate with Cowperwood, to study +art again, which was a charming blind, for it called for attendance at +afternoon or evening classes which she frequently skipped. Besides, since +Harold had more money he was becoming gayer, more reckless and enthusiastic +over women, and Cowperwood deliberately advised her to encourage him in some +liaison which, in case exposure should subsequently come to them, would +effectually tie his hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Let him get in some affair,” Cowperwood told Rita. +“We’ll put detectives on his trail and get evidence. He won’t +have a word to say.” +</p> + +<p> +“We don’t really need to do that,” she protested sweetly, +naively. “He’s been in enough scrapes as it is. He’s given me +some of the letters—” (she pronounced it +“lettahs”)—“written him.” +</p> + +<p> +“But we’ll need actual witnesses if we ever need anything at all. +Just tell me when he’s in love again, and I’ll do the rest.” +</p> + +<p> +“You know I think,” she drawled, amusingly, “that he is now. +I saw him on the street the other day with one of his students—rather a +pretty girl, too.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood was pleased. Under the circumstances he would almost have been +willing—not quite—for Aileen to succumb to Sohlberg in order to +entrap her and make his situation secure. Yet he really did not wish it in the +last analysis—would have been grieved temporarily if she had deserted +him. However, in the case of Sohlberg, detectives were employed, the new affair +with the flighty pupil was unearthed and sworn to by witnesses, and this, +combined with the “lettahs” held by Rita, constituted ample +material wherewith to “hush up” the musician if ever he became +unduly obstreperous. So Cowperwood and Rita’s state was quite +comfortable. +</p> + +<p> +But Aileen, meditating over Antoinette Nowak, was beside herself with +curiosity, doubt, worry. She did not want to injure Cowperwood in any way after +his bitter Philadelphia experience, and yet when she thought of his deserting +her in this way she fell into a great rage. Her vanity, as much as her love, +was hurt. What could she do to justify or set at rest her suspicions? Watch him +personally? She was too dignified and vain to lurk about street-corners or +offices or hotels. Never! Start a quarrel without additional +evidence—that would be silly. He was too shrewd to give her further +evidence once she spoke. He would merely deny it. She brooded irritably, +recalling after a time, and with an aching heart, that her father had put +detectives on her track once ten years before, and had actually discovered her +relations with Cowperwood and their rendezvous. Bitter as that memory +was—torturing—yet now the same means seemed not too abhorrent to +employ under the circumstances. No harm had come to Cowperwood in the former +instance, she reasoned to herself—no especial harm—from that +discovery (this was not true), and none would come to him now. (This also was +not true.) But one must forgive a fiery, passionate soul, wounded to the quick, +some errors of judgment. Her thought was that she would first be sure just what +it was her beloved was doing, and then decide what course to take. But she knew +that she was treading on dangerous ground, and mentally she recoiled from the +consequences which might follow. He might leave her if she fought him too +bitterly. He might treat her as he had treated his first wife, Lillian. +</p> + +<p> +She studied her liege lord curiously these days, wondering if it were true that +he had deserted her already, as he had deserted his first wife thirteen years +before, wondering if he could really take up with a girl as common as +Antoinette Nowak—wondering, wondering, wondering—half afraid and +yet courageous. What could be done with him? If only he still loved her all +would be well yet—but oh! +</p> + +<p> +The detective agency to which she finally applied, after weeks of soul-racking +suspense, was one of those disturbingly human implements which many are not +opposed to using on occasion, when it is the only means of solving a troublous +problem of wounded feelings or jeopardized interests. Aileen, being obviously +rich, was forthwith shamefully overcharged; but the services agreed upon were +well performed. To her amazement, chagrin, and distress, after a few weeks of +observation Cowperwood was reported to have affairs not only with Antoinette +Nowak, whom she did suspect, but also with Mrs. Sohlberg. And these two affairs +at one and the same time. For the moment it left Aileen actually stunned and +breathless. +</p> + +<p> +The significance of Rita Sohlberg to her in this hour was greater than that of +any woman before or after. Of all living things, women dread women most of all, +and of all women the clever and beautiful. Rita Sohlberg had been growing on +Aileen as a personage, for she had obviously been prospering during this past +year, and her beauty had been amazingly enhanced thereby. Once Aileen had +encountered Rita in a light trap on the Avenue, very handsome and very new, and +she had commented on it to Cowperwood, whose reply had been: “Her father +must be making some money. Sohlberg could never earn it for her.” +</p> + +<p> +Aileen sympathized with Harold because of his temperament, but she knew that +what Cowperwood said was true. +</p> + +<p> +Another time, at a box-party at the theater, she had noted the rich +elaborateness of Mrs. Sohlberg’s dainty frock, the endless pleatings of +pale silk, the startling charm of the needlework and the +ribbons—countless, rosetted, small—that meant hard work on the part +of some one. +</p> + +<p> +“How lovely this is,” she had commented. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” Rita had replied, airily; “I thought, don’t you +know, my dressmaker would never get done working on it.” +</p> + +<p> +It had cost, all told, two hundred and twenty dollars, and Cowperwood had +gladly paid the bill. +</p> + +<p> +Aileen went home at the time thinking of Rita’s taste and of how well she +had harmonized her materials to her personality. She was truly charming. +</p> + +<p> +Now, however, when it appeared that the same charm that had appealed to her had +appealed to Cowperwood, she conceived an angry, animal opposition to it all. +Rita Sohlberg! Ha! A lot of satisfaction she’d get knowing as she would +soon, that Cowperwood was sharing his affection for her with Antoinette +Nowak—a mere stenographer. And a lot of satisfaction Antoinette would +get—the cheap upstart—when she learned, as she would, that +Cowperwood loved her so lightly that he would take an apartment for Rita +Sohlberg and let a cheap hotel or an assignation-house do for her. +</p> + +<p> +But in spite of this savage exultation her thoughts kept coming back to +herself, to her own predicament, to torture and destroy her. Cowperwood, the +liar! Cowperwood, the pretender! Cowperwood, the sneak! At one moment she +conceived a kind of horror of the man because of all his protestations to her; +at the next a rage—bitter, swelling; at the next a pathetic realization +of her own altered position. Say what one will, to take the love of a man like +Cowperwood away from a woman like Aileen was to leave her high and dry on land, +as a fish out of its native element, to take all the wind out of her +sails—almost to kill her. Whatever position she had once thought to hold +through him, was now jeopardized. Whatever joy or glory she had had in being +Mrs. Frank Algernon Cowperwood, it was now tarnished. She sat in her room, this +same day after the detectives had given their report, a tired look in her eyes, +the first set lines her pretty mouth had ever known showing about it, her past +and her future whirling painfully and nebulously in her brain. Suddenly she got +up, and, seeing Cowperwood’s picture on her dresser, his still impressive +eyes contemplating her, she seized it and threw it on the floor, stamping on +his handsome face with her pretty foot, and raging at him in her heart. The +dog! The brute! Her brain was full of the thought of Rita’s white arms +about him, of his lips to hers. The spectacle of Rita’s fluffy gowns, her +enticing costumes, was in her eyes. Rita should not have him; she should not +have anything connected with him, nor, for that matter, Antoinette Nowak, +either—the wretched upstart, the hireling. To think he should stoop to an +office stenographer! Once on that thought, she decided that he should not be +allowed to have a woman as an assistant any more. He owed it to her to love her +after all she had done for him, the coward, and to let other women alone. Her +brain whirled with strange thoughts. She was really not sane in her present +state. She was so wrought up by her prospective loss that she could only think +of rash, impossible, destructive things to do. She dressed swiftly, feverishly, +and, calling a closed carriage from the coach-house, ordered herself to be +driven to the New Arts Building. She would show this rosy cat of a woman, this +smiling piece of impertinence, this she-devil, whether she would lure +Cowperwood away. She meditated as she rode. She would not sit back and be +robbed as Mrs. Cowperwood had been by her. Never! He could not treat her that +way. She would die first! She would kill Rita Sohlberg and Antoinette Nowak and +Cowperwood and herself first. She would prefer to die that way rather than lose +his love. Oh yes, a thousand times! Fortunately, Rita Sohlberg was not at the +New Arts Building, or Sohlberg, either. They had gone to a reception. Nor was +she at the apartment on the North Side, where, under the name of Jacobs, as +Aileen had been informed by the detectives, she and Cowperwood kept occasional +tryst. Aileen hesitated for a moment, feeling it useless to wait, then she +ordered the coachman to drive to her husband’s office. It was now nearly +five o’clock. Antoinette and Cowperwood had both gone, but she did not +know it. She changed her mind, however, before she reached the office—for +it was Rita Sohlberg she wished to reach first—and ordered her coachman +to drive back to the Sohlberg studio. But still they had not returned. In a +kind of aimless rage she went home, wondering how she should reach Rita +Sohlberg first and alone. Then, to her savage delight, the game walked into her +bag. The Sohlbergs, returning home at six o’clock from some reception +farther out Michigan Avenue, had stopped, at the wish of Harold, merely to pass +the time of day with Mrs. Cowperwood. Rita was exquisite in a pale-blue and +lavender concoction, with silver braid worked in here and there. Her gloves and +shoes were pungent bits of romance, her hat a dream of graceful lines. At the +sight of her, Aileen, who was still in the hall and had opened the door +herself, fairly burned to seize her by the throat and strike her; but she +restrained herself sufficiently to say, “Come in.” She still had +sense enough and self-possession enough to conceal her wrath and to close the +door. Beside his wife Harold was standing, offensively smug and inefficient in +the fashionable frock-coat and silk hat of the time, a restraining influence as +yet. He was bowing and smiling: +</p> + +<p> +“Oh.” This sound was neither an “oh” nor an +“ah,” but a kind of Danish inflected “awe,” which was +usually not unpleasing to hear. “How are you, once more, Meeses +Cowperwood? It eez sudge a pleasure to see you again—awe.” +</p> + +<p> +“Won’t you two just go in the reception-room a moment,” said +Aileen, almost hoarsely. “I’ll be right in. I want to get +something.” Then, as an afterthought, she called very sweetly: “Oh, +Mrs. Sohlberg, won’t you come up to my room for a moment? I have +something I want to show you.” +</p> + +<p> +Rita responded promptly. She always felt it incumbent upon her to be very nice +to Aileen. +</p> + +<p> +“We have only a moment to stay,” she replied, archly and sweetly, +and coming out in the hall, “but I’ll come up.” +</p> + +<p> +Aileen stayed to see her go first, then followed up-stairs swiftly, surely, +entered after Rita, and closed the door. With a courage and rage born of a +purely animal despair, she turned and locked it; then she wheeled swiftly, her +eyes lit with a savage fire, her cheeks pale, but later aflame, her hands, her +fingers working in a strange, unconscious way. +</p> + +<p> +“So,” she said, looking at Rita, and coming toward her quickly and +angrily, “you’ll steal my husband, will you? You’ll live in a +secret apartment, will you? You’ll come here smiling and lying to me, +will you? You beast! You cat! You prostitute! I’ll show you now! You +tow-headed beast! I know you now for what you are! I’ll teach you once +for all! Take that, and that, and that!” +</p> + +<p> +Suiting action to word, Aileen had descended upon her whirlwind, animal +fashion, striking, scratching, choking, tearing her visitor’s hat from +her head, ripping the laces from her neck, beating her in the face, and +clutching violently at her hair and throat to choke and mar her beauty if she +could. For the moment she was really crazy with rage. +</p> + +<p> +By the suddenness of this onslaught Rita Sohlberg was taken back completely. It +all came so swiftly, so terribly, she scarcely realized what was happening +before the storm was upon her. There was no time for arguments, pleas, +anything. Terrified, shamed, nonplussed, she went down quite limply under this +almost lightning attack. When Aileen began to strike her she attempted in vain +to defend herself, uttering at the same time piercing screams which could be +heard throughout the house. She screamed shrilly, strangely, like a wild dying +animal. On the instant all her fine, civilized poise had deserted her. From the +sweetness and delicacy of the reception atmosphere—the polite cooings, +posturings, and mouthings so charming to contemplate, so alluring in +her—she had dropped on the instant to that native animal condition that +shows itself in fear. Her eyes had a look of hunted horror, her lips and cheeks +were pale and drawn. She retreated in a staggering, ungraceful way; she writhed +and squirmed, screaming in the strong clutch of the irate and vigorous Aileen. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood entered the hall below just before the screams began. He had +followed the Sohlbergs almost immediately from his office, and, chancing to +glance in the reception-room, he had observed Sohlberg smiling, radiant, an +intangible air of self-ingratiating, social, and artistic sycophancy about him, +his long black frock-coat buttoned smoothly around his body, his silk hat still +in his hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Awe, how do you do, Meezter Cowperwood,” he was beginning to say, +his curly head shaking in a friendly manner, “I’m soa glad to see +you again” when—but who can imitate a scream of terror? We have no +words, no symbols even, for those essential sounds of fright and agony. They +filled the hall, the library, the reception-room, the distant kitchen even, and +basement with a kind of vibrant terror. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood, always the man of action as opposed to nervous cogitation, braced +up on the instant like taut wire. What, for heaven’s sake, could that be? +What a terrible cry! Sohlberg the artist, responding like a chameleon to the +various emotional complexions of life, began to breathe stertorously, to +blanch, to lose control of himself. +</p> + +<p> +“My God!” he exclaimed, throwing up his hands, “that’s +Rita! She’s up-stairs in your wife’s room! Something must have +happened. Oh—” On the instant he was quite beside himself, +terrified, shaking, almost useless. Cowperwood, on the contrary, without a +moment’s hesitation had thrown his coat to the floor, dashed up the +stairs, followed by Sohlberg. What could it be? Where was Aileen? As he bounded +upward a clear sense of something untoward came over him; it was sickening, +terrifying. Scream! Scream! Scream! came the sounds. “Oh, my God! +don’t kill me! Help! Help!” SCREAM—this last a long, +terrified, ear-piercing wail. +</p> + +<p> +Sohlberg was about to drop from heart failure, he was so frightened. His face +was an ashen gray. Cowperwood seized the door-knob vigorously and, finding the +door locked, shook, rattled, and banged at it. +</p> + +<p> +“Aileen!” he called, sharply. “Aileen! What’s the +matter in there? Open this door, Aileen!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, my God! Oh, help! help! Oh, mercy—o-o-o-o-oh!” It was +the moaning voice of Rita. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll show you, you she-devil!” he heard Aileen calling. +“I’ll teach you, you beast! You cat, you prostitute! There! there! +there!” +</p> + +<p> +“Aileen!” he called, hoarsely. “Aileen!” Then, getting +no response, and the screams continuing, he turned angrily. +</p> + +<p> +“Stand back!” he exclaimed to Sohlberg, who was moaning helplessly. +“Get me a chair, get me a table—anything.” The butler ran to +obey, but before he could return Cowperwood had found an implement. +“Here!” he said, seizing a long, thin, heavily carved and heavily +wrought oak chair which stood at the head of the stairs on the landing. He +whirled it vigorously over his head. Smash! The sound rose louder than the +screams inside. +</p> + +<p> +Smash! The chair creaked and almost broke, but the door did not give. +</p> + +<p> +Smash! The chair broke and the door flew open. He had knocked the lock loose +and had leaped in to where Aileen, kneeling over Rita on the floor, was choking +and beating her into insensibility. Like an animal he was upon her. +</p> + +<p> +“Aileen,” he shouted, fiercely, in a hoarse, ugly, guttural voice, +“you fool! You idiot—let go! What the devil’s the matter with +you? What are you trying to do? Have you lost your mind?—you crazy +idiot!” +</p> + +<p> +He seized her strong hands and ripped them apart. He fairly dragged her back, +half twisting and half throwing her over his knee, loosing her clutching hold. +She was so insanely furious that she still struggled and cried, saying: +“Let me at her! Let me at her! I’ll teach her! Don’t you try +to hold me, you dog! I’ll show you, too, you brute—oh—” +</p> + +<p> +“Pick up that woman,” called Cowperwood, firmly, to Sohlberg and +the butler, who had entered. “Get her out of here quick! My wife has gone +crazy. Get her out of here, I tell you! This woman doesn’t know what +she’s doing. Take her out and get a doctor. What sort of a hell’s +melee is this, anyway?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” moaned Rita, who was torn and fainting, almost unconscious +from sheer terror. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll kill her!” screamed Aileen. “I’ll murder +her! I’ll murder you too, you dog! Oh”—she began striking at +him—“I’ll teach you how to run around with other women, you +dog, you brute!” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood merely gripped her hands and shook her vigorously, forcefully. +</p> + +<p> +“What the devil has got into you, anyway, you fool?” he said to +her, bitterly, as they carried Rita out. “What are you trying to do, +anyway—murder her? Do you want the police to come in here? Stop your +screaming and behave yourself, or I’ll shove a handkerchief in your +mouth! Stop, I tell you! Stop! Do you hear me? This is enough, you fool!” +He clapped his hand over her mouth, pressing it tight and forcing her back +against him. He shook her brutally, angrily. He was very strong. “Now +will you stop,” he insisted, “or do you want me to choke you quiet? +I will, if you don’t. You’re out of your mind. Stop, I tell you! So +this is the way you carry on when things don’t go to suit you?” She +was sobbing, struggling, moaning, half screaming, quite beside herself. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you crazy fool!” he said, swinging her round, and with an +effort getting out a handkerchief, which he forced over her face and in her +mouth. “There,” he said, relievedly, “now will you shut +up?” holding her tight in an iron grip, he let her struggle and turn, +quite ready to put an end to her breathing if necessary. +</p> + +<p> +Now that he had conquered her, he continued to hold her tightly, stooping +beside her on one knee, listening and meditating. Hers was surely a terrible +passion. From some points of view he could not blame her. Great was her +provocation, great her love. He knew her disposition well enough to have +anticipated something of this sort. Yet the wretchedness, shame, scandal of the +terrible affair upset his customary equilibrium. To think any one should give +way to such a storm as this! To think that Aileen should do it! To think that +Rita should have been so mistreated! It was not at all unlikely that she was +seriously injured, marred for life—possibly even killed. The horror of +that! The ensuing storm of public rage! A trial! His whole career gone up in +one terrific explosion of woe, anger, death! Great God! +</p> + +<p> +He called the butler to him by a nod of his head, when the latter, who had gone +out with Rita, hurried back. +</p> + +<p> +“How is she?” he asked, desperately. “Seriously hurt?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir; I think not. I believe she’s just fainted. She’ll +be all right in a little while, sir. Can I be of any service, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +Ordinarily Cowperwood would have smiled at such a scene. Now he was cold, +sober. +</p> + +<p> +“Not now,” he replied, with a sigh of relief, still holding Aileen +firmly. “Go out and close the door. Call a doctor. Wait in the hall. When +he comes, call me.” +</p> + +<p> +Aileen, conscious of things being done for Rita, of sympathy being extended to +her, tried to get up, to scream again; but she couldn’t; her lord and +master held her in an ugly hold. When the door was closed he said again: +“Now, Aileen, will you hush? Will you let me get up and talk to you, or +must we stay here all night? Do you want me to drop you forever after to-night? +I understand all about this, but I am in control now, and I am going to stay +so. You will come to your senses and be reasonable, or I will leave you +to-morrow as sure as I am here.” His voice rang convincingly. “Now, +shall we talk sensibly, or will you go on making a fool of +yourself—disgracing me, disgracing the house, making yourself and myself +the laughing-stock of the servants, the neighborhood, the city? This is a fine +showing you’ve made to-day. Good God! A fine showing, indeed! A brawl in +this house, a fight! I thought you had better sense—more +self-respect—really I did. You have seriously jeopardized my chances here +in Chicago. You have seriously injured and possibly killed a woman. You could +even be hanged for that. Do you hear me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, let them hang me,” groaned Aileen. “I want to +die.” +</p> + +<p> +He took away his hand from her mouth, loosened his grip upon her arms, and let +her get to her feet. She was still torrential, impetuous, ready to upbraid him, +but once standing she was confronted by him, cold, commanding, fixing her with +a fishy eye. He wore a look now she had never seen on his face before—a +hard, wintry, dynamic flare, which no one but his commercial enemies, and only +those occasionally, had seen. +</p> + +<p> +“Now stop!” he exclaimed. “Not one more word! Not one! Do you +hear me?” +</p> + +<p> +She wavered, quailed, gave way. All the fury of her tempestuous soul fell, as +the sea falls under a lapse of wind. She had had it in heart, on her lips, to +cry again, “You dog! you brute!” and a hundred other terrible, +useless things, but somehow, under the pressure of his gaze, the hardness of +his heart, the words on her lips died away. She looked at him uncertainly for a +moment, then, turning, she threw herself on the bed near by, clutched her +cheeks and mouth and eyes, and, rocking back and forth in an agony of woe, she +began to sob: +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, my God! my God! My heart! My life! I want to die! I want to +die!” +</p> + +<p> +Standing there watching her, there suddenly came to Cowperwood a keen sense of +her soul hurt, her heart hurt, and he was moved. +</p> + +<p> +“Aileen,” he said, after a moment or two, coming over and touching +her quite gently, “Aileen! Don’t cry so. I haven’t left you +yet. Your life isn’t utterly ruined. Don’t cry. This is bad +business, but perhaps it is not without remedy. Come now, pull yourself +together, Aileen!” +</p> + +<p> +For answer she merely rocked and moaned, uncontrolled and uncontrollable. +</p> + +<p> +Being anxious about conditions elsewhere, he turned and stepped out into the +hall. He must make some show for the benefit of the doctor and the servants; he +must look after Rita, and offer some sort of passing explanation to Sohlherg. +</p> + +<p> +“Here,” he called to a passing servant, “shut that door and +watch it. If Mrs. Cowperwood comes out call me instantly.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap19"></a>CHAPTER XIX.<br/> +“Hell Hath No Fury—”</h2> + +<p> +Rita was not dead by any means—only seriously bruised, scratched, and +choked. Her scalp was cut in one place. Aileen had repeatedly beaten her head +on the floor, and this might have resulted seriously if Cowperwood had not +entered as quickly as he had. Sohlberg for the moment—for some little +time, in fact—was under the impression that Aileen had truly lost her +mind, had suddenly gone crazy, and that those shameless charges he had heard +her making were the emanations of a disordered brain. Nevertheless the things +she had said haunted him. He was in a bad state himself—almost a subject +for the doctor. His lips were bluish, his cheeks blanched. Rita had been +carried into an adjoining bedroom and laid upon a bed; cold water, ointments, a +bottle of arnica had been procured; and when Cowperwood appeared she was +conscious and somewhat better. But she was still very weak and smarting from +her wounds, both mental and physical. When the doctor arrived he had been told +that a lady, a guest, had fallen down-stairs; when Cowperwood came in the +physician was dressing her wounds. +</p> + +<p> +As soon as he had gone Cowperwood said to the maid in attendance, “Go get +me some hot water.” As the latter disappeared he bent over and kissed +Rita’s bruised lips, putting his finger to his own in warning sign. +</p> + +<p> +“Rita,” he asked, softly, “are you fully conscious?” +</p> + +<p> +She nodded weakly. +</p> + +<p> +“Listen, then,” he said, bending over and speaking slowly. +“Listen carefully. Pay strict attention to what I’m saying. You +must understand every word, and do as I tell you. You are not seriously +injured. You will be all right. This will blow over. I have sent for another +doctor to call on you at your studio. Your husband has gone for some fresh +clothes. He will come back in a little while. My carriage will take you home +when you are a little stronger. You mustn’t worry. Everything will be all +right, but you must deny everything, do you hear? Everything! In so far as you +know, Mrs. Cowperwood is insane. I will talk to your husband to-morrow. I will +send you a trained nurse. Meantime you must be careful of what you say and how +you say it. Be perfectly calm. Don’t worry. You are perfectly safe here, +and you will be there. Mrs. Cowperwood will not trouble you any more. I will +see to that. I am so sorry; but I love you. I am near you all the while. You +must not let this make any difference. You will not see her any more.” +</p> + +<p> +Still he knew that it would make a difference. +</p> + +<p> +Reassured as to Rita’s condition, he went back to Aileen’s room to +plead with her again—to soothe her if he could. He found her up and +dressing, a new thought and determination in her mind. Since she had thrown +herself on the bed sobbing and groaning, her mood had gradually changed; she +began to reason that if she could not dominate him, could not make him properly +sorry, she had better leave. It was evident, she thought, that he did not love +her any more, seeing that his anxiety to protect Rita had been so great; his +brutality in restraining her so marked; and yet she did not want to believe +that this was so. He had been so wonderful to her in times past. She had not +given up all hope of winning a victory over him, and these other +women—she loved him too much—but only a separation would do it. +That might bring him to his senses. She would get up, dress, and go down-town +to a hotel. He should not see her any more unless he followed her. She was +satisfied that she had broken up the liaison with Rita Sohlberg, anyway for the +present, and as for Antoinette Nowak, she would attend to her later. Her brain +and her heart ached. She was so full of woe and rage, alternating, that she +could not cry any more now. She stood before her mirror trying with trembling +fingers to do over her toilet and adjust a street-costume. Cowperwood was +disturbed, nonplussed at this unexpected sight. +</p> + +<p> +“Aileen,” he said, finally, coming up behind her, +“can’t you and I talk this thing over peacefully now? You +don’t want to do anything that you’ll be sorry for. I don’t +want you to. I’m sorry. You don’t really believe that I’ve +ceased to love you, do you? I haven’t, you know. This thing isn’t +as bad as it looks. I should think you would have a little more sympathy with +me after all we have been through together. You haven’t any real evidence +of wrong-doing on which to base any such outburst as this.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, haven’t I?” she exclaimed, turning from the mirror, +where, sorrowfully and bitterly, she was smoothing her red-gold hair. Her +cheeks were flushed, her eyes red. Just now she seemed as remarkable to him as +she had seemed that first day, years ago, when in a red cape he had seen her, a +girl of sixteen, running up the steps of her father’s house in +Philadelphia. She was so wonderful then. It mellowed his mood toward her. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all you know about it, you liar!” she declared. +“It’s little you know what I know. I haven’t had detectives +on your trail for weeks for nothing. You sneak! You’d like to smooth +around now and find out what I know. Well, I know enough, let me tell you that. +You won’t fool me any longer with your Rita Sohlbergs and your Antoinette +Nowaks and your apartments and your houses of assignation. I know what you are, +you brute! And after all your protestations of love for me! Ugh!” +</p> + +<p> +She turned fiercely to her task while Cowperwood stared at her, touched by her +passion, moved by her force. It was fine to see what a dramatic animal she +was—really worthy of him in many ways. +</p> + +<p> +“Aileen,” he said, softly, hoping still to ingratiate himself by +degrees, “please don’t be so bitter toward me. Haven’t you +any understanding of how life works—any sympathy with it? I thought you +were more generous, more tender. I’m not so bad.” +</p> + +<p> +He eyed her thoughtfully, tenderly, hoping to move her through her love for +him. +</p> + +<p> +“Sympathy! Sympathy!” She turned on him blazing. “A lot you +know about sympathy! I suppose I didn’t give you any sympathy when you +were in the penitentiary in Philadelphia, did I? A lot of good it did +me—didn’t it? Sympathy! Bah! To have you come out here to Chicago +and take up with a lot of prostitutes—cheap stenographers and wives of +musicians! You have given me a lot of sympathy, haven’t you?—with +that woman lying in the next room to prove it!” +</p> + +<p> +She smoothed her lithe waist and shook her shoulders preparatory to putting on +a hat and adjusting her wrap. She proposed to go just as she was, and send +Fadette back for all her belongings. +</p> + +<p> +“Aileen,” he pleaded, determined to have his way, “I think +you’re very foolish. Really I do. There is no occasion for all +this—none in the world. Here you are talking at the top of your voice, +scandalizing the whole neighborhood, fighting, leaving the house. It’s +abominable. I don’t want you to do it. You love me yet, don’t you? +You know you do. I know you don’t mean all you say. You can’t. You +really don’t believe that I have ceased to love you, do you, +Aileen?” +</p> + +<p> +“Love!” fired Aileen. “A lot you know about love! A lot you +have ever loved anybody, you brute! I know how you love. I thought you loved me +once. Humph! I see how you loved me—just as you’ve loved fifty +other women, as you love that snippy little Rita Sohlberg in the next +room—the cat!—the dirty little beast!—the way you love +Antoinette Nowak—a cheap stenographer! Bah! You don’t know what the +word means.” And yet her voice trailed off into a kind of sob and her +eyes filled with tears, hot, angry, aching. Cowperwood saw them and came over, +hoping in some way to take advantage of them. He was truly sorry +now—anxious to make her feel tender toward him once more. +</p> + +<p> +“Aileen,” he pleaded, “please don’t be so bitter. You +shouldn’t be so hard on me. I’m not so bad. Aren’t you going +to be reasonable?” He put out a smoothing hand, but she jumped away. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you touch me, you brute!” she exclaimed, angrily. +“Don’t you lay a hand on me. I don’t want you to come near +me. I’ll not live with you. I’ll not stay in the same house with +you and your mistresses. Go and live with your dear, darling Rita on the North +Side if you want to. I don’t care. I suppose you’ve been in the +next room comforting her—the beast! I wish I had killed her—Oh, +God!” She tore at her throat in a violent rage, trying to adjust a +button. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood was literally astonished. Never had he seen such an outburst as +this. He had not believed Aileen to be capable of it. He could not help +admiring her. Nevertheless he resented the brutality of her assault on Rita and +on his own promiscuous tendency, and this feeling vented itself in one last +unfortunate remark. +</p> + +<p> +“I wouldn’t be so hard on mistresses if I were you, Aileen,” +he ventured, pleadingly. “I should have thought your own experience would +have—” +</p> + +<p> +He paused, for he saw on the instant that he was making a grave mistake. This +reference to her past as a mistress was crucial. On the instant she +straightened up, and her eyes filled with a great pain. “So that’s +the way you talk to me, is it?” she asked. “I knew it! I knew it! I +knew it would come!” +</p> + +<p> +She turned to a tall chest of drawers as high as her breasts, laden with +silverware, jewel-boxes, brushes and combs, and, putting her arms down, she +laid her head upon them and began to cry. This was the last straw. He was +throwing up her lawless girlhood love to her as an offense. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” she sobbed, and shook in a hopeless, wretched paroxysm. +Cowperwood came over quickly. He was distressed, pained. “I didn’t +mean that, Aileen,” he explained. “I didn’t mean it in that +way—not at all. You rather drew that out of me; but I didn’t mean +it as a reproach. You were my mistress, but good Lord, I never loved you any +the less for that—rather more. You know I did. I want you to believe +that; it’s true. These other matters haven’t been so important to +me—they really haven’t—” +</p> + +<p> +He looked at her helplessly as she moved away to avoid him; he was distressed, +nonplussed, immensely sorry. As he walked to the center of the room again she +suddenly suffered a great revulsion of feeling, but only in the direction of +more wrath. This was too much. +</p> + +<p> +“So this is the way you talk to me,” she exclaimed, “after +all I have done for you! You say that to me after I waited for you and cried +over you when you were in prison for nearly two years? Your mistress! +That’s my reward, is it? Oh!” +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly she observed her jewel-case, and, resenting all the gifts he had given +her in Philadelphia, in Paris, in Rome, here in Chicago, she suddenly threw +open the lid and, grabbing the contents by handfuls, began to toss them toward +him—to actually throw them in his face. Out they came, handfuls of gauds +that he had given her in real affection: a jade necklace and bracelet of pale +apple-green set in spun gold, with clasps of white ivory; a necklace of pearls, +assorted as to size and matched in color, that shone with a tinted, pearly +flame in the evening light; a handful of rings and brooches, diamonds, rubies, +opals, amethysts; a dog-collar of emeralds, and a diamond hair-ornament. She +flung them at him excitedly, strewing the floor, striking him on the neck, the +face, the hands. “Take that! and that! and that! There they are! I +don’t want anything more of yours. I don’t want anything more to do +with you. I don’t want anything that belongs to you. Thank God, I have +money enough of my own to live on! I hate you—I despise you—I never +want to see you any more. Oh—” And, trying to think of something +more, but failing, she dashed swiftly down the hall and down the stairs, while +he stood for just one moment overwhelmed. Then he hurried after. +</p> + +<p> +“Aileen!” he called. “Aileen, come back here! Don’t go, +Aileen!” But she only hurried faster; she opened and closed the door, and +actually ran out in the dark, her eyes wet, her heart bursting. So this was the +end of that youthful dream that had begun so beautifully. She was no better +than the others—just one of his mistresses. To have her past thrown up to +her as a defense for the others! To be told that she was no better than they! +This was the last straw. She choked and sobbed as she walked, vowing never to +return, never to see him any more. But as she did so Cowperwood came running +after, determined for once, as lawless as he was, that this should not be the +end of it all. She had loved him, he reflected. She had laid every gift of +passion and affection on the altar of her love. It wasn’t fair, really. +She must be made to stay. He caught up at last, reaching her under the dark of +the November trees. +</p> + +<p> +“Aileen,” he said, laying hold of her and putting his arms around +her waist. “Aileen, dearest, this is plain madness. It is insanity. +You’re not in your right mind. Don’t go! Don’t leave me! I +love you! Don’t you know I do? Can’t you really see that? +Don’t run away like this, and don’t cry. I do love you, and you +know it. I always shall. Come back now. Kiss me. I’ll do better. Really I +will. Give me another chance. Wait and see. Come now—won’t you? +That’s my girl, my Aileen. Do come. Please!” +</p> + +<p> +She pulled on, but he held her, smoothing her arms, her neck, her face. +</p> + +<p> +“Aileen!” he entreated. +</p> + +<p> +She tugged so that he was finally compelled to work her about into his arms; +then, sobbing, she stood there agonized but happy once more, in a way. +</p> + +<p> +“But I don’t want to,” she protested. “You don’t +love me any more. Let me go.” +</p> + +<p> +But he kept hold of her, urging, and finally she said, her head upon his +shoulder as of old, “Don’t make me come back to-night. I +don’t want to. I can’t. Let me go down-town. I’ll come back +later, maybe.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I’ll go with you,” he said, endearingly. “It +isn’t right. There are a lot of things I should be doing to stop this +scandal, but I’ll go.” +</p> + +<p> +And together they sought a street-car. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap20"></a>CHAPTER XX.<br/> +“Man and Superman”</h2> + +<p> +It is a sad commentary on all save the most chemic unions—those dark red +flowers of romance that bloom most often only for a tragic end—that they +cannot endure the storms of disaster that are wont to overtake them. A woman +like Rita Sohlberg, with a seemingly urgent feeling for Cowperwood, was yet not +so charmed by him but that this shock to her pride was a marked sedative. The +crushing weight of such an exposure as this, the Homeric laughter inherent, if +not indicated in the faulty planning, the failure to take into account +beforehand all the possibilities which might lead to such a disaster, was too +much for her to endure. She was stung almost to desperation, maddened, at the +thought of the gay, idle way in which she had walked into Mrs. +Cowperwood’s clutches and been made into a spectacle and a laughing-stock +by her. What a brute she was—what a demon! Her own physical weakness +under the circumstances was no grief to her—rather a salve to her +superior disposition; but just the same she had been badly beaten, her beauty +turned into a ragamuffin show, and that was enough. This evening, in the Lake +Shore Sanitarium, where she had been taken, she had but one thought—to +get away when it should all be over and rest her wearied brain. She did not +want to see Sohlberg any more; she did not want to see Cowperwood any more. +Already Harold, suspicious and determined to get at the truth, was beginning to +question her as to the strangeness of Aileen’s attack—her probable +reason. When Cowperwood was announced, Sohlberg’s manner modified +somewhat, for whatever his suspicions were, he was not prepared to quarrel with +this singular man as yet. +</p> + +<p> +“I am so sorry about this unfortunate business,” said Cowperwood, +coming in with brisk assurance. “I never knew my wife to become so +strangely unbalanced before. It was most fortunate that I arrived when I did. I +certainly owe you both every amend that can be made. I sincerely hope, Mrs. +Sohlberg, that you are not seriously injured. If there is anything I can +possibly do—anything either of you can suggest”—he looked +around solicitously at Sohlberg—“I shall only be too glad to do it. +How would it do for you to take Mrs. Sohlberg away for a little while for a +rest? I shall so gladly pay all expenses in connection with her +recovery.” +</p> + +<p> +Sohlberg, brooding and heavy, remained unresponsive, smoldering; Rita, cheered +by Cowperwood’s presence, but not wholly relieved by any means, was +questioning and disturbed. She was afraid there was to be a terrific scene +between them. She declared she was better and would be all right—that she +did not need to go away, but that she preferred to be alone. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s very strange,” said Sohlberg, sullenly, after a little +while. “I daunt onderstand it! I daunt onderstand it at all. Why should +she do soach a thing? Why should she say soach things? Here we have been the +best of friends opp to now. Then suddenly she attacks my wife and sais all +these strange things.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I have assured you, my dear Mr. Sohlberg, that my wife was not in +her right mind. She has been subject to spells of this kind in the past, though +never to anything so violent as this to-night. Already she has recovered her +normal state, and she does not remember. But, perhaps, if we are going to +discuss things now we had better go out in the hall. Your wife will need all +the rest she can get.” +</p> + +<p> +Once outside, Cowperwood continued with brilliant assurance: “Now, my +dear Sohlberg, what is it I can say? What is it you wish me to do? My wife has +made a lot of groundless charges, to say nothing of injuring your wife most +seriously and shamefully. I cannot tell you, as I have said, how sorry I am. I +assure you Mrs. Cowperwood is suffering from a gross illusion. There is +absolutely nothing to do, nothing to say, so far as I can see, but to let the +whole matter drop. Don’t you agree with me?” +</p> + +<p> +Harold was twisting mentally in the coils of a trying situation. His own +position, as he knew, was not formidable. Rita had reproached him over and over +for infidelity. He began to swell and bluster at once. +</p> + +<p> +“That is all very well for you to say, Mr. Cowperwood,” he +commented, defiantly, “but how about me? Where do I come in? I daunt know +what to theenk yet. It ees very strange. Supposing what your wife sais was +true? Supposing my wife has been going around weeth some one? That ees what I +want to find out. Eef she has! Eef eet is what I theenk it ees I shall—I +shall—I daunt know what I shall do. I am a very violent man.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood almost smiled, concerned as he was over avoiding publicity; he had +no fear of Sohlberg physically. +</p> + +<p> +“See here,” he exclaimed, suddenly, looking sharply at the musician +and deciding to take the bull by the horns, “you are in quite as delicate +a situation as I am, if you only stop to think. This affair, if it gets out, +will involve not only me and Mrs. Cowperwood, but yourself and your wife, and +if I am not mistaken, I think your own affairs are not in any too good shape. +You cannot blacken your wife without blackening yourself—that is +inevitable. None of us is exactly perfect. For myself I shall be compelled to +prove insanity, and I can do this easily. If there is anything in your past +which is not precisely what it should be it could not long be kept a secret. If +you are willing to let the matter drop I will make handsome provision for you +both; if, instead, you choose to make trouble, to force this matter into the +daylight, I shall leave no stone unturned to protect myself, to put as good a +face on this matter as I can.” +</p> + +<p> +“What!” exclaimed Sohlberg. “You threaten me? You try to +frighten me after your wife charges that you have been running around weeth my +wife? You talk about my past! I like that. Haw! We shall see about dis! What is +it you knaw about me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Mr. Sohlberg,” rejoined Cowperwood, calmly, “I know, +for instance, that for a long while your wife has not loved you, that you have +been living on her as any pensioner might, that you have been running around +with as many as six or seven women in as many years or less. For months I have +been acting as your wife’s financial adviser, and in that time, with the +aid of detectives, I have learned of Anna Stelmak, Jessie Laska, Bertha Reese, +Georgia Du Coin—do I need to say any more? As a matter of fact, I have a +number of your letters in my possession.” +</p> + +<p> +“Saw that ees it!” exclaimed Sohlberg, while Cowperwood eyed him +fixedly. “You have been running around weeth my wife? Eet ees true, then. +A fine situation! And you come here now weeth these threats, these lies to +booldoze me. Haw! We weel see about them. We weel see what I can do. Wait teel +I can consult a lawyer first. Then we weel see!” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood surveyed him coldly, angrily. “What an ass!” he thought. +</p> + +<p> +“See here,” he said, urging Sohlberg, for privacy’s sake, to +come down into the lower hall, and then into the street before the sanitarium, +where two gas-lamps were fluttering fitfully in the dark and wind, “I see +very plainly that you are bent on making trouble. It is not enough that I have +assured you that there is nothing in this—that I have given you my word. +You insist on going further. Very well, then. Supposing for argument’s +sake that Mrs. Cowperwood was not insane; that every word she said was true; +that I had been misconducting myself with your wife? What of it? What will you +do?” +</p> + +<p> +He looked at Sohlberg smoothly, ironically, while the latter flared up. +</p> + +<p> +“Haw!” he shouted, melodramatically. “Why, I would keel you, +that’s what I would do. I would keel her. I weel make a terrible scene. +Just let me knaw that this is so, and then see!” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly,” replied Cowperwood, grimly. “I thought so. I +believe you. For that reason I have come prepared to serve you in just the way +you wish.” He reached in his coat and took out two small revolvers, which +he had taken from a drawer at home for this very purpose. They gleamed in the +dark. “Do you see these?” he continued. “I am going to save +you the trouble of further investigation, Mr. Sohlberg. Every word that Mrs. +Cowperwood said to-night—and I am saying this with a full understanding +of what this means to you and to me—is true. She is no more insane than I +am. Your wife has been living in an apartment with me on the North Side for +months, though you cannot prove that. She does not love you, but me. Now if you +want to kill me here is a gun.” He extended his hand. “Take your +choice. If I am to die you might as well die with me.” +</p> + +<p> +He said it so coolly, so firmly, that Sohlberg, who was an innate coward, and +who had no more desire to die than any other healthy animal, paled. The look of +cold steel was too much. The hand that pressed them on him was hard and firm. +He took hold of one, but his fingers trembled. The steely, metallic voice in +his ear was undermining the little courage that he had. Cowperwood by now had +taken on the proportions of a dangerous man—the lineaments of a demon. He +turned away mortally terrified. +</p> + +<p> +“My God!” he exclaimed, shaking like a leaf. “You want to +keel me, do you? I weel not have anything to do with you! I weel not talk to +you! I weel see my lawyer. I weel talk to my wife first.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no you won’t,” replied Cowperwood, intercepting him as +he turned to go and seizing him firmly by the arm. “I am not going to +have you do anything of the sort. I am not going to kill you if you are not +going to kill me; but I am going to make you listen to reason for once. Now +here is what else I have to say, and then I am through. I am not unfriendly to +you. I want to do you a good turn, little as I care for you. To begin with, +there is nothing in those charges my wife made, not a thing. I merely said what +I did just now to see if you were in earnest. You do not love your wife any +more. She doesn’t love you. You are no good to her. Now, I have a very +friendly proposition to make to you. If you want to leave Chicago and stay away +three years or more, I will see that you are paid five thousand dollars every +year on January first—on the nail—five thousand dollars! Do you +hear? Or you can stay here in Chicago and hold your tongue and I will make it +three thousand—monthly or yearly, just as you please. But—and this +is what I want you to remember—if you don’t get out of town or hold +your tongue, if you make one single rash move against me, I will kill you, and +I will kill you on sight. Now, I want you to go away from here and behave +yourself. Leave your wife alone. Come and see me in a day or two—the +money is ready for you any time.” He paused while Sohlberg +stared—his eyes round and glassy. This was the most astonishing +experience of his life. This man was either devil or prince, or both. +“Good God!” he thought. “He will do that, too. He will really +kill me.” Then the astounding alternative—five thousand dollars a +year—came to his mind. Well, why not? His silence gave consent. +</p> + +<p> +“If I were you I wouldn’t go up-stairs again to-night,” +continued Cowperwood, sternly. “Don’t disturb her. She needs rest. +Go on down-town and come and see me to-morrow—or if you want to go back I +will go with you. I want to say to Mrs. Sohlberg what I have said to you. But +remember what I’ve told you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nau, thank you,” replied Sohlberg, feebly. “I will go +down-town. Good night.” And he hurried away. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry,” said Cowperwood to himself, defensively. +“It is too bad, but it was the only way.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap21"></a>CHAPTER XXI.<br/> +A Matter of Tunnels</h2> + +<p> +The question of Sohlberg adjusted thus simply, if brutally, Cowperwood turned +his attention to Mrs. Sohlberg. But there was nothing much to be done. He +explained that he had now completely subdued Aileen and Sohlberg, that the +latter would make no more trouble, that he was going to pension him, that +Aileen would remain permanently quiescent. He expressed the greatest solicitude +for her, but Rita was now sickened of this tangle. She had loved him, as she +thought, but through the rage of Aileen she saw him in a different light, and +she wanted to get away. His money, plentiful as it was, did not mean as much to +her as it might have meant to some women; it simply spelled luxuries, without +which she could exist if she must. His charm for her had, perhaps, consisted +mostly in the atmosphere of flawless security, which seemed to surround +him—a glittering bubble of romance. That, by one fell attack, was now +burst. He was seen to be quite as other men, subject to the same storms, the +same danger of shipwreck. Only he was a better sailor than most. She +recuperated gradually; left for home; left for Europe; details too long to be +narrated. Sohlberg, after much meditating and fuming, finally accepted the +offer of Cowperwood and returned to Denmark. Aileen, after a few days of +quarreling, in which he agreed to dispense with Antoinette Nowak, returned +home. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood was in no wise pleased by this rough denouement. Aileen had not +raised her own attractions in his estimation, and yet, strange to relate, he +was not unsympathetic with her. He had no desire to desert her as yet, though +for some time he had been growing in the feeling that Rita would have been a +much better type of wife for him. But what he could not have, he could not +have. He turned his attention with renewed force to his business; but it was +with many a backward glance at those radiant hours when, with Rita in his +presence or enfolded by his arms, he had seen life from a new and poetic angle. +She was so charming, so naive—but what could he do? +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +For several years thereafter Cowperwood was busy following the Chicago +street-railway situation with increasing interest. He knew it was useless to +brood over Rita Sohlberg—she would not return—and yet he could not +help it; but he could work hard, and that was something. His natural aptitude +and affection for street-railway work had long since been demonstrated, and it +was now making him restless. One might have said of him quite truly that the +tinkle of car-bells and the plop of plodding horses’ feet was in his +blood. He surveyed these extending lines, with their jingling cars, as he went +about the city, with an almost hungry eye. Chicago was growing fast, and these +little horse-cars on certain streets were crowded night and +morning—fairly bulging with people at the rush-hours. If he could only +secure an octopus-grip on one or all of them; if he could combine and control +them all! What a fortune! That, if nothing else, might salve him for some of +his woes—a tremendous fortune—nothing less. He forever busied +himself with various aspects of the scene quite as a poet might have concerned +himself with rocks and rills. To own these street-railways! To own these +street-railways! So rang the song of his mind. +</p> + +<p> +Like the gas situation, the Chicago street-railway situation was divided into +three parts—three companies representing and corresponding with the three +different sides or divisions of the city. The Chicago City Railway Company, +occupying the South Side and extending as far south as Thirty-ninth Street, had +been organized in 1859, and represented in itself a mine of wealth. Already it +controlled some seventy miles of track, and was annually being added to on +Indiana Avenue, on Wabash Avenue, on State Street, and on Archer Avenue. It +owned over one hundred and fifty cars of the old-fashioned, straw-strewn, +no-stove type, and over one thousand horses; it employed one hundred and +seventy conductors, one hundred and sixty drivers, a hundred stablemen, and +blacksmiths, harness-makers, and repairers in interesting numbers. Its +snow-plows were busy on the street in winter, its sprinkling-cars in summer. +Cowperwood calculated its shares, bonds, rolling-stock, and other physical +properties as totaling in the vicinity of over two million dollars. The trouble +with this company was that its outstanding stock was principally controlled by +Norman Schryhart, who was now decidedly inimical to Cowperwood, or anything he +might wish to do, and by Anson Merrill, who had never manifested any signs of +friendship. He did not see how he was to get control of this property. Its +shares were selling around two hundred and fifty dollars. +</p> + +<p> +The North Chicago City Railway was a corporation which had been organized at +the same time as the South Side company, but by a different group of men. Its +management was old, indifferent, and incompetent, its equipment about the same. +The Chicago West Division Railway had originally been owned by the Chicago City +or South Side Railway, but was now a separate corporation. It was not yet so +profitable as the other divisions of the city, but all sections of the city +were growing. The horse-bell was heard everywhere tinkling gaily. +</p> + +<p> +Standing on the outside of this scene, contemplating its promise, Cowperwood +much more than any one else connected financially with the future of these +railways at this time was impressed with their enormous +possibilities—their enormous future if Chicago continued to grow, and was +concerned with the various factors which might further or impede their +progress. +</p> + +<p> +Not long before he had discovered that one of the chief handicaps to +street-railway development, on the North and West Sides, lay in the congestion +of traffic at the bridges spanning the Chicago River. Between the street ends +that abutted on it and connected the two sides of the city ran this amazing +stream—dirty, odorous, picturesque, compact of a heavy, delightful, +constantly crowding and moving boat traffic, which kept the various bridges +momentarily turning, and tied up the street traffic on either side of the river +until it seemed at times as though the tangle of teams and boats would never +any more be straightened out. It was lovely, human, natural, +Dickensesque—a fit subject for a Daumier, a Turner, or a Whistler. The +idlest of bridge-tenders judged for himself when the boats and when the teams +should be made to wait, and how long, while in addition to the regular +pedestrians a group of idlers stood at gaze fascinated by the crowd of masts, +the crush of wagons, and the picturesque tugs in the foreground below. +Cowperwood, as he sat in his light runabout, annoyed by a delay, or dashed +swiftly forward to get over before a bridge turned, had long since noted that +the street-car service in the North and West Sides was badly hampered. The +unbroken South Side, unthreaded by a river, had no such problem, and was +growing rapidly. +</p> + +<p> +Because of this he was naturally interested to observe one day, in the course +of his peregrinations, that there existed in two places under the Chicago +River—in the first place at La Salle Street, running north and south, and +in the second at Washington Street, running east and west—two now soggy +and rat-infested tunnels which were never used by anybody—dark, dank, +dripping affairs only vaguely lighted with oil-lamp, and oozing with water. +Upon investigation he learned that they had been built years before to +accommodate this same tide of wagon traffic, which now congested at the +bridges, and which even then had been rapidly rising. Being forced to pay a +toll in time to which a slight toll in cash, exacted for the privilege of using +a tunnel, had seemed to the investors and public infinitely to be preferred, +this traffic had been offered this opportunity of avoiding the delay. However, +like many another handsome commercial scheme on paper or bubbling in the human +brain, the plan did not work exactly. These tunnels might have proved +profitable if they had been properly built with long, low-per-cent. grades, +wide roadways, and a sufficiency of light and air; but, as a matter of fact, +they had not been judiciously adapted to public convenience. Norman +Schryhart’s father had been an investor in these tunnels, and Anson +Merrill. When they had proved unprofitable, after a long period of pointless +manipulation—cost, one million dollars—they had been sold to the +city for exactly that sum each, it being poetically deemed that a growing city +could better afford to lose so disturbing an amount than any of its humble, +ambitious, and respectable citizens. That was a little affair by which members +of council had profited years before; but that also is another story. +</p> + +<p> +After discovering these tunnels Cowperwood walked through them several +times—for though they were now boarded up, there was still an +uninterrupted footpath—and wondered why they could not be utilized. It +seemed to him that if the street-car traffic were heavy enough, profitable +enough, and these tunnels, for a reasonable sum, could be made into a lower +grade, one of the problems which now hampered the growth of the North and West +Sides would be obviated. But how? He did not own the tunnels. He did not own +the street-railways. The cost of leasing and rebuilding the tunnels would be +enormous. Helpers and horses and extra drivers on any grade, however slight, +would have to be used, and that meant an extra expense. With street-car horses +as the only means of traction, and with the long, expensive grades, he was not +so sure that this venture would be a profitable one. +</p> + +<p> +However, in the fall of 1880, or a little earlier (when he was still very much +entangled with the preliminary sex affairs that led eventually to Rita +Sohlberg), he became aware of a new system of traction relating to street-cars +which, together with the arrival of the arc-light, the telephone, and other +inventions, seemed destined to change the character of city life entirely. +</p> + +<p> +Recently in San Francisco, where the presence of hills made the movement of +crowded street-railway cars exceedingly difficult, a new type of traction had +been introduced—that of the <i>cable</i>, which was nothing more than a +traveling rope of wire running over guttered wheels in a conduit, and driven by +immense engines, conveniently located in adjacent stations or +“power-houses.” The cars carried a readily manipulated +“grip-lever,” or steel hand, which reached down through a slot into +a conduit and “gripped” the moving cable. This invention solved the +problem of hauling heavily laden street-cars up and down steep grades. About +the same time he also heard, in a roundabout way, that the Chicago City +Railway, of which Schryhart and Merrill were the principal owners, was about to +introduce this mode of traction on its lines—to cable State Street, and +attach the cars of other lines running farther out into unprofitable districts +as “trailers.” At once the solution of the North and West Side +problems flashed upon him—cables. +</p> + +<p> +Outside of the bridge crush and the tunnels above mentioned, there was one +other special condition which had been for some time past attracting +Cowperwood’s attention. This was the waning energy of the North Chicago +City Railway Company—the lack of foresight on the part of its directors +which prevented them from perceiving the proper solution of their difficulties. +The road was in a rather unsatisfactory state financially—really open to +a coup of some sort. In the beginning it had been considered unprofitable, so +thinly populated was the territory they served, and so short the distance from +the business heart. Later, however, as the territory filled up, they did +better; only then the long waits at the bridges occurred. The management, +feeling that the lines were likely to be poorly patronized, had put down poor, +little, light-weight rails, and run slimpsy cars which were as cold as ice in +winter and as hot as stove-ovens in summer. No attempt had been made to extend +the down-town terminus of the several lines into the business center—they +stopped just over the river which bordered it at the north. (On the South Side +Mr. Schryhart had done much better for his patrons. He had already installed a +loop for his cable about Merrill’s store.) As on the West Side, straw was +strewn in the bottom of all the cars in winter to keep the feet of the +passengers warm, and but few open cars were used in summer. The directors were +averse to introducing them because of the expense. So they had gone on and on, +adding lines only where they were sure they would make a good profit from the +start, putting down the same style of cheap rail that had been used in the +beginning, and employing the same antique type of car which rattled and +trembled as it ran, until the patrons were enraged to the point of anarchy. +Only recently, because of various suits and complaints inaugurated, the company +had been greatly annoyed, but they scarcely knew what to do, how to meet the +onslaught. Though there was here and there a man of sense—such as +Terrence Mulgannon, the general superintendent; Edwin Kaffrath, a director; +William Johnson, the constructing engineer of the company—yet such other +men as Onias C. Skinner, the president, and Walter Parker, the vice-president, +were reactionaries of an elderly character, conservative, meditative, stingy, +and, worst of all, fearful or without courage for great adventure. It is a sad +commentary that age almost invariably takes away the incentive to new +achievement and makes “Let well enough alone” the most appealing +motto. +</p> + +<p> +Mindful of this, Cowperwood, with a now splendid scheme in his mind, one day +invited John J. McKenty over to his house to dinner on a social pretext. When +the latter, accompanied by his wife, had arrived, and Aileen had smiled on them +both sweetly, and was doing her best to be nice to Mrs. McKenty, Cowperwood +remarked: +</p> + +<p> +“McKenty, do you know anything about these two tunnels that the city owns +under the river at Washington and La Salle streets?” +</p> + +<p> +“I know that the city took them over when it didn’t need them, and +that they’re no good for anything. That was before my time, +though,” explained McKenty, cautiously. “I think the city paid a +million for them. Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, nothing much,” replied Cowperwood, evading the matter for the +present. “I was wondering whether they were in such condition that they +couldn’t be used for anything. I see occasional references in the papers +to their uselessness.” +</p> + +<p> +“They’re in pretty bad shape, I’m afraid,” replied +McKenty. “I haven’t been through either of them in years and years. +The idea was originally to let the wagons go through them and break up the +crowding at the bridges. But it didn’t work. They made the grade too +steep and the tolls too high, and so the drivers preferred to wait for the +bridges. They were pretty hard on horses. I can testify to that myself. +I’ve driven a wagon-load through them more than once. The city should +never have taken them over at all by rights. It was a deal. I don’t know +who all was in it. Carmody was mayor then, and Aldrich was in charge of public +works.” +</p> + +<p> +He relapsed into silence, and Cowperwood allowed the matter of the tunnels to +rest until after dinner when they had adjourned to the library. There he placed +a friendly hand on McKenty’s arm, an act of familiarity which the +politician rather liked. +</p> + +<p> +“You felt pretty well satisfied with the way that gas business came out +last year, didn’t you?” he inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“I did,” replied McKenty, warmly. “Never more so. I told you +that at the time.” The Irishman liked Cowperwood, and was grateful for +the swift manner in which he had been made richer by the sum of several hundred +thousand dollars. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, now, McKenty,” continued Cowperwood, abruptly, and with a +seeming lack of connection, “has it ever occurred to you that things are +shaping up for a big change in the street-railway situation here? I can see it +coming. There’s going to be a new motor power introduced on the South +Side within a year or two. You’ve heard of it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I read something of it,” replied McKenty, surprised and a little +questioning. He took a cigar and prepared to listen. Cowperwood, never smoking, +drew up a chair. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’ll tell you what that means,” he explained. +“It means that eventually every mile of street-railway track in this +city—to say nothing of all the additional miles that will be built before +this change takes place—will have to be done over on an entirely new +basis. I mean this cable-conduit system. These old companies that are hobbling +along now with an old equipment will have to make the change. They’ll +have to spend millions and millions before they can bring their equipment up to +date. If you’ve paid any attention to the matter you must have seen what +a condition these North and West Side lines are in.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s pretty bad; I know that,” commented McKenty. +</p> + +<p> +“Just so,” replied Cowperwood, emphatically. “Well, now, if I +know anything about these old managements from studying them, they’re +going to have a hard time bringing themselves to do this. Two to three million +are two to three million, and it isn’t going to be an easy matter for +them to raise the money—not as easy, perhaps, as it would be for some of +the rest of us, supposing we wanted to go into the street-railway +business.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, supposing,” replied McKenty, jovially. “But how are you +to get in it? There’s no stock for sale that I know of.” +</p> + +<p> +“Just the same,” said Cowperwood, “we can if we want to, and +I’ll show you how. But at present there’s just one thing in +particular I’d like you to do for me. I want to know if there is any way +that we can get control of either of those two old tunnels that I was talking +to you about a little while ago. I’d like both if I might. Do you suppose +that is possible?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, yes,” replied McKenty, wondering; “but what have they +got to do with it? They’re not worth anything. Some of the boys were +talking about filling them in some time ago—blowing them up. The police +think crooks hide in them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Just the same, don’t let any one touch them—don’t +lease them or anything,” replied Cowperwood, forcefully. +“I’ll tell you frankly what I want to do. I want to get control, +just as soon as possible, of all the street-railway lines I can on the North +and West Sides—new or old franchises. Then you’ll see where the +tunnels come in.” +</p> + +<p> +He paused to see whether McKenty caught the point of all he meant, but the +latter failed. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t want much, do you?” he said, cheerfully. +“But I don’t see how you can use the tunnels. However, that’s +no reason why I shouldn’t take care of them for you, if you think +that’s important.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s this way,” said Cowperwood, thoughtfully. +“I’ll make you a preferred partner in all the ventures that I +control if you do as I suggest. The street-railways, as they stand now, will +have to be taken up lock, stock, and barrel, and thrown into the scrap heap +within eight or nine years at the latest. You see what the South Side company +is beginning to do now. When it comes to the West and North Side companies they +won’t find it so easy. They aren’t earning as much as the South +Side, and besides they have those bridges to cross. That means a severe +inconvenience to a cable line. In the first place, the bridges will have to be +rebuilt to stand the extra weight and strain. Now the question arises at +once—at whose expense? The city’s?” +</p> + +<p> +“That depends on who’s asking for it,” replied Mr. McKenty, +amiably. +</p> + +<p> +“Quite so,” assented Cowperwood. “In the next place, this +river traffic is becoming impossible from the point of view of a decent +street-car service. There are waits now of from eight to fifteen minutes while +these tows and vessels get through. Chicago has five hundred thousand +population to-day. How much will it have in 1890? In 1900? How will it be when +it has eight hundred thousand or a million?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re quite right,” interpolated McKenty. “It will be +pretty bad.” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly. But what is worse, the cable lines will carry trailers, or +single cars, from feeder lines. There won’t be single cars waiting at +these draws—there will be trains, crowded trains. It won’t be +advisable to delay a cable-train from eight to fifteen minutes while boats are +making their way through a draw. The public won’t stand for that very +long, will it, do you think?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not without making a row, probably,” replied McKenty. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that means what, then?” asked Cowperwood. “Is the +traffic going to get any lighter? Is the river going to dry up?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. McKenty stared. Suddenly his face lighted. “Oh, I see,” he +said, shrewdly. “It’s those tunnels you’re thinking about. +Are they in any shape to be used?” +</p> + +<p> +“They can be made over cheaper than new ones can be built.” +</p> + +<p> +“True for you,” replied McKenty, “and if they’re in any +sort of repair they’d be just what you’d want.” He was +emphatic, almost triumphant. “They belong to the city. They cost pretty +near a million apiece, those things.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know it,” said Cowperwood. “Now, do you see what I’m +driving at?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do I see!” smiled McKenty. “That’s a real idea you +have, Cowperwood. I take off my hat to you. Say what you want.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, in the first place,” replied Cowperwood, genially, +“it is agreed that the city won’t part with those two tunnels under +any circumstances until we can see what can be done about this other +matter?” +</p> + +<p> +“It will not.” +</p> + +<p> +“In the next place, it is understood, is it, that you won’t make it +any easier than you can possibly help for the North and West Side companies to +get ordinances extending their lines, or anything else, from now on? I shall +want to introduce some franchises for feeders and outlying lines myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bring in your ordinances,” replied McKenty, “and I’ll +do whatever you say. I’ve worked with you before. I know that you keep +your word.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks,” said Cowperwood, warmly. “I know the value of +keeping it. In the mean while I’ll go ahead and see what can be done +about the other matter. I don’t know just how many men I will need to let +in on this, or just what form the organization will take. But you may depend +upon it that your interests will be properly taken care of, and that whatever +is done will be done with your full knowledge and consent.” +</p> + +<p> +“All very good,” answered McKenty, thinking of the new field of +activity before them. A combination between himself and Cowperwood in a matter +like this must prove very beneficial to both. And he was satisfied, because of +their previous relations, that his own interests would not be neglected. +</p> + +<p> +“Shall we go and see if we can find the ladies?” asked Cowperwood, +jauntily, laying hold of the politician’s arm. +</p> + +<p> +“To be sure,” assented McKenty, gaily. “It’s a fine +house you have here—beautiful. And your wife is as pretty a woman as I +ever saw, if you’ll pardon the familiarity.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have always thought she was rather attractive myself,” replied +Cowperwood, innocently. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap22"></a>CHAPTER XXII.<br/> +Street-railways at Last</h2> + +<p> +Among the directors of the North Chicago City company there was one man, Edwin +L. Kaffrath, who was young and of a forward-looking temperament. His father, a +former heavy stockholder of this company, had recently died and left all his +holdings and practically his directorship to his only son. Young Kaffrath was +by no means a practical street-railway man, though he fancied he could do very +well at it if given a chance. He was the holder of nearly eight hundred of the +five thousand shares of stock; but the rest of it was so divided that he could +only exercise a minor influence. Nevertheless, from the day of his entrance +into the company—which was months before Cowperwood began seriously to +think over the situation—he had been strong for +improvements—extensions, more franchises, better cars, better horses, +stoves in the cars in winter, and the like, all of which suggestions sounded to +his fellow-directors like mere manifestations of the reckless impetuosity of +youth, and were almost uniformly opposed. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter with them cars?” asked Albert Thorsen, one +of the elder directors, at one of the meetings at which Kaffrath was present +and offering his usual protest. “I don’t see anything the matter +with ’em. I ride in em.” +</p> + +<p> +Thorsen was a heavy, dusty, tobacco-bestrewn individual of sixty-six, who was a +little dull but genial. He was in the paint business, and always wore a very +light steel-gray suit much crinkled in the seat and arms. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps that’s what’s the matter with them, Albert,” +chirped up Solon Kaempfaert, one of his cronies on the board. +</p> + +<p> +The sally drew a laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I don’t know. I see the rest of you on board often +enough.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, I tell you what’s the matter with them,” replied +Kaffrath. “They’re dirty, and they’re flimsy, and the windows +rattle so you can’t hear yourself think. The track is no good, and the +filthy straw we keep in them in winter is enough to make a person sick. We +don’t keep the track in good repair. I don’t wonder people +complain. I’d complain myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I don’t think things are as bad as all that,” put in +Onias C. Skinner, the president, who had a face which with its very short +side-whiskers was as bland as a Chinese god. He was sixty-eight years of age. +“They’re not the best cars in the world, but they’re good +cars. They need painting and varnishing pretty badly, some of them, but outside +of that there’s many a good year’s wear in them yet. I’d be +very glad if we could put in new rolling-stock, but the item of expense will be +considerable. It’s these extensions that we have to keep building and the +long hauls for five cents which eat up the profits.” The so-called +“long hauls” were only two or three miles at the outside, but they +seemed long to Mr. Skinner. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, look at the South Side,” persisted Kaffrath. “I +don’t know what you people are thinking of. Here’s a cable system +introduced in Philadelphia. There’s another in San Francisco. Some one +has invented a car, as I understand it, that’s going to run by +electricity, and here we are running cars—barns, I call them—with +straw in them. Good Lord, I should think it was about time that some of us took +a tumble to ourselves!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I don’t know,” commented Mr. Skinner. “It seems to +me we have done pretty well by the North Side. We have done a good deal.” +</p> + +<p> +Directors Solon Kaempfaert, Albert Thorsen, Isaac White, Anthony Ewer, Arnold +C. Benjamin, and Otto Matjes, being solemn gentlemen all, merely sat and +stared. +</p> + +<p> +The vigorous Kaffrath was not to be so easily repressed, however. He repeated +his complaints on other occasions. The fact that there was also considerable +complaint in the newspapers from time to time in regard to this same North Side +service pleased him in a way. Perhaps this would be the proverbial fire under +the terrapin which would cause it to move along. +</p> + +<p> +By this time, owing to Cowperwood’s understanding with McKenty, all +possibility of the North Side company’s securing additional franchises +for unoccupied streets, or even the use of the La Salle Street tunnel, had +ended. Kaffrath did not know this. Neither did the directors or officers of the +company, but it was true. In addition, McKenty, through the aldermen, who were +at his beck and call on the North Side, was beginning to stir up additional +murmurs and complaints in order to discredit the present management. There was +a great to-do in council over a motion on the part of somebody to compel the +North Side company to throw out its old cars and lay better and heavier tracks. +Curiously, this did not apply so much to the West and South Sides, which were +in the same condition. The rank and file of the city, ignorant of the tricks +which were constantly being employed in politics to effect one end or another, +were greatly cheered by this so-called “public uprising.” They +little knew the pawns they were in the game, or how little sincerity +constituted the primal impulse. +</p> + +<p> +Quite by accident, apparently, one day Addison, thinking of the different men +in the North Side company who might be of service to Cowperwood, and having +finally picked young Kaffrath as the ideal agent, introduced himself to the +latter at the Union League. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a pretty heavy load of expense that’s staring you +North and West Side street-railway people in the face,” he took occasion +to observe. +</p> + +<p> +“How’s that?” asked Kaffrath, curiously, anxious to hear +anything which concerned the development of the business. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, unless I’m greatly mistaken, you, all of you, are going to +be put to the expense of doing over your lines completely in a very little +while—so I hear—introducing this new motor or cable system that +they are getting on the South Side.” Addison wanted to convey the +impression that the city council or public sentiment or something was going to +force the North Chicago company to indulge in this great and expensive series +of improvements. +</p> + +<p> +Kaffrath pricked up his ears. What was the city Council going to do? He wanted +to know all about it. They discussed the whole situation—the nature of +the cable-conduits, the cost of the power-houses, the need of new rails, and +the necessity of heavier bridges, or some other means of getting over or under +the river. Addison took very good care to point out that the Chicago City or +South Side Railway was in a much more fortunate position than either of the +other two by reason of its freedom from the river-crossing problem. Then he +again commiserated the North Side company on its rather difficult position. +“Your company will have a very great deal to do, I fancy,” he +reiterated. +</p> + +<p> +Kaffrath was duly impressed and appropriately depressed, for his eight hundred +shares would be depressed in value by the necessity of heavy expenditures for +tunnels and other improvements. Nevertheless, there was some consolation in the +thought that such betterment, as Addison now described, would in the long run +make the lines more profitable. But in the mean time there might be rough +sailing. The old directors ought to act soon now, he thought. With the South +Side company being done over, they would have to follow suit. But would they? +How could he get them to see that, even though it were necessary to mortgage +the lines for years to come, it would pay in the long run? He was sick of old, +conservative, cautious methods. +</p> + +<p> +After the lapse of a few weeks Addison, still acting for Cowperwood, had a +second and private conference with Kaffrath. He said, after exacting a promise +of secrecy for the present, that since their previous conversation he had +become aware of new developments. In the interval he had been visited by +several men of long connection with street-railways in other localities. They +had been visiting various cities, looking for a convenient outlet for their +capital, and had finally picked on Chicago. They had looked over the various +lines here, and had decided that the North Chicago City Railway was as good a +field as any. He then elaborated with exceeding care the idea which Cowperwood +had outlined to him. Kaffrath, dubious at first, was finally won over. He had +too long chafed under the dusty, poky attitude of the old regime. He did not +know who these new men were, but this scheme was in line with his own ideas. It +would require, as Addison pointed out, the expenditure of several millions of +dollars, and he did not see how the money could be raised without outside +assistance, unless the lines were heavily mortgaged. If these new men were +willing to pay a high rate for fifty-one per cent. of this stock for +ninety-nine years and would guarantee a satisfactory rate of interest on all +the stock as it stood, besides inaugurating a forward policy, why not let them? +It would be just as good as mortgaging the soul out of the old property, and +the management was of no value, anyhow. Kaffrath could not see how fortunes +were to be made for these new investors out of subsidiary construction and +equipment companies, in which Cowperwood would be interested, how by issuing +watered stock on the old and new lines the latter need scarcely lay down a +dollar once he had the necessary opening capital (the “talking +capital,” as he was fond of calling it) guaranteed. Cowperwood and +Addison had by now agreed, if this went through, to organize the Chicago Trust +Company with millions back of it to manipulate all their deals. Kaffrath only +saw a better return on his stock, possibly a chance to get in on the +“ground plan,” as a new phrase expressed it, of the new company. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what I’ve been telling these fellows for the past +three years,” he finally exclaimed to Addison, flattered by the +latter’s personal attention and awed by his great influence; “but +they never have been willing to listen to me. The way this North Side system +has been managed is a crime. Why, a child could do better than we have done. +They’ve saved on track and rolling-stock, and lost on population. People +are what we want up there, and there is only one way that I know of to get +them, and that is to give them decent car service. I’ll tell you frankly +we’ve never done it.” +</p> + +<p> +Not long after this Cowperwood had a short talk with Kaffrath, in which he +promised the latter not only six hundred dollars a share for all the stock he +possessed or would part with on lease, but a bonus of new company stock for his +influence. Kaffrath returned to the North Side jubilant for himself and for his +company. He decided after due thought that a roundabout way would best serve +Cowperwood’s ends, a line of subtle suggestion from some seemingly +disinterested party. Consequently he caused William Johnson, the directing +engineer, to approach Albert Thorsen, one of the most vulnerable of the +directors, declaring he had heard privately that Isaac White, Arnold C. +Benjamin, and Otto Matjes, three other directors and the heaviest owners, had +been offered a very remarkable price for their stock, and that they were going +to sell, leaving the others out in the cold. +</p> + +<p> +Thorsen was beside himself with grief. “When did you hear that?” he +asked. +</p> + +<p> +Johnson told him, but for the time being kept the source of his information +secret. Thorsen at once hurried to his friend, Solon Kaempfaert, who in turn +went to Kaffrath for information. +</p> + +<p> +“I have heard something to that effect,” was Kaffrath’s only +comment, “but really I do not know.” +</p> + +<p> +Thereupon Thorsen and Kaempfaert imagined that Kaffrath was in the conspiracy +to sell out and leave them with no particularly valuable pickings. It was very +sad. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, Cowperwood, on the advice of Kaffrath, was approaching Isaac White, +Arnold C. Benjamin, and Otto Matjes direct—talking with them as if they +were the only three he desired to deal with. A little later Thorsen and +Kaempfaert were visited in the same spirit, and agreed in secret fear to sell +out, or rather lease at the very advantageous terms Cowperwood offered, +providing he could get the others to do likewise. This gave the latter a strong +backing of sentiment on the board. Finally Isaac White stated at one of the +meetings that he had been approached with an interesting proposition, which he +then and there outlined. He was not sure what to think, he said, but the board +might like to consider it. At once Thorsen and Kaempfaert were convinced that +all Johnson had suggested was true. It was decided to have Cowperwood come and +explain to the full board just what his plan was, and this he did in a long, +bland, smiling talk. It was made plain that the road would have to be put in +shape in the near future, and that this proposed plan relieved all of them of +work, worry, and care. Moreover, they were guaranteed more interest at once +than they had expected to earn in the next twenty or thirty years. Thereupon it +was agreed that Cowperwood and his plan should be given a trial. Seeing that if +he did not succeed in paying the proposed interest promptly the property once +more became theirs, so they thought, and that he assumed all +obligations—taxes, water rents, old claims, a few pensions—it +appeared in the light of a rather idyllic scheme. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, boys, I think this is a pretty good day’s work +myself,” observed Anthony Ewer, laying a friendly hand on the shoulder of +Mr. Albert Thorsen. “I’m sure we can all unite in wishing Mr. +Cowperwood luck with his adventure.” Mr. Ewer’s seven hundred and +fifteen shares, worth seventy-one thousand five hundred dollars, having risen +to a valuation of four hundred and twenty-nine thousand dollars, he was +naturally jubilant. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re right,” replied Thorsen, who was parting with four +hundred and eighty shares out of a total of seven hundred and ninety, and +seeing them all bounce in value from two hundred to six hundred dollars. +“He’s an interesting man. I hope he succeeds.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Cowperwood, waking the next morning in Aileen’s room—he had been +out late the night before with McKenty, Addison, Videra, and +others—turned and, patting her neck where she was dozing, said: +“Well, pet, yesterday afternoon I wound up that North Chicago Street +Railway deal. I’m president of the new North Side company just as soon as +I get my board of directors organized. We’re going to be of some real +consequence in this village, after all, in a year or two.” +</p> + +<p> +He was hoping that this fact, among other things, would end in mollifying +Aileen toward him. She had been so gloomy, remote, weary these many +days—ever since the terrific assault on Rita. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” she replied, with a half-hearted smile, rubbing her waking +eyes. She was clad in a foamy nightgown of white and pink. “That’s +nice, isn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood brought himself up on one elbow and looked at her, smoothing her +round, bare arms, which he always admired. The luminous richness of her hair +had never lost its charm completely. +</p> + +<p> +“That means that I can do the same thing with the Chicago West Division +Company in a year or so,” he went on. “But there’s going to +be a lot of talk about this, I’m afraid, and I don’t want that just +now. It will work out all right. I can see Schryhart and Merrill and some of +these other people taking notice pretty soon. They’ve missed out on two +of the biggest things Chicago ever had—gas and railways.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes, Frank, I’m glad for you,” commented Aileen, rather +drearily, who, in spite of her sorrow over his defection, was still glad that +he was going on and forward. “You’ll always do all right.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you wouldn’t feel so badly, Aileen,” he said, with a +kind of affectional protest. “Aren’t you going to try and be happy +with me? This is as much for you as for me. You will be able to pay up old +scores even better than I will.” +</p> + +<p> +He smiled winningly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she replied, reproachfully but tenderly at that, a little +sorrowfully, “a lot of good money does me. It was your love I +wanted.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you have that,” he insisted. “I’ve told you that +over and over. I never ceased to care for you really. You know I +didn’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I know,” she replied, even as he gathered her close in his +arms. “I know how you care.” But that did not prevent her from +responding to him warmly, for back of all her fuming protest was heartache, the +wish to have his love intact, to restore that pristine affection which she had +once assumed would endure forever. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap23"></a>CHAPTER XXIII.<br/> +The Power of the Press</h2> + +<p> +The morning papers, in spite of the efforts of Cowperwood and his friends to +keep this transfer secret, shortly thereafter were full of rumors of a change +in “North Chicago.” Frank Algernon Cowperwood, hitherto unmentioned +in connection with Chicago street-railways, was pointed to as the probable +successor to Onias C. Skinner, and Edwin L. Kaffrath, one of the old directors, +as future vice-president. The men back of the deal were referred to as +“in all likelihood Eastern capitalists.” Cowperwood, as he sat in +Aileen’s room examining the various morning papers, saw that before the +day was over he would be sought out for an expression of opinion and further +details. He proposed to ask the newspaper men to wait a few days until he could +talk to the publishers of the papers themselves—win their +confidence—and then announce a general policy; it would be something that +would please the city, and the residents of the North Side in particular. At +the same time he did not care to promise anything which he could not easily and +profitably perform. He wanted fame and reputation, but he wanted money even +more; he intended to get both. +</p> + +<p> +To one who had been working thus long in the minor realms of finance, as +Cowperwood considered that he had so far been doing, this sudden upward step +into the more conspicuous regions of high finance and control was an +all-inspiring thing. So long had he been stirring about in a lesser region, +paving the way by hours and hours of private thought and conference and +scheming, that now when he actually had achieved his end he could scarcely +believe for the time being that it was true. Chicago was such a splendid city. +It was growing so fast. Its opportunities were so wonderful. These men who had +thus foolishly parted with an indefinite lease of their holdings had not really +considered what they were doing. This matter of Chicago street-railways, once +he had them well in hand, could be made to yield such splendid profits! He +could incorporate and overcapitalize. Many subsidiary lines, which McKenty +would secure for him for a song, would be worth millions in the future, and +they should be his entirely; he would not be indebted to the directors of the +old North Chicago company for any interest on those. By degrees, year by year, +as the city grew, the lines which were still controlled by this old company, +but were practically his, would become a mere item, a central core, in the so +very much larger system of new lines which he would build up about it. Then the +West Side, and even the South Side sections—but why dream? He might +readily become the sole master of street-railway traffic in Chicago! He might +readily become the most princely financial figure in the city—and one of +the few great financial magnates of the nation. +</p> + +<p> +In any public enterprise of any kind, as he knew, where the suffrages of the +people or the privileges in their possessions are desired, the newspapers must +always be considered. As Cowperwood even now was casting hungry eyes in the +direction of the two tunnels—one to be held in view of an eventual +assumption of the Chicago West Division Company, the other to be given to the +North Chicago Street Railway, which he had now organized, it was necessary to +make friends with the various publishers. How to go about it? +</p> + +<p> +Recently, because of the influx of a heavy native and foreign-born population +(thousands and thousands of men of all sorts and conditions looking for the +work which the growth of the city seemed to promise), and because of the +dissemination of stirring ideas through radical individuals of foreign groups +concerning anarchism, socialism, communism, and the like, the civic idea in +Chicago had become most acute. This very May, in which Cowperwood had been +going about attempting to adjust matters in his favor, there had been a +tremendous national flare-up, when in a great public place on the West Side +known as the Haymarket, at one of a number of labor meetings, dubbed +anarchistic because of the principles of some of the speakers, a bomb had been +hurled by some excited fanatic, which had exploded and maimed or killed a +number of policemen, injuring slightly several others. This had brought to the +fore, once and for all, as by a flash of lightning, the whole problem of mass +against class, and had given it such an airing as in view of the cheerful, +optimistic, almost inconsequential American mind had not previously been +possible. It changed, quite as an eruption might, the whole face of the +commercial landscape. Man thought thereafter somewhat more accurately of +national and civic things. What was anarchism? What socialism? What rights had +the rank and file, anyhow, in economic and governmental development? Such were +interesting questions, and following the bomb—which acted as a great +stone cast in the water—these ripple-rings of thought were still widening +and emanating until they took in such supposedly remote and impregnable +quarters as editorial offices, banks and financial institutions generally, and +the haunts of political dignitaries and their jobs. +</p> + +<p> +In the face of this, however, Cowperwood was not disturbed. He did not believe +in either the strength of the masses or their ultimate rights, though he +sympathized with the condition of individuals, and did believe that men like +himself were sent into the world to better perfect its mechanism and habitable +order. Often now, in these preliminary days, he looked at the large companies +of men with their horses gathered in and about the several carbarns of the +company, and wondered at their state. So many of them were so dull. They were +rather like animals, patient, inartistic, hopeless. He thought of their shabby +homes, their long hours, their poor pay, and then concluded that if anything at +all could be done for them it would be pay them decent living wages, which he +proposed to do—nothing more. They could not be expected to understand his +dreams or his visions, or to share in the magnificence and social dominance +which he craved. He finally decided that it would be as well for him to +personally visit the various newspaper publishers and talk the situation over +with them. Addison, when consulted as to this project, was somewhat dubious. He +had small faith in the newspapers. +</p> + +<p> +He had seen them play petty politics, follow up enmities and personal grudges, +and even sell out, in certain cases, for pathetically small rewards. +</p> + +<p> +“I tell you how it is, Frank,” remarked Addison, on one occasion. +“You will have to do all this business on cotton heels, practically. You +know that old gas crowd are still down on you, in spite of the fact that you +are one of their largest stockholders. Schryhart isn’t at all friendly, +and he practically owns the Chronicle. Ricketts will just about say what he +wants him to say. Hyssop, of the Mail and the Transcript, is an independent +man, but he’s a Presbyterian and a cold, self-righteous moralist. +Braxton’s paper, the Globe, practically belongs to Merrill, but +Braxton’s a nice fellow, at that. Old General MacDonald, of the <i>Inquirer</i>, +is old General MacDonald. It’s all according to how he feels when he gets +up in the morning. If he should chance to like your looks he might support you +forever and forever until you crossed his conscience in some way. He’s a +fine old walrus. I like him. Neither Schryhart nor Merrill nor any one else can +get anything out of him unless he wants to give it. He may not live so many +years, however, and I don’t trust that son of his. Haguenin, of the +<i>Press</i>, is all right and friendly to you, as I understand. Other things being +equal, I think he’d naturally support you in anything he thought was fair +and reasonable. Well, there you have them. Get them all on your side if you +can. Don’t ask for the LaSalle Street tunnel right away. Let it come as +an afterthought—a great public need. The main thing will be to avoid +having the other companies stirring up a real fight against you. Depend on it, +Schryhart will be thinking pretty hard about this whole business from now on. +As for Merrill—well, if you can show him where he can get something out +of it for his store, I guess he’ll be for you.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +It is one of the splendid yet sinister fascinations of life that there is no +tracing to their ultimate sources all the winds of influence that play upon a +given barque—all the breaths of chance that fill or desert our bellied or +our sagging sails. We plan and plan, but who by taking thought can add a cubit +to his stature? Who can overcome or even assist the Providence that shapes our +ends, rough hew them as we may. Cowperwood was now entering upon a great public +career, and the various editors and public personalities of the city were +watching him with interest. Augustus M. Haguenin, a free agent with his organ, +the <i>Press</i>, and yet not free, either, because he was harnessed to the +necessity of making his paper pay, was most interested. Lacking the commanding +magnetism of a man like MacDonald, he was nevertheless an honest man, +well-intentioned, thoughtful, careful. Haguenin, ever since the outcome of +Cowperwood’s gas transaction, had been intensely interested in the +latter’s career. It seemed to him that Cowperwood was probably destined +to become a significant figure. Raw, glittering force, however, compounded of +the cruel Machiavellianism of nature, if it be but Machiavellian, seems to +exercise a profound attraction for the conventionally rooted. Your cautious +citizen of average means, looking out through the eye of his dull world of +seeming fact, is often the first to forgive or condone the grim butcheries of +theory by which the strong rise. Haguenin, observing Cowperwood, conceived of +him as a man perhaps as much sinned against as sinning, a man who would be +faithful to friends, one who could be relied upon in hours of great stress. As +it happened, the Haguenins were neighbors of the Cowperwoods, and since those +days when the latter had attempted unsuccessfully to enter Chicago society this +family had been as acceptable as any of those who had remained friendly. +</p> + +<p> +And so, when Cowperwood arrived one day at the office of the <i>Press</i> in a +blowing snow-storm—it was just before the Christmas +holidays—Haguenin was glad to see him. “It’s certainly real +winter weather we’re having now, isn’t it?” he observed, +cheerfully. “How goes the North Chicago Street Railway business?” +For months he, with the other publishers, had been aware that the whole North +Side was to be made over by fine cable-tracks, power-houses, and handsome cars; +and there already was talk that some better arrangement was to be made to bring +the passengers into the down-town section. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Haguenin,” said Cowperwood, smilingly—he was arrayed in +a heavy fur coat, with a collar of beaver and driving-gauntlets of +dogskin—“we have reached the place in this street-railway problem +on the North Side where we are going to require the assistance of the +newspapers, or at least their friendly support. At present our principal +difficulty is that all our lines, when they come down-town, stop at Lake +Street—just this side of the bridges. That means a long walk for +everybody to all the streets south of it, and, as you probably know, there has +been considerable complaint. Besides that, this river traffic is becoming more +and more what I may say it has been for years—an intolerable nuisance. We +have all suffered from it. No effort has ever been made to regulate it, and +because it is so heavy I doubt whether it ever can be systematized in any +satisfactory way. The best thing in the long run would be to tunnel under the +river; but that is such an expensive proposition that, as things are now, we +are in no position to undertake it. The traffic on the North Side does not +warrant it. It really does not warrant the reconstruction of the three bridges +which we now use at State, Dearborn, and Clark; yet, if we introduce the cable +system, which we now propose, these bridges will have to be done over. It seems +to me, seeing that this is an enterprise in which the public is as much +interested almost as we are, that it would only be fair if the city should help +pay for this reconstruction work. All the land adjacent to these lines, and the +property served by them, will be greatly enhanced in value. The city’s +taxing power will rise tremendously. I have talked to several financiers here +in Chicago, and they agree with me; but, as is usual in all such cases, I find +that some of the politicians are against me. Since I have taken charge of the +North Chicago company the attitude of one or two papers has not been any too +friendly.” (In the Chronicle, controlled by Schryhart, there had already +been a number of references to the probability that now, since Cowperwood and +his friends were in charge, the sky-rocketing tactics of the old Lake View, +Hyde Park, and other gas organizations would be repeated. Braxton’s +Globe, owned by Merrill, being semi-neutral, had merely suggested that it hoped +that no such methods would be repeated here.) “Perhaps you may +know,” Cowperwood continued, “that we have a very sweeping +programme of improvement in mind, if we can obtain proper public consideration +and assistance.” +</p> + +<p> +At this point he reached down in one of his pockets and drew forth astutely +drafted maps and blue-prints, especially prepared for this occasion. They +showed main cable lines on North Clark, La Salle, and Wells streets. These +lines coming down-town converged at Illinois and La Salle streets on the North +Side—and though Cowperwood made no reference to it at the moment, they +were indicated on the map in red as running over or under the river at La Salle +Street, where was no bridge, and emerging therefrom, following a loop along La +Salle to Munroe, to Dearborn, to Randolph, and thence into the tunnel again. +Cowperwood allowed Haguenin to gather the very interesting traffic significance +of it all before he proceeded. +</p> + +<p> +“On the map, Mr. Haguenin, I have indicated a plan which, if we can gain +the consent of the city, will obviate any quarrel as to the great expense of +reconstructing the bridges, and will make use of a piece of property which is +absolutely without value to the city at present, but which can be made into +something of vast convenience to the public. I am referring, as you +see”—he laid an indicative finger on the map in Mr. +Haguenin’s hands—“to the old La Salle Street tunnel, which is +now boarded up and absolutely of no use to any one. It was built apparently +under a misapprehension as to the grade the average loaded wagon could +negotiate. When it was found to be unprofitable it was sold to the city and +locked up. If you have ever been through it you know what condition it is in. +My engineers tell me the walls are leaking, and that there is great danger of a +cave-in unless it is very speedily repaired. I am also told that it will +require about four hundred thousand dollars to put it in suitable condition for +use. My theory is that if the North Chicago Street Railway is willing to go to +this expense for the sake of solving this bridge-crush problem, and giving the +residents of the North Side a sensible and uninterrupted service into the +business heart, the city ought to be willing to make us a present of this +tunnel for the time being, or at least a long lease at a purely nominal +rental.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood paused to see what Haguenin would say. +</p> + +<p> +The latter was looking at the map gravely, wondering whether it was fair for +Cowperwood to make this demand, wondering whether the city should grant it to +him without compensation, wondering whether the bridge-traffic problem was as +serious as he pointed out, wondering, indeed, whether this whole move was not a +clever ruse to obtain something for nothing. +</p> + +<p> +“And what is this?” he asked, laying a finger on the aforementioned +loop. +</p> + +<p> +“That,” replied Cowperwood, “is the only method we have been +able to figure out of serving the down-town business section and the North +Side, and of solving this bridge problem. If we obtain the tunnel, as I hope we +shall, all the cars of these North Side lines will emerge here”—he +pointed to La Salle and Randolph—“and swing around—that is, +they will if the city council give us the right of way. I think, of course, +there can be no reasonable objection to that. There is no reason why the +citizens of the North Side shouldn’t have as comfortable an access to the +business heart as those of the West or South Side.” +</p> + +<p> +“None in the world,” Mr. Haguenin was compelled to admit. +“Are you satisfied, however, that the council and the city should +sanction the gift of a loop of this kind without some form of +compensation?” +</p> + +<p> +“I see no reason why they shouldn’t,” replied Cowperwood, in +a somewhat injured tone. “There has never been any question of +compensation where other improvements have been suggested for the city in the +past. The South Side company has been allowed to turn in a loop around State +and Wabash. The Chicago City Passenger Railway has a loop in Adams and +Washington streets.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite so,” said Mr. Haguenin, vaguely. “That is true. But +this tunnel, now—do you think that should fall in the same category of +public beneficences?” +</p> + +<p> +At the same time he could not help thinking, as he looked at the proposed loop +indicated on the map, that the new cable line, with its string of trailers, +would give down-town Chicago a truly metropolitan air and would provide a +splendid outlet for the North Side. The streets in question were magnificent +commercial thoroughfares, crowded even at this date with structures five, six, +seven, and even eight stories high, and brimming with heavy streams of eager +life—young, fresh, optimistic. Because of the narrow area into which the +commercial life of the city tended to congest itself, this property and these +streets were immensely valuable—among the most valuable in the whole +city. Also he observed that if this loop did come here its cars, on their +return trip along Dearborn Street, would pass by his very door—the office +of the <i>Press</i>—thereby enhancing the value of that property of which he was +the owner. +</p> + +<p> +“I certainly do, Mr. Haguenin,” returned Cowperwood, emphatically, +in answer to his query. “Personally, I should think Chicago would be glad +to pay a bonus to get its street-railway service straightened out, especially +where a corporation comes forward with a liberal, conservative programme such +as this. It means millions in growth of property values on the North Side. It +means millions to the business heart to have this loop system laid down just as +I suggest.” +</p> + +<p> +He put his finger firmly on the map which he had brought, and Haguenin agreed +with him that the plan was undoubtedly a sound business proposition. +“Personally, I should be the last to complain,” he added, +“for the line passes my door. At the same time this tunnel, as I +understand it, cost in the neighborhood of eight hundred thousand or a million +dollars. It is a delicate problem. I should like to know what the other editors +think of it, and how the city council itself would feel toward it.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood nodded. “Certainly, certainly,” he said. “With +pleasure. I would not come here at all if I did not feel that I had a perfectly +legitimate proposition—one that the press of the city should unite in +supporting. Where a corporation such as ours is facing large expenditures, +which have to be financed by outside capital, it is only natural that we should +wish to allay useless, groundless opposition in advance. I hope we may command +your support.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope you may,” smiled Mr. Haguenin. They parted the best of +friends. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +The other publishers, guardians of the city’s privileges, were not quite +so genial as Haguenin in their approval of Cowperwood’s proposition. The +use of a tunnel and several of the most important down-town streets might +readily be essential to the development of Cowperwood’s North Side +schemes, but the gift of them was a different matter. Already, as a matter of +fact, the various publishers and editors had been consulted by Schryhart, +Merrill, and others with a view to discovering how they felt as to this new +venture, and whether Cowperwood would be cheerfully indorsed or not. Schryhart, +smarting from the wounds he had received in the gas war, viewed this new +activity on Cowperwood’s part with a suspicious and envious eye. To him +much more than to the others it spelled a new and dangerous foe in the +street-railway field, although all the leading citizens of Chicago were +interested. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose now,” he said one evening to the Hon. Walter Melville +Hyssop, editor and publisher of the Transcript and the Evening Mail, whom he +met at the Union League, “that this fellow Cowperwood will attempt some +disturbing coup in connection with street-railway affairs. He is just the sort. +I think, from an editorial point of view, his political connections will bear +watching.” Already there were rumors abroad that McKenty might have +something to do with the new company. +</p> + +<p> +Hyssop, a medium-sized, ornate, conservative person, was not so sure. “We +shall find out soon enough, no doubt, what propositions Mr. Cowperwood has in +hand,” he remarked. “He is very energetic and capable, as I +understand it.” +</p> + +<p> +Hyssop and Schryhart, as well as the latter and Merrill, had been social +friends for years and years. +</p> + +<p> +After his call on Mr. Haguenin, Cowperwood’s naturally selective and +self-protective judgment led him next to the office of the <i>Inquirer</i>, old +General MacDonald’s paper, where he found that because of rhuematism and +the severe, inclement weather of Chicago, the old General had sailed only a few +days before for Italy. His son, an aggressive, mercantile type of youth of +thirty-two, and a managing editor by the name of Du Bois were acting in his +stead. In the son, Truman Leslie MacDonald, an intense, calm, and penetrating +young man, Cowperwood encountered some one who, like himself, saw life only +from the point of view of sharp, self-centered, personal advantage. What was +he, Truman Leslie MacDonald, to derive from any given situation, and how was he +to make the <i>Inquirer</i> an even greater property than it had been under his +father before him? He did not propose to be overwhelmed by the old +General’s rather flowery reputation. At the same time he meant to become +imposingly rich. An active member of a young and very smart set which had been +growing up on the North Side, he rode, drove, was instrumental in organizing a +new and exclusive country club, and despised the rank and file as unsuited to +the fine atmosphere to which he aspired. Mr. Clifford Du Bois, the managing +editor, was a cool reprobate of forty, masquerading as a gentleman, and using +the <i>Inquirer</i> in subtle ways for furthering his personal ends, and that +under the old General’s very nose. He was osseous, sandy-haired, +blue-eyed, with a keen, formidable nose and a solid chin. Clifford Du Bois was +always careful never to let his left hand know what his right hand did. +</p> + +<p> +It was this sapient pair that received Cowperwood in the old General’s +absence, first in Mr. Du Bois’s room and then in that of Mr. MacDonald. +The latter had already heard much of Cowperwood’s doings. Men who had +been connected with the old gas war—Jordan Jules, for instance, president +of the old North Chicago Gas Company, and Hudson Baker, president of the old +West Chicago Gas Company—had denounced him long before as a bucaneer who +had pirated them out of very comfortable sinecures. Here he was now invading +the North Chicago street-railway field and coming with startling schemes for +the reorganization of the down-town business heart. Why shouldn’t the +city have something in return; or, better yet, those who helped to formulate +the public opinion, so influential in the success of Cowperwood’s plans? +Truman Leslie MacDonald, as has been said, did not see life from his +father’s point of view at all. He had in mind a sharp bargain, which he +could drive with Cowperwood during the old gentleman’s absence. The +General need never know. +</p> + +<p> +“I understand your point of view, Mr. Cowperwood,” he commented, +loftily, “but where does the city come in? I see very clearly how +important this is to the people of the North Side, and even to the merchants +and real-estate owners in the down-town section; but that simply means that it +is ten times as important to you. Undoubtedly, it will help the city, but the +city is growing, anyhow, and that will help you. I’ve said all along that +these public franchises were worth more than they used to be worth. Nobody +seems to see it very clearly as yet, but it’s true just the same. That +tunnel is worth more now than the day it was built. Even if the city +can’t use it, somebody can.” +</p> + +<p> +He was meaning to indicate a rival car line. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood bristled internally. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all very well,” he said, preserving his surface +composure, “but why make fish of one and flesh of another? The South Side +company has a loop for which it never paid a dollar. So has the Chicago City +Passenger Railway. The North Side company is planning more extensive +improvements than were ever undertaken by any single company before. I hardly +think it is fair to raise the question of compensation and a franchise tax at +this time, and in connection with this one company only.” +</p> + +<p> +“Um—well, that may be true of the other companies. The South Side +company had those streets long ago. They merely connected them up. But this +tunnel, now—that’s a different matter, isn’t it? The city +bought and paid for that, didn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite true—to help out men who saw that they couldn’t make +another dollar out of it,” said Cowperwood, acidly. “But it’s +of no use to the city. It will cave in pretty soon if it isn’t repaired. +Why, the consent of property-owners alone, along the line of this loop, is +going to aggregate a considerable sum. It seems to me instead of hampering a +great work of this kind the public ought to do everything in its power to +assist it. It means giving a new metropolitan flavor to this down-town section. +It is time Chicago was getting out of its swaddling clothes.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. MacDonald, the younger, shook his head. He saw clearly enough the +significance of the points made, but he was jealous of Cowperwood and of his +success. This loop franchise and tunnel gift meant millions for some one. Why +shouldn’t there be something in it for him? He called in Mr. Du Bois and +went over the proposition with him. Quite without effort the latter sensed the +drift of the situation. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s an excellent proposition,” he said. “I +don’t see but that the city should have something, though. Public +sentiment is rather against gifts to corporations just at present.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood caught the drift of what was in young MacDonald’s mind. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what would you suggest as a fair rate of compensation to the +city?” he asked, cautiously, wondering whether this aggressive youth +would go so far as to commit himself in any way. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, well, as to that,” MacDonald replied, with a deprecatory wave +of his hand, “I couldn’t say. It ought to bear a reasonable +relationship to the value of the utility as it now stands. I should want to +think that over. I shouldn’t want to see the city demand anything +unreasonable. Certainly, though, there is a privilege here that is worth +something.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood flared inwardly. His greatest weakness, if he had one, was that he +could but ill brook opposition of any kind. This young upstart, with his thin, +cool face and sharp, hard eyes! He would have liked to tell him and his paper +to go to the devil. He went away, hoping that he could influence the +<i>Inquirer</i> in some other way upon the old General’s return. +</p> + +<p> +As he was sitting next morning in his office in North Clark Street he was +aroused by the still novel-sounding bell of the telephone—one of the +earliest in use—on the wall back of him. After a parley with his +secretary, he was informed that a gentleman connected with the <i>Inquirer</i> +wished to speak with him. +</p> + +<p> +“This is the <i>Inquirer</i>,” said a voice which Cowperwood, his +ear to the receiver, thought he recognized as that of young Truman MacDonald, +the General’s son. “You wanted to know,” continued the voice, +“what would be considered adequate compensation so far as that tunnel +matter is concerned. Can you hear me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” replied Cowperwood. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I should not care to influence your judgment one way or the other; +but if my opinion were asked I should say about fifty thousand dollars’ +worth of North Chicago Street Railway stock would be satisfactory.” +</p> + +<p> +The voice was young, clear, steely. +</p> + +<p> +“To whom would you suggest that it might be paid?” Cowperwood +asked, softly, quite genially. +</p> + +<p> +“That, also, I would suggest, might be left to your very sound +judgment.” +</p> + +<p> +The voice ceased. The receiver was hung up. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’ll be damned!” Cowperwood said, looking at the floor +reflectively. A smile spread over his face. “I’m not going to be +held up like that. I don’t need to be. It isn’t worth it. Not at +present, anyhow.” His teeth set. +</p> + +<p> +He was underestimating Mr. Truman Leslie MacDonald, principally because he did +not like him. He thought his father might return and oust him. It was one of +the most vital mistakes he ever made in his life. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap24"></a>CHAPTER XXIV.<br/> +The Coming of Stephanie Platow</h2> + +<p> +During this period of what might have been called financial and commercial +progress, the affairs of Aileen and Cowperwood had been to a certain extent +smoothed over. Each summer now, partly to take Aileen’s mind off herself +and partly to satisfy his own desire to see the world and collect objects of +art, in which he was becoming more and more interested, it was +Cowperwood’s custom to make with his wife a short trip abroad or to +foreign American lands, visiting in these two years Russia, Scandinavia, +Argentine, Chili, and Mexico. Their plan was to leave in May or June with the +outward rush of traffic, and return in September or early October. His idea was +to soothe Aileen as much as possible, to fill her mind with pleasing +anticipations as to her eventual social triumph somewhere—in New York or +London, if not Chicago—to make her feel that in spite of his physical +desertion he was still spiritually loyal. +</p> + +<p> +By now also Cowperwood was so shrewd that he had the ability to simulate an +affection and practise a gallantry which he did not feel, or, rather, that was +not backed by real passion. He was the soul of attention; he would buy her +flowers, jewels, knickknacks, and ornaments; he would see that her comfort was +looked after to the last detail; and yet, at the very same moment, perhaps, he +would be looking cautiously about to see what life might offer in the way of +illicit entertainment. Aileen knew this, although she could not prove it to be +true. At the same time she had an affection and an admiration for the man which +gripped her in spite of herself. +</p> + +<p> +You have, perhaps, pictured to yourself the mood of some general who has +perhaps suffered a great defeat; the employee who after years of faithful +service finds himself discharged. What shall life say to the loving when their +love is no longer of any value, when all that has been placed upon the altar of +affection has been found to be a vain sacrifice? Philosophy? Give that to dolls +to play with. Religion? Seek first the metaphysical-minded. Aileen was no +longer the lithe, forceful, dynamic girl of 1865, when Cowperwood first met +her. She was still beautiful, it is true, a fair, full-blown, matronly creature +not more than thirty-five, looking perhaps thirty, feeling, alas, that she was +a girl and still as attractive as ever. It is a grim thing to a woman, however +fortunately placed, to realize that age is creeping on, and that love, that +singing will-o’-the-wisp, is fading into the ultimate dark. Aileen, +within the hour of her greatest triumph, had seen love die. It was useless to +tell herself, as she did sometimes, that it might come back, revive. Her +ultimately realistic temperament told her this could never be. Though she had +routed Rita Sohlberg, she was fully aware that Cowperwood’s original +constancy was gone. She was no longer happy. Love was dead. That sweet +illusion, with its pearly pink for heart and borders, that laughing cherub that +lures with Cupid’s mouth and misty eye, that young tendril of the vine of +life that whispers of eternal spring-time, that calls and calls where aching, +wearied feet by legion follow, was no longer in existence. +</p> + +<p> +In vain the tears, the storms, the self-tortures; in vain the looks in the +mirror, the studied examination of plump, sweet features still fresh and +inviting. One day, at the sight of tired circles under her eyes, she ripped +from her neck a lovely ruche that she was adjusting and, throwing herself on +her bed, cried as though her heart would break. Why primp? Why ornament? Her +Frank did not love her. What to her now was a handsome residence in Michigan +Avenue, the refinements of a French boudoir, or clothing that ran the gamut of +the dressmaker’s art, hats that were like orchids blooming in serried +rows? In vain, in vain! Like the raven that perched above the lintel of the +door, sad memory was here, grave in her widow weeds, crying “never +more.” Aileen knew that the sweet illusion which had bound Cowperwood to +her for a time had gone and would never come again. He was here. His step was +in the room mornings and evenings; at night for long prosaic, uninterrupted +periods she could hear him breathing by her side, his hand on her body. There +were other nights when he was not there—when he was “out of the +city”—and she resigned herself to accept his excuses at their face +value. Why quarrel? she asked herself. What could she do? She was waiting, +waiting, but for what? +</p> + +<p> +And Cowperwood, noting the strange, unalterable changes which time works in us +all, the inward lap of the marks of age, the fluted recession of that splendor +and radiance which is youth, sighed at times perhaps, but turned his face to +that dawn which is forever breaking where youth is. Not for him that poetic +loyalty which substitutes for the perfection of young love its memories, or +takes for the glitter of passion and desire that once was the happy thoughts of +companionship—the crystal memories that like early dews congealed remain +beaded recollections to comfort or torture for the end of former joys. On the +contrary, after the vanishing of Rita Sohlberg, with all that she meant in the +way of a delicate insouciance which Aileen had never known, his temperament +ached, for he must have something like that. Truth to say, he must always have +youth, the illusion of beauty, vanity in womanhood, the novelty of a new, +untested temperament, quite as he must have pictures, old porcelain, music, a +mansion, illuminated missals, power, the applause of the great, unthinking +world. +</p> + +<p> +As has been said, this promiscuous attitude on Cowperwood’s part was the +natural flowering out of a temperament that was chronically promiscuous, +intellectually uncertain, and philosophically anarchistic. From one point of +view it might have been said of him that he was seeking the realization of an +ideal, yet to one’s amazement our very ideals change at times and leave +us floundering in the dark. What is an ideal, anyhow? A wraith, a mist, a +perfume in the wind, a dream of fair water. The soul-yearning of a girl like +Antoinette Nowak was a little too strained for him. It was too ardent, too +clinging, and he had gradually extricated himself, not without difficulty, from +that particular entanglement. Since then he had been intimate with other women +for brief periods, but to no great satisfaction—Dorothy Ormsby, Jessie +Belle Hinsdale, Toma Lewis, Hilda Jewell; but they shall be names merely. One +was an actress, one a stenographer, one the daughter of one of his stock +patrons, one a church-worker, a solicitor for charity coming to him to seek +help for an orphan’s home. It was a pathetic mess at times, but so are +all defiant variations from the accustomed drift of things. In the hardy +language of Napoleon, one cannot make an omelette without cracking a number of +eggs. +</p> + +<p> +The coming of Stephanie Platow, Russian Jewess on one side of her family, +Southwestern American on the other, was an event in Cowperwood’s life. +She was tall, graceful, brilliant, young, with much of the optimism of Rita +Sohlberg, and yet endowed with a strange fatalism which, once he knew her +better, touched and moved him. He met her on shipboard on the way to Goteborg. +Her father, Isadore Platow, was a wealthy furrier of Chicago. He was a large, +meaty, oily type of man—a kind of ambling, gelatinous formula of the +male, with the usual sound commercial instincts of the Jew, but with an errant +philosophy which led him to believe first one thing and then another so long as +neither interfered definitely with his business. He was an admirer of Henry +George and of so altruistic a programme as that of Robert Owen, and, also, in +his way, a social snob. And yet he had married Susetta Osborn, a Texas girl who +was once his bookkeeper. Mrs. Platow was lithe, amiable, subtle, with an eye +always to the main social chance—in other words, a climber. She was +shrewd enough to realize that a knowledge of books and art and current events +was essential, and so she “went in” for these things. +</p> + +<p> +It is curious how the temperaments of parents blend and revivify in their +children. As Stephanie grew up she had repeated in her very differing body some +of her father’s and mother’s characteristics—an interesting +variability of soul. She was tall, dark, sallow, lithe, with a strange +moodiness of heart and a recessive, fulgurous gleam in her chestnut-brown, +almost brownish-black eyes. She had a full, sensuous, Cupid’s mouth, a +dreamy and even languishing expression, a graceful neck, and a heavy, dark, and +yet pleasingly modeled face. From both her father and mother she had inherited +a penchant for art, literature, philosophy, and music. Already at eighteen she +was dreaming of painting, singing, writing poetry, writing books, +acting—anything and everything. Serene in her own judgment of what was +worth while, she was like to lay stress on any silly mood or fad, thinking it +exquisite—the last word. Finally, she was a rank voluptuary, dreaming +dreams of passionate union with first one and then another type of artist, +poet, musician—the whole gamut of the artistic and emotional world. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood first saw her on board the Centurion one June morning, as the ship +lay at dock in New York. He and Aileen were en route for Norway, she and her +father and mother for Denmark and Switzerland. She was hanging over the +starboard rail looking at a flock of wide-winged gulls which were besieging the +port of the cook’s galley. She was musing soulfully—conscious +(fully) that she was musing soulfully. He paid very little attention to her, +except to note that she was tall, rhythmic, and that a dark-gray plaid dress, +and an immense veil of gray silk wound about her shoulders and waist and over +one arm, after the manner of a Hindu shawl, appeared to become her much. Her +face seemed very sallow, and her eyes ringed as if indicating dyspepsia. Her +black hair under a chic hat did not escape his critical eye. Later she and her +father appeared at the captain’s table, to which the Cowperwoods had also +been invited. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood and Aileen did not know how to take this girl, though she interested +them both. They little suspected the chameleon character of her soul. She was +an artist, and as formless and unstable as water. It was a mere passing gloom +that possessed her. Cowperwood liked the semi-Jewish cast of her face, a +certain fullness of the neck, her dark, sleepy eyes. But she was much too young +and nebulous, he thought, and he let her pass. On this trip, which endured for +ten days, he saw much of her, in different moods, walking with a young Jew in +whom she seemed greatly interested, playing at shuffleboard, reading solemnly +in a corner out of the reach of the wind or spray, and usually looking naive, +preternaturally innocent, remote, dreamy. At other times she seemed possessed +of a wild animation, her eyes alight, her expression vigorous, an intense glow +in her soul. Once he saw her bent over a small wood block, cutting a book-plate +with a thin steel graving tool. +</p> + +<p> +Because of Stephanie’s youth and seeming unimportance, her lack of what +might be called compelling rosy charm, Aileen had become reasonably friendly +with the girl. Far subtler, even at her years, than Aileen, Stephanie gathered +a very good impression of the former, of her mental girth, and how to take her. +She made friends with her, made a book-plate for her, made a sketch of her. She +confided to Aileen that in her own mind she was destined for the stage, if her +parents would permit; and Aileen invited her to see her husband’s +pictures on their return. She little knew how much of a part Stephanie would +play in Cowperwood’s life. +</p> + +<p> +The Cowperwoods, having been put down at Goteborg, saw no more of the Platows +until late October. Then Aileen, being lonely, called to see Stephanie, and +occasionally thereafter Stephanie came over to the South Side to see the +Cowperwoods. She liked to roam about their house, to dream meditatively in some +nook of the rich interior, with a book for company. She liked +Cowperwood’s pictures, his jades, his missals, his ancient radiant glass. +From talking with Aileen she realized that the latter had no real love for +these things, that her expressions of interest and pleasure were pure +make-believe, based on their value as possessions. For Stephanie herself +certain of the illuminated books and bits of glass had a heavy, sensuous +appeal, which only the truly artistic can understand. They unlocked dark dream +moods and pageants for her. She responded to them, lingered over them, +experienced strange moods from them as from the orchestrated richness of music. +</p> + +<p> +And in doing so she thought of Cowperwood often. Did he really like these +things, or was he just buying them to be buying them? She had heard much of the +pseudo artistic—the people who made a show of art. She recalled +Cowperwood as he walked the deck of the Centurion. She remembered his large, +comprehensive, embracing blue-gray eyes that seemed to blaze with intelligence. +He seemed to her quite obviously a more forceful and significant man than her +father, and yet she could not have said why. He always seemed so trigly +dressed, so well put together. There was a friendly warmth about all that he +said or did, though he said or did little. She felt that his eyes were mocking, +that back in his soul there was some kind of humor over something which she did +not understand quite. +</p> + +<p> +After Stephanie had been back in Chicago six months, during which time she saw +very little of Cowperwood, who was busy with his street-railway programme, she +was swept into the net of another interest which carried her away from him and +Aileen for the time being. On the West Side, among a circle of her +mother’s friends, had been organized an Amateur Dramatic League, with no +less object than to elevate the stage. That world-old problem never fails to +interest the new and the inexperienced. It all began in the home of one of the +new rich of the West Side—the Timberlakes. They, in their large house on +Ashland Avenue, had a stage, and Georgia Timberlake, a romantic-minded girl of +twenty with flaxen hair, imagined she could act. Mrs. Timberlake, a fat, +indulgent mother, rather agreed with her. The whole idea, after a few +discursive performances of Milton’s “The Masque of Comus,” +“Pyramus and Thisbe,” and an improved Harlequin and Columbine, +written by one of the members, was transferred to the realm of the studios, +then quartered in the New Arts Building. An artist by the name of Lane Cross, a +portrait-painter, who was much less of an artist than he was a stage director, +and not much of either, but who made his living by hornswaggling society into +the belief that he could paint, was induced to take charge of these stage +performances. +</p> + +<p> +By degrees the “Garrick Players,” as they chose to call themselves, +developed no little skill and craftsmanship in presenting one form and another +of classic and semi-classic play. “Romeo and Juliet,” with few +properties of any kind, “The Learned Ladies” of Moliere, +Sheridan’s “The Rivals,” and the “Elektra” of +Sophocles were all given. Considerable ability of one kind and another was +developed, the group including two actresses of subsequent repute on the +American stage, one of whom was Stephanie Platow. There were some ten girls and +women among the active members, and almost as many men—a variety of +characters much too extended to discuss here. There was a dramatic critic by +the name of Gardner Knowles, a young man, very smug and handsome, who was +connected with the Chicago <i>Press</i>. Whipping his neatly trousered legs with his +bright little cane, he used to appear at the rooms of the players at the +Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday teas which they inaugurated, and discuss the +merits of the venture. Thus the Garrick Players were gradually introduced into +the newspapers. Lane Cross, the smooth-faced, pasty-souled artist who had +charge, was a rake at heart, a subtle seducer of women, who, however, escaped +detection by a smooth, conventional bearing. He was interested in such girls as +Georgia Timberlake, Irma Ottley, a rosy, aggressive maiden who essayed comic +roles, and Stephanie Platow. These, with another girl, Ethel Tuckerman, very +emotional and romantic, who could dance charmingly and sing, made up a group of +friends which became very close. Presently intimacies sprang up, only in this +realm, instead of ending in marriage, they merely resulted in sex liberty. Thus +Ethel Tuckerman became the mistress of Lane Cross; an illicit attachment grew +up between Irma Ottley and a young society idler by the name of Bliss Bridge; +and Gardner Knowles, ardently admiring Stephanie Platow literally seized upon +her one afternoon in her own home, when he went ostensibly to interview her, +and overpersuaded her. She was only reasonably fond of him, not in love; but, +being generous, nebulous, passionate, emotional, inexperienced, voiceless, and +vainly curious, without any sense of the meums and teums that govern society in +such matters, she allowed this rather brutal thing to happen. She was not a +coward—was too nebulous and yet forceful to be such. Her parents never +knew. And once so launched, another world—that of sex +satisfaction—began to dawn on her. +</p> + +<p> +Were these young people evil? Let the social philosopher answer. One thing is +certain: They did not establish homes and raise children. On the contrary, they +led a gay, butterfly existence for nearly two years; then came a gift in the +lute. Quarrels developed over parts, respective degrees of ability, and +leadership. Ethel Tuckerman fell out with Lane Cross, because she discovered +him making love to Irma Ottley. Irma and Bliss Bridge released each other, the +latter transferring his affections to Georgia Timberlake. Stephanie Platow, by +far the most individual of them all, developed a strange inconsequence as to +her deeds. It was when she was drawing near the age of twenty that the affair +with Gardner Knowles began. After a time Lane Cross, with his somewhat earnest +attempt at artistic interpretation and his superiority in the matter of +years—he was forty, and young Knowles only twenty-four—seemed more +interesting to Stephanie, and he was quick to respond. There followed an idle, +passionate union with this man, which seemed important, but was not so at all. +And then it was that Stephanie began dimly to perceive that it was on and on +that the blessings lie, that somewhere there might be some man much more +remarkable than either of these; but this was only a dream. She thought of +Cowperwood at times; but he seemed to her to be too wrapped up in grim +tremendous things, far apart from this romantic world of amateur dramatics in +which she was involved. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap25"></a>CHAPTER XXV.<br/> +Airs from the Orient</h2> + +<p> +Cowperwood gained his first real impression of Stephanie at the Garrick +Players, where he went with Aileen once to witness a performance of +“Elektra.” He liked Stephanie particularly in this part, and +thought her beautiful. One evening not long afterward he noticed her in his own +home looking at his jades, particularly a row of bracelets and ear-rings. He +liked the rhythmic outline of her body, which reminded him of a letter S in +motion. Quite suddenly it came over him that she was a remarkable +girl—very—destined, perhaps, to some significant future. At the +same time Stephanie was thinking of him. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you find them interesting?” he asked, stopping beside her. +</p> + +<p> +“I think they’re wonderful. Those dark-greens, and that pale, fatty +white! I can see how beautiful they would be in a Chinese setting. I have +always wished we could find a Chinese or Japanese play to produce +sometime.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, with your black hair those ear-rings would look well,” said +Cowperwood. +</p> + +<p> +He had never deigned to comment on a feature of hers before. She turned her +dark, brown-black eyes on him—velvety eyes with a kind of black glow in +them—and now he noticed how truly fine they were, and how nice were her +hands—brown almost as a Malay’s. +</p> + +<p> +He said nothing more; but the next day an unlabeled box was delivered to +Stephanie at her home containing a pair of jade ear-rings, a bracelet, and a +brooch with Chinese characters intagliated. Stephanie was beside herself with +delight. She gathered them up in her hands and kissed them, fastening the +ear-rings in her ears and adjusting the bracelet and ring. Despite her +experience with her friends and relatives, her stage associates, and her +paramours, she was still a little unschooled in the world. Her heart was +essentially poetic and innocent. No one had ever given her much of +anything—not even her parents. Her allowance thus far in life had been a +pitiful six dollars a week outside of her clothing. As she surveyed these +pretty things in the privacy of her room she wondered oddly whether Cowperwood +was growing to like her. Would such a strong, hard business man be interested +in her? She had heard her father say he was becoming very rich. Was she a great +actress, as some said she was, and would strong, able types of men like +Cowperwood take to her—eventually? She had heard of Rachel, of Nell +Gwynne, of the divine Sarah and her loves. She took the precious gifts and +locked them in a black-iron box which was sacred to her trinkets and her +secrets. +</p> + +<p> +The mere acceptance of these things in silence was sufficient indication to +Cowperwood that she was of a friendly turn of mind. He waited patiently until +one day a letter came to his office—not his house—addressed, +“Frank Algernon Cowperwood, Personal.” It was written in a small, +neat, careful hand, almost printed. +</p> + +<br/> + +<p class="letter"> +I don’t know how to thank you for your wonderful present. I didn’t +mean you should give them to me, and I know you sent them. I shall keep them +with pleasure and wear them with delight. It was so nice of you to do this. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +STEPHANIE PLATOW. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood studied the handwriting, the paper, the phraseology. For a girl of +only a little over twenty this was wise and reserved and tactful. She might +have written to him at his residence. He gave her the benefit of a week’s +time, and then found her in his own home one Sunday afternoon. Aileen had gone +calling, and Stephanie was pretending to await her return. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s nice to see you there in that window,” he said. +“You fit your background perfectly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do I?” The black-brown eyes burned soulfully. The panneling back +of her was of dark oak, burnished by the rays of an afternoon winter sun. +</p> + +<p> +Stephanie Platow had dressed for this opportunity. Her full, rich, short black +hair was caught by a childish band of blood-red ribbon, holding it low over her +temples and ears. Her lithe body, so harmonious in its graven roundness, was +clad in an apple-green bodice, and a black skirt with gussets of red about the +hem; her smooth arms, from the elbows down, were bare. On one wrist was the +jade bracelet he had given her. Her stockings were apple-green silk, and, +despite the chill of the day, her feet were shod in enticingly low slippers +with brass buckles. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood retired to the hall to hang up his overcoat and came back smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t Mrs. Cowperwood about?” +</p> + +<p> +“The butler says she’s out calling, but I thought I’d wait a +little while, anyhow. She may come back.” +</p> + +<p> +She turned up a dark, smiling face to him, with languishing, inscrutable eyes, +and he recognized the artist at last, full and clear. +</p> + +<p> +“I see you like my bracelet, don’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s beautiful,” she replied, looking down and surveying it +dreamily. “I don’t always wear it. I carry it in my muff. +I’ve just put it on for a little while. I carry them all with me always. +I love them so. I like to feel them.” +</p> + +<p> +She opened a small chamois bag beside her—lying with her handkerchief and +a sketch-book which she always carried—and took out the ear-rings and +brooch. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood glowed with a strange feeling of approval and enthusiasm at this +manifestation of real interest. He liked jade himself very much, but more than +that the feeling that prompted this expression in another. Roughly speaking, it +might have been said of him that youth and hope in women—particularly +youth when combined with beauty and ambition in a girl—touched him. He +responded keenly to her impulse to do or be something in this world, whatever +it might be, and he looked on the smart, egoistic vanity of so many with a +kindly, tolerant, almost parental eye. Poor little organisms growing on the +tree of life—they would burn out and fade soon enough. He did not know +the ballad of the roses of yesteryear, but if he had it would have appealed to +him. He did not care to rifle them, willy-nilly; but should their temperaments +or tastes incline them in his direction, they would not suffer vastly in their +lives because of him. The fact was, the man was essentially generous where +women were concerned. +</p> + +<p> +“How nice of you!” he commented, smiling. “I like +that.” And then, seeing a note-book and pencil beside her, he asked, +“What are you doing?” +</p> + +<p> +“Just sketching.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let me see?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s nothing much,” she replied, deprecatingly. “I +don’t draw very well.” +</p> + +<p> +“Gifted girl!” he replied, picking it up. “Paints, draws, +carves on wood, plays, sings, acts.” +</p> + +<p> +“All rather badly,” she sighed, turning her head languidly and +looking away. In her sketch-book she had put all of her best drawings; there +were sketches of nude women, dancers, torsos, bits of running figures, sad, +heavy, sensuous heads and necks of sleeping girls, chins up, eyelids down, +studies of her brothers and sister, and of her father and mother. +</p> + +<p> +“Delightful!” exclaimed Cowperwood, keenly alive to a new treasure. +Good heavens, where had been his eyes all this while? Here was a jewel lying at +his doorstep—innocent, untarnished—a real jewel. These drawings +suggested a fire of perception, smoldering and somber, which thrilled him. +</p> + +<p> +“These are beautiful to me, Stephanie,” he said, simply, a strange, +uncertain feeling of real affection creeping over him. The man’s greatest +love was for art. It was hypnotic to him. “Did you ever study art?” +he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you never studied acting?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +She shook her head in a slow, sad, enticing way. The black hair concealing her +ears moved him strangely. +</p> + +<p> +“I know the art of your stage work is real, and you have a natural art +which I just seem to see. What has been the matter with me, anyhow?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh no,” she sighed. “It seems to me that I merely play at +everything. I could cry sometimes when I think how I go on.” +</p> + +<p> +“At twenty?” +</p> + +<p> +“That is old enough,” she smiled, archly. +</p> + +<p> +“Stephanie,” he asked, cautiously, “how old are you, +exactly?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will be twenty-one in April,” she answered. +</p> + +<p> +“Have your parents been very strict with you?” +</p> + +<p> +She shook her head dreamily. “No; what makes you ask? They haven’t +paid very much attention to me. They’ve always liked Lucille and Gilbert +and Ormond best.” Her voice had a plaintive, neglected ring. It was the +voice she used in her best scenes on the stage. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t they realize that you are very talented?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think perhaps my mother feels that I may have some ability. My father +doesn’t, I’m sure. Why?” +</p> + +<p> +She lifted those languorous, plaintive eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Stephanie, if you want to know, I think you’re wonderful. I +thought so the other night when you were looking at those jades. It all came +over me. You are an artist, truly, and I have been so busy I have scarcely seen +it. Tell me one thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +She drew in a soft breath, filling her chest and expanding her bosom, while she +looked at him from under her black hair. Her hands were crossed idly in her +lap. Then she looked demurely down. +</p> + +<p> +“Look, Stephanie! Look up! I want to ask you something. You have known +something of me for over a year. Do you like me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think you’re very wonderful,” she murmured. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that all?” +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t that much?” she smiled, shooting a dull, black-opal +look in his direction. +</p> + +<p> +“You wore my bracelet to-day. Were you very glad to get it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes,” she sighed, with aspirated breath, pretending a kind of +suffocation. +</p> + +<p> +“How beautiful you really are!” he said, rising and looking down at +her. +</p> + +<p> +She shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes!” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come, Stephanie! Stand by me and look at me. You are so tall and slender +and graceful. You are like something out of Asia.” +</p> + +<p> +She sighed, turning in a sinuous way, as he slipped his arm her. “I +don’t think we should, should we?” she asked, naively, after a +moment, pulling away from him. +</p> + +<p> +“Stephanie!” +</p> + +<p> +“I think I’d better go, now, please.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap26"></a>CHAPTER XXVI.<br/> +Love and War</h2> + +<p> +It was during the earlier phases of his connection with Chicago street-railways +that Cowperwood, ardently interesting himself in Stephanie Platow, developed as +serious a sex affair as any that had yet held him. At once, after a few secret +interviews with her, he adopted his favorite ruse in such matters and +established bachelor quarters in the down-town section as a convenient +meeting-ground. Several conversations with Stephanie were not quite as +illuminating as they might have been, for, wonderful as she was—a kind of +artistic godsend in this dull Western atmosphere—she was also enigmatic +and elusive, very. He learned speedily, in talking with her on several days +when they met for lunch, of her dramatic ambitions, and of the seeming +spiritual and artistic support she required from some one who would have faith +in her and inspire her by his or her confidence. He learned all about the +Garrick Players, her home intimacies and friends, the growing quarrels in the +dramatic organization. He asked her, as they sat in a favorite and +inconspicuous resort of his finding, during one of those moments when blood and +not intellect was ruling between them, whether she had ever— +</p> + +<p> +“Once,” she naively admitted. +</p> + +<p> +It was a great shock to Cowperwood. He had fancied her refreshingly innocent. +But she explained it was all so accidental, so unintentional on her part, very. +She described it all so gravely, soulfully, pathetically, with such a brooding, +contemplative backward searching of the mind, that he was astonished and in a +way touched. What a pity! It was Gardner Knowles who had done this, she +admitted. But he was not very much to blame, either. It just happened. She had +tried to protest, but— Wasn’t she angry? Yes, but then she was +sorry to do anything to hurt Gardner Knowles. He was such a charming boy, and +he had such a lovely mother and sister, and the like. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood was astonished. He had reached that point in life where the absence +of primal innocence in a woman was not very significant; but in Stephanie, +seeing that she was so utterly charming, it was almost too bad. He thought what +fools the Platows must be to tolerate this art atmosphere for Stephanie without +keeping a sharp watch over it. Nevertheless, he was inclined to believe from +observation thus far that Stephanie might be hard to watch. She was ingrainedly +irresponsible, apparently—so artistically nebulous, so +non-self-protective. To go on and be friends with this scamp! And yet she +protested that never after that had there been the least thing between them. +Cowperwood could scarcely believe it. She must be lying, and yet he liked her +so. The very romantic, inconsequential way in which she narrated all this +staggered, amused, and even fascinated him. +</p> + +<p> +“But, Stephanie,” he argued, curiously, “there must been some +aftermath to all this. What happened? What did you do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing.” She shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +He had to smile. +</p> + +<p> +“But oh, don’t let’s talk about it!” she pleaded. +“I don’t want to. It hurts me. There was nothing more.” +</p> + +<p> +She sighed, and Cowperwood meditated. The evil was now done, and the best that +he could do, if he cared for her at all—and he did—was to overlook +it. He surveyed her oddly, wonderingly. What a charming soul she was, anyhow! +How naive—how brooding! She had art—lots of it. Did he want to give +her up? +</p> + +<p> +As he might have known, it was dangerous to trifle with a type of this kind, +particularly once awakened to the significance of promiscuity, and unless +mastered by some absorbing passion. Stephanie had had too much flattery and +affection heaped upon her in the past two years to be easily absorbed. +Nevertheless, for the time being, anyhow, she was fascinated by the +significance of Cowperwood. It was wonderful to have so fine, so powerful a man +care for her. She conceived of him as a very great artist in his realm rather +than as a business man, and he grasped this fact after a very little while and +appreciated it. To his delight, she was even more beautiful physically than he +had anticipated—a smoldering, passionate girl who met him with a fire +which, though somber, quite rivaled his own. She was different, too, in her +languorous acceptance of all that he bestowed from any one he had ever known. +She was as tactful as Rita Sohlberg—more so—but so preternaturally +silent at times. +</p> + +<p> +“Stephanie,” he would exclaim, “do talk. What are you +thinking of? You dream like an African native.” +</p> + +<p> +She merely sat and smiled in a dark way or sketched or modeled him. She was +constantly penciling something, until moved by the fever of her blood, when she +would sit and look at him or brood silently, eyes down. Then, when he would +reach for her with seeking hands, she would sigh, “Oh yes, oh yes!” +</p> + +<p> +Those were delightful days with Stephanie. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +In the matter of young MacDonald’s request for fifty thousand dollars in +securities, as well as the attitude of the other editors—Hyssop, Braxton, +Ricketts, and so on—who had proved subtly critical, Cowperwood conferred +with Addison and McKenty. +</p> + +<p> +“A likely lad, that,” commented McKenty, succintly, when he heard +it. “He’ll do better than his father in one way, anyhow. +He’ll probably make more money.” +</p> + +<p> +McKenty had seen old General MacDonald just once in his life, and liked him. +</p> + +<p> +“I should like to know what the General would think of that if he +knew,” commented Addison, who admired the old editor greatly. +“I’m afraid he wouldn’t sleep very well.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is just one thing,” observed Cowperwood, thoughtfully. +“This young man will certainly come into control of the <i>Inquirer</i> +sometime. He looks to me like some one who would not readily forget an +injury.” He smiled sardonically. So did McKenty and Addison. +</p> + +<p> +“Be that as it may,” suggested the latter, “he isn’t +editor yet.” McKenty, who never revealed his true views to any one but +Cowperwood, waited until he had the latter alone to observe: +</p> + +<p> +What can they do? Your request is a reasonable one. Why shouldn’t the +city give you the tunnel? It’s no good to anyone as it is. And the loop +is no more than the other roads have now. I’m thinking it’s the +Chicago City Railway and that silk-stocking crowd on State Street or that gas +crowd that’s talking against you. I’ve heard them before. Give them +what they want, and it’s a fine moral cause. Give it to anyone else, and +there’s something wrong with it. It’s little attention I pay to +them. We have the council, let it pass the ordinances. It can’t be proved +that they don’t do it willingly. The mayor is a sensible man. He’ll +sign them. Let young MacDonald talk if he wants to. If he says too much you can +talk to his father. As for Hyssop, he’s an old grandmother anyhow. +I’ve never known him to be for a public improvement yet that was really +good for Chicago unless Schryhart or Merrill or Arneel or someone else of that +crowd wanted it. I know them of old. My advice is to go ahead and never mind +them. To hell with them! Things will be sweet enough, once you are as powerful +as they are. They’ll get nothing in the future without paying for it. +It’s little enough they’ve ever done to further anything that I +wanted. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood, however, remained cool and thoughtful. Should he pay young +MacDonald? he asked himself. Addison knew of no influence that he could bring +to bear. Finally, after much thought, he decided to proceed as he had planned. +Consequently, the reporters around the City Hall and the council-chamber, who +were in touch with Alderman Thomas Dowling, McKenty’s leader on the floor +of council, and those who called occasionally—quite regularly, in +fact—at the offices of the North Chicago Street Railway Company, +Cowperwood’s comfortable new offices in the North Side, were now given to +understand that two ordinances—one granting the free use of the La Salle +Street tunnel for an unlimited period (practically a gift of it), and another +granting a right of way in La Salle, Munroe, Dearborn, and Randolph streets for +the proposed loop—would be introduced in council very shortly. Cowperwood +granted a very flowery interview, in which he explained quite enthusiastically +all that the North Chicago company was doing and proposed to do, and made clear +what a splendid development it would assure to the North Side and to the +business center. +</p> + +<p> +At once Schryhart, Merrill, and some individuals connected with the Chicago +West Division Company, began to complain in the newspaper offices and at the +clubs to Ricketts, Braxton, young MacDonald, and the other editors. Envy of the +pyrotechnic progress of the man was as much a factor in this as anything else. +It did not make the slightest difference, as Cowperwood had sarcastically +pointed out, that every other corporation of any significance in Chicago had +asked and received without money and without price. Somehow his career in +connection with Chicago gas, his venturesome, if unsuccessful effort to enter +Chicago society, his self-acknowledged Philadelphia record, rendered the +sensitive cohorts of the ultra-conservative exceedingly fearful. In +Schryhart’s Chronicle appeared a news column which was headed, +“Plain Grab of City Tunnel Proposed.” It was a very truculent +statement, and irritated Cowperwood greatly. The <i>Press</i> (Mr. +Haguenin’s paper), on the other hand, was most cordial to the idea of the +loop, while appearing to be a little uncertain as to whether the tunnel should +be granted without compensation or not. Editor Hyssop felt called upon to +insist that something more than merely nominal compensation should be made for +the tunnel, and that “riders” should be inserted in the loop +ordinance making it incumbent upon the North Chicago company to keep those +thoroughfares in full repair and well lighted. The <i>Inquirer</i>, under Mr. +MacDonald, junior, and Mr. Du Bois, was in rumbling opposition. No free +tunnels, it cried; no free ordinances for privileges in the down-town heart. It +had nothing to say about Cowperwood personally. The <i>Globe</i>, Mr. +Braxton’s paper, was certain that no free rights to the tunnel should be +given, and that a much better route for the loop could be found—one +larger and more serviceable to the public, one that might be made to include +State Street or Wabash Avenue, or both, where Mr. Merrill’s store was +located. So it went, and one could see quite clearly to what extent the +interests of the public figured in the majority of these particular viewpoints. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood, individual, reliant, utterly indifferent to opposition of any kind, +was somewhat angered by the manner in which his overtures had been received, +but still felt that the best way out of his troubles was to follow +McKenty’s advice and get power first. Once he had his cable-conduit down, +his new cars running, the tunnel rebuilt, brilliantly lighted, and the bridge +crush disposed of, the public would see what a vast change for the better had +been made and would support him. Finally all things were in readiness and the +ordinance jammed through. McKenty, being a little dubious of the outcome, had a +rocking-chair brought into the council-chamber itself during the hours when the +ordinances were up for consideration. In this he sat, presumably as a curious +spectator, actually as a master dictating the course of liquidation in hand. +Neither Cowperwood nor any one else knew of McKenty’s action until too +late to interfere with it. Addison and Videra, when they read about it as +sneeringly set forth in the news columns of the papers, lifted and then +wrinkled their eyebrows. +</p> + +<p> +“That looks like pretty rough work to me,” commented Addison. +“I thought McKenty had more tact. That’s his early Irish +training.” +</p> + +<p> +Alexander Rambaud, who was an admirer and follower of Cowperwood’s, +wondered whether the papers were lying, whether it really could be true that +Cowperwood had a serious political compact with McKenty which would allow him +to walk rough-shod over public opinion. Rambaud considered Cowperwood’s +proposition so sane and reasonable that he could not understand why there +should be serious opposition, or why Cowperwood and McKenty should have to +resort to such methods. +</p> + +<p> +However, the streets requisite for the loop were granted. The tunnel was leased +for nine hundred and ninety-nine years at the nominal sum of five thousand +dollars per year. It was understood that the old bridges over State, Dearborn, +and Clark streets should be put in repair or removed; but there was “a +joker” inserted elsewhere which nullified this. Instantly there were +stormy outbursts in the <i>Chronicle</i>, <i>Inquirer</i>, and <i>Globe</i>; +but Cowperwood, when he read them, merely smiled. “Let them +grumble,” he said to himself. “I put a very reasonable proposition +before them. Why should they complain? I’m doing more now than the +Chicago City Railway. It’s jealousy, that’s all. If Schryhart or +Merrill had asked for it, there would have been no complaint.” +</p> + +<p> +McKenty called at the offices of the Chicago Trust Company to congratulate +Cowperwood. “The boys did as I thought they would,” he said. +“I had to be there, though, for I heard some one say that about ten of +them intended to ditch us at the last moment.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good work, good work!” replied Cowperwood, cheerfully. “This +row will all blow over. It would be the same whenever we asked. The air will +clear up. We’ll give them such a fine service that they’ll forget +all about this, and be glad they gave us the tunnel.” +</p> + +<p> +Just the same, the morning after the enabling ordinances had passed, there was +much derogatory comment in influential quarters. Mr. Norman Schryhart, who, +through his publisher, had been fulminating defensively against Cowperwood, +stared solemnly at Mr. Ricketts when they met. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said the magnate, who imagined he foresaw a threatened +attack on his Chicago City Street Railway preserves, “I see our friend +Mr. Cowperwood has managed to get his own way with the council. I am morally +certain he uses money to get what he is after as freely as a fireman uses +water. He’s as slippery as an eel. I should be glad if we could establish +that there is a community of interest between him and these politicians around +City Hall, or between him and Mr. McKenty. I believe he has set out to dominate +this city politically as well as financially, and he’ll need constant +watching. If public opinion can be aroused against him he may be dislodged in +the course of time. Chicago may get too uncomfortable for him. I know Mr. +McKenty personally, but he is not the kind of man I care to do business +with.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Schryhart’s method of negotiating at City Hall was through certain +reputable but somewhat slow-going lawyers who were in the employ of the South +Side company. They had never been able to reach Mr. McKenty at all. Ricketts +echoed a hearty approval. “You’re very right,” he said, with +owlish smugness, adjusting a waistcoat button that had come loose, and +smoothing his cuffs. “He’s a prince of politicians. We’ll +have to look sharp if we ever trap him” Mr. Ricketts would have been glad +to sell out to Mr. Cowperwood, if he had not been so heavily obligated to Mr. +Schryhart. He had no especial affection for Cowperwood, but he recognized in +him a coming man. +</p> + +<p> +Young MacDonald, talking to Clifford Du Bois in the office of the <i>Inquirer</i>, and +reflecting how little his private telephone message had availed him, was in a +waspish, ironic frame of mind. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” he said, “it seems our friend Cowperwood hasn’t +taken our advice. He may make his mark, but the <i>Inquirer</i> isn’t through +with him by a long shot. He’ll be wanting other things from the city in +the future.” +</p> + +<p> +Clifford Du Bois regarded his acid young superior with a curious eye. He knew +nothing of MacDonald’s private telephone message to Cowperwood; but he +knew how he himself would have dealt with the crafty financier had he been in +MacDonald’s position. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Cowperwood is shrewd,” was his comment. “Pritchard, our +political man, says the ways of the City Hall are greased straight up to the +mayor and McKenty, and that Cowperwood can have anything he wants at any time. +Tom Dowling eats out of his hand, and you know what that means. Old General Van +Sickle is working for him in some way. Did you ever see that old buzzard flying +around if there wasn’t something dead in the woods?” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s a slick one,” remarked MacDonald. “But as for +Cowperwood, he can’t get away with this sort of thing very long. +He’s going too fast. He wants too much.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Du Bois smiled quite secretly. It amused him to see how Cowperwood had +brushed MacDonald and his objections aside—dispensed for the time being +with the services of the <i>Inquirer</i>. Du Bois confidently believed that if the old +General had been at home he would have supported the financier. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Within eight months after seizing the La Salle Street tunnel and gobbling four +of the principal down-town streets for his loop, Cowperwood turned his eyes +toward the completion of the second part of the programme—that of taking +over the Washington Street tunnel and the Chicago West Division Company, which +was still drifting along under its old horse-car regime. It was the story of +the North Side company all over again. Stockholders of a certain type—the +average—are extremely nervous, sensitive, fearsome. They are like that +peculiar bivalve, the clam, which at the slightest sense of untoward pressure +withdraws into its shell and ceases all activity. The city tax department began +by instituting proceedings against the West Division company, compelling them +to disgorge various unpaid street-car taxes which had hitherto been +conveniently neglected. The city highway department was constantly jumping on +them for neglect of street repairs. The city water department, by some +hocus-pocus, made it its business to discover that they had been stealing +water. On the other hand were the smiling representatives of Cowperwood, +Kaifrath, Addison, Videra, and others, approaching one director or stockholder +after another with glistening accounts of what a splendid day would set in for +the Chicago West Division Company if only it would lease fifty-one per cent. of +its holdings—fifty-one per cent. of twelve hundred and fifty shares, par +value two hundred dollars—for the fascinating sum of six hundred dollars +per share, and thirty per cent. interest on all stock not assumed. +</p> + +<p> +Who could resist? Starve and beat a dog on the one hand; wheedle, pet, and hold +meat in front of it on the other, and it can soon be brought to perform. +Cowperwood knew this. His emissaries for good and evil were tireless. In the +end—and it was not long in coming—the directors and chief +stockholders of the Chicago West Division Company succumbed; and then, ho! the +sudden leasing by the Chicago West Division Company of all its +property—to the North Chicago Street Railway Company, lessee in turn of +the Chicago City Passenger Railway, a line which Cowperwood had organized to +take over the Washington Street tunnel. How had he accomplished it? The +question was on the tip of every financial tongue. Who were the men or the +organization providing the enormous sums necessary to pay six hundred dollars +per share for six hundred and fifty shares of the twelve hundred and fifty +belonging to the old West Division company, and thirty per cent. per year on +all the remainder? Where was the money coming from to cable all these lines? It +was simple enough if they had only thought. Cowperwood was merely capitalizing +the future. +</p> + +<p> +Before the newspapers or the public could suitably protest, crowds of men were +at work day and night in the business heart of the city, their flaring torches +and resounding hammers making a fitful bedlamic world of that region; they were +laying the first great cable loop and repairing the La Salle Street tunnel. It +was the same on the North and West Sides, where concrete conduits were being +laid, new grip and trailer cars built, new car-barns erected, and large, +shining power-houses put up. The city, so long used to the old bridge delays, +the straw-strewn, stoveless horse-cars on their jumping rails, was agog to see +how fine this new service would be. The La Salle Street tunnel was soon aglow +with white plaster and electric lights. The long streets and avenues of the +North Side were threaded with concrete-lined conduits and heavy street-rails. +The powerhouses were completed and the system was started, even while the +contracts for the changes on the West Side were being let. +</p> + +<p> +Schryhart and his associates were amazed at this swiftness of action, this +dizzy phantasmagoria of financial operations. It looked very much to the +conservative traction interests of Chicago as if this young giant out of the +East had it in mind to eat up the whole city. The Chicago Trust Company, which +he, Addison, McKenty, and others had organized to manipulate the principal +phases of the local bond issues, and of which he was rumored to be in control, +was in a flourishing condition. Apparently he could now write his check for +millions, and yet he was not beholden, so far as the older and more +conservative multimillionaires of Chicago were concerned, to any one of them. +The worst of it was that this Cowperwood—an upstart, a jail-bird, a +stranger whom they had done their best to suppress financially and ostracize +socially, had now become an attractive, even a sparkling figure in the eyes of +the Chicago public. His views and opinions on almost any topic were freely +quoted; the newspapers, even the most antagonistic, did not dare to neglect +him. Their owners were now fully alive to the fact that a new financial rival +had appeared who was worthy of their steel. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap27"></a>CHAPTER XXVII.<br/> +A Financier Bewitched</h2> + +<p> +It was interesting to note how, able though he was, and bound up with this vast +street-railway enterprise which was beginning to affect several thousand men, +his mind could find intense relief and satisfaction in the presence and actions +of Stephanie Platow. It is not too much to say that in her, perhaps, he found +revivified the spirit and personality of Rita Sohlberg. Rita, however, had not +contemplated disloyalty—it had never occurred to her to be faithless to +Cowperwood so long as he was fond of her any more than for a long time it had +been possible for her, even after all his philanderings, to be faithless to +Sohlberg. Stephanie, on the other hand, had the strange feeling that affection +was not necessarily identified with physical loyalty, and that she could be +fond of Cowperwood and still deceive him—a fact which was based on her +lack as yet of a true enthusiasm for him. She loved him and she didn’t. +Her attitude was not necessarily identified with her heavy, lizardish +animality, though that had something to do with it; but rather with a vague, +kindly generosity which permitted her to feel that it was hard to break with +Gardner Knowles and Lane Cross after they had been so nice to her. Gardner +Knowles had sung her praises here, there, and everywhere, and was attempting to +spread her fame among the legitimate theatrical enterprises which came to the +city in order that she might be taken up and made into a significant figure. +Lane Cross was wildly fond of her in an inadequate way which made it hard to +break with him, and yet certain that she would eventually. There was still +another man—a young playwright and poet by the name of Forbes +Gurney—tall, fair, passionate—who had newly arrived on the scene +and was courting her, or, rather, being courted by her at odd moments, for her +time was her own. In her artistically errant way she had refused to go to +school like her sister, and was idling about, developing, as she phrased it, +her artistic possibilities. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood, as was natural, heard much of her stage life. At first he took all +this palaver with a grain of salt, the babbling of an ardent nature interested +in the flighty romance of the studio world. By degrees, however, he became +curious as to the freedom of her actions, the ease with which she drifted from +place to place—Lane Cross’s studio; Bliss Bridge’s bachelor +rooms, where he appeared always to be receiving his theatrical friends of the +Garrick Players; Mr. Gardner Knowles’s home on the near North Side, where +he was frequently entertaining a party after the theater. It seemed to +Cowperwood, to say the least, that Stephanie was leading a rather free and +inconsequential existence, and yet it reflected her exactly—the color of +her soul. But he began to doubt and wonder. +</p> + +<p> +“Where were you, Stephanie, yesterday?” he would ask, when they met +for lunch, or in the evenings early, or when she called at his new offices on +the North Side, as she sometimes did to walk or drive with him. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yesterday morning I was at Lane Cross’s studio trying on some +of his Indian shawls and veils. He has such a lot of those things—some of +the loveliest oranges and blues. You just ought to see me in them. I wish you +might.” +</p> + +<p> +“Alone?” +</p> + +<p> +“For a while. I thought Ethel Tuckerman and Bliss Bridge would be there, +but they didn’t come until later. Lane Cross is such a dear. He’s +sort of silly at times, but I like him. His portraits are so bizarre.” +</p> + +<p> +She went off into a description of his pretentious but insignificant art. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood marveled, not at Lane Cross’s art nor his shawls, but at this +world in which Stephanie moved. He could not quite make her out. He had never +been able to make her explain satisfactorily that first single relationship +with Gardner Knowles, which she declared had ended so abruptly. Since then he +had doubted, as was his nature; but this girl was so sweet, childish, +irreconcilable with herself, like a wandering breath of air, or a pale-colored +flower, that he scarcely knew what to think. The artistically inclined are not +prone to quarrel with an enticing sheaf of flowers. She was heavenly to him, +coming in, as she did at times when he was alone, with bland eyes and yielding +herself in a kind of summery ecstasy. She had always something artistic to tell +of storms, winds, dust, clouds, smoke forms, the outline of buildings, the +lake, the stage. She would cuddle in his arms and quote long sections from +“Romeo and Juliet,” “Paolo and Francesca,” “The +Ring and the Book,” Keats’s “Eve of St. Agnes.” He +hated to quarrel with her, because she was like a wild rose or some art form in +nature. Her sketch-book was always full of new things. Her muff, or the light +silk shawl she wore in summer, sometimes concealed a modeled figure of some +kind which she would produce with a look like that of a doubting child, and if +he wanted it, if he liked it, he could have it. Cowperwood meditated deeply. He +scarcely knew what to think. +</p> + +<p> +The constant atmosphere of suspicion and doubt in which he was compelled to +remain, came by degrees to distress and anger him. While she was with him she +was clinging enough, but when she was away she was ardently cheerful and happy. +Unlike the station he had occupied in so many previous affairs, he found +himself, after the first little while, asking her whether she loved him instead +of submitting to the same question from her. +</p> + +<p> +He thought that with his means, his position, his future possibilities he had +the power to bind almost any woman once drawn to his personality; but Stephanie +was too young and too poetic to be greatly impaired by wealth and fame, and she +was not yet sufficiently gripped by the lure of him. She loved him in her +strange way; but she was interested also by the latest arrival, Forbes Gurney. +This tall, melancholy youth, with brown eyes and pale-brown hair, was very +poor. He hailed from southern Minnesota, and what between a penchant for +journalism, verse-writing, and some dramatic work, was somewhat undecided as to +his future. His present occupation was that of an instalment collector for a +furniture company, which set him free, as a rule, at three o’clock in the +afternoon. He was trying, in a mooning way, to identify himself with the +Chicago newspaper world, and was a discovery of Gardner Knowles. +</p> + +<p> +Stephanie had seen him about the rooms of the Garrick Players. She had looked +at his longish face with its aureole of soft, crinkly hair, his fine wide +mouth, deep-set eyes, and good nose, and had been touched by an atmosphere of +wistfulness, or, let us say, life-hunger. Gardner Knowles brought a poem of his +once, which he had borrowed from him, and read it to the company, Stephanie, +Ethel Tuckerman, Lane Cross, and Irma Ottley assembled. +</p> + +<p> +“Listen to this,” Knowles had suddenly exclaimed, taking it out of +his pocket. +</p> + +<p> +It concerned a garden of the moon with the fragrance of pale blossoms, a mystic +pool, some ancient figures of joy, a quavered Lucidian tune. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“With eerie flute and rhythmic thrum<br/> +Of muted strings and beaten drum.” +</p> + +<p> +Stephanie Platow had sat silent, caught by a quality that was akin to her own. +She asked to see it, and read it in silence. +</p> + +<p> +“I think it’s charming,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +Thereafter she hovered in the vicinity of Forbes Gurney. Why, she could +scarcely say. It was not coquetry. She just drew near, talked to him of stage +work and her plays and her ambitions. She sketched him as she had Cowperwood +and others, and one day Cowperwood found three studies of Forbes Gurney in her +note-book idyllicly done, a note of romantic feeling about them. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is this?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, he’s a young poet who comes up to the Players—Forbes +Gurney. He’s so charming; he’s so pale and dreamy.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood contemplated the sketches curiously. His eyes clouded. +</p> + +<p> +“Another one of Stephanie’s adherents,” he commented, +teasingly. “It’s a long procession I’ve joined. Gardner +Knowles, Lane Cross, Bliss Bridge, Forbes Gurney.” +</p> + +<p> +Stephanie merely pouted moodily. +</p> + +<p> +“How you talk! Bliss Bridge, Gardner Knowles! I admit I like them all, +but that’s all I do do. They’re just sweet and dear. You’d +like Lane Cross yourself; he’s such a foolish old Polly. As for Forbes +Gurney, he just drifts up there once in a while as one of the crowd. I scarcely +know him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly,” said Cowperwood, dolefully; “but you sketch +him.” For some reason Cowperwood did not believe this. Back in his brain +he did not believe Stephanie at all, he did not trust her. Yet he was intensely +fond of her—the more so, perhaps, because of this. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me truly, Stephanie,” he said to her one day, urgently, and +yet very diplomatically. “I don’t care at all, so far as your past +is concerned. You and I are close enough to reach a perfect understanding. But +you didn’t tell me the whole truth about you and Knowles, did you? Tell +me truly now. I sha’n’t mind. I can understand well enough how it +could have happened. It doesn’t make the least bit of difference to me, +really.” +</p> + +<p> +Stephanie was off her guard for once, in no truly fencing mood. She was +troubled at times about her various relations, anxious to put herself straight +with Cowperwood or with any one whom she truly liked. Compared to Cowperwood +and his affairs, Cross and Knowles were trivial, and yet Knowles was +interesting to her. Compared to Cowperwood, Forbes Gurney was a stripling +beggar, and yet Gurney had what Cowperwood did not have—a sad, poetic +lure. He awakened her sympathies. He was such a lonely boy. Cowperwood was so +strong, brilliant, magnetic. +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps it was with some idea of clearing up her moral status generally that +she finally said: “Well, I didn’t tell you the exact truth about +it, either. I was a little ashamed to.” +</p> + +<p> +At the close of her confession, which involved only Knowles, and was incomplete +at that, Cowperwood burned with a kind of angry resentment. Why trifle with a +lying prostitute? That she was an inconsequential free lover at twenty-one was +quite plain. And yet there was something so strangely large about the girl, so +magnetic, and she was so beautiful after her kind, that he could not think of +giving her up. She reminded him of himself. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Stephanie,” he said, trampling under foot an impulse to +insult or rebuke and dismiss her, “you are strange. Why didn’t you +tell me this before? I have asked and asked. Do you really mean to say that you +care for me at all?” +</p> + +<p> +“How can you ask that?” she demanded, reproachfully, feeling that +she had been rather foolish in confessing. Perhaps she would lose him now, and +she did not want to do that. Because his eyes blazed with a jealous hardness +she burst into tears. “Oh, I wish I had never told you! There is nothing +to tell, anyhow. I never wanted to.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood was nonplussed. He knew human nature pretty well, and woman nature; +his common sense told him that this girl was not to be trusted, and yet he was +drawn to her. Perhaps she was not lying, and these tears were real. +</p> + +<p> +“And you positively assure me that this was all—that there +wasn’t any one else before, and no one since?” +</p> + +<p> +Stephanie dried her eyes. They were in his private rooms in Randolph Street, +the bachelor rooms he had fitted for himself as a changing place for various +affairs. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t believe you care for me at all,” she observed, +dolefully, reproachfully. “I don’t believe you understand me. I +don’t think you believe me. When I tell you how things are you +don’t understand. I don’t lie. I can’t. If you are so +doubting now, perhaps you had better not see me any more. I want to be frank +with you, but if you won’t let me—” +</p> + +<p> +She paused heavily, gloomily, very sorrowfully, and Cowperwood surveyed her +with a kind of yearning. What an unreasoning pull she had for him! He did not +believe her, and yet he could not let her go. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I don’t know what to think,” he commented, morosely. +“I certainly don’t want to quarrel with you, Stephanie, for telling +me the truth. Please don’t deceive me. You are a remarkable girl. I can +do so much for you if you will let me. You ought to see that.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I’m not deceiving you,” she repeated, wearily. “I +should think you could see.” +</p> + +<p> +“I believe you,” he went on, trying to deceive himself against his +better judgment. “But you lead such a free, unconventional life.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” thought Stephanie, “perhaps I talk too much.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am very fond of you. You appeal to me so much. I love you, really. +Don’t deceive me. Don’t run with all these silly simpletons. They +are really not worthy of you. I shall be able to get a divorce one of these +days, and then I would be glad to marry you.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I’m not running with them in the sense that you think. +They’re not anything to me beyond mere entertainment. Oh, I like them, of +course. Lane Cross is a dear in his way, and so is Gardner Knowles. They have +all been nice to me.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood’s gorge rose at her calling Lane Cross dear. It incensed him, +and yet he held his peace. +</p> + +<p> +“Do give me your word that there will never be anything between you and +any of these men so long as you are friendly with me?” he almost +pleaded—a strange role for him. “I don’t care to share you +with any one else. I won’t. I don’t mind what you have done in the +past, but I don’t want you to be unfaithful in the future.” +</p> + +<p> +“What a question! Of course I won’t. But if you don’t believe +me—oh, dear—” +</p> + +<p> +Stephanie sighed painfully, and Cowperwood’s face clouded with angry +though well-concealed suspicion and jealousy. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’ll tell you, Stephanie, I believe you now. I’m going +to take your word. But if you do deceive me, and I should find it out, I will +quit you the same day. I do not care to share you with any one else. What I +can’t understand, if you care for me, is how you can take so much +interest in all these affairs? It certainly isn’t devotion to your art +that’s impelling you, is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, are you going to go on quarreling with me?” asked Stephanie, +naively. “Won’t you believe me when I say that I love you? +Perhaps—” But here her histrionic ability came to her aid, and she +sobbed violently. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood took her in his arms. “Never mind,” he soothed. “I +do believe you. I do think you care for me. Only I wish you weren’t such +a butterfly temperament, Stephanie.” +</p> + +<p> +So this particular lesion for the time being was healed. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap28"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII.<br/> +The Exposure of Stephanie</h2> + +<p> +At the same time the thought of readjusting her relations so that they would +avoid disloyalty to Cowperwood was never further from Stephanie’s mind. +Let no one quarrel with Stephanie Platow. She was an unstable chemical +compound, artistic to her finger-tips, not understood or properly guarded by +her family. Her interest in Cowperwood, his force and ability, was intense. So +was her interest in Forbes Gurney—the atmosphere of poetry that enveloped +him. She studied him curiously on the various occasions when they met, and, +finding him bashful and recessive, set out to lure him. She felt that he was +lonely and depressed and poor, and her womanly capacity for sympathy naturally +bade her be tender. +</p> + +<p> +Her end was easily achieved. One night, when they were all out in Bliss +Bridge’s single-sticker—a fast-sailing saucer—Stephanie and +Forbes Gurney sat forward of the mast looking at the silver moon track which +was directly ahead. The rest were in the cockpit “cutting +up”—laughing and singing. It was very plain to all that Stephanie +was becoming interested in Forbes Gurney; and since he was charming and she +wilful, nothing was done to interfere with them, except to throw an occasional +jest their way. Gurney, new to love and romance, scarcely knew how to take his +good fortune, how to begin. He told Stephanie of his home life in the +wheat-fields of the Northwest, how his family had moved from Ohio when he was +three, and how difficult were the labors he had always undergone. He had +stopped in his plowing many a day to stand under a tree and write a +poem—such as it was—or to watch the birds or to wish he could go to +college or to Chicago. She looked at him with dreamy eyes, her dark skin turned +a copper bronze in the moonlight, her black hair irradiated with a strange, +luminous grayish blue. Forbes Gurney, alive to beauty in all its forms, +ventured finally to touch her hand—she of Knowles, Cross, and +Cowperwood—and she thrilled from head to toe. This boy was so sweet. His +curly brown hair gave him a kind of Greek innocence and aspect. She did not +move, but waited, hoping he would do more. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish I might talk to you as I feel,” he finally said, hoarsely, +a catch in his throat. +</p> + +<p> +She laid one hand on his. +</p> + +<p> +“You dear!” she said. +</p> + +<p> +He realized now that he might. A great ecstasy fell upon him. He smoothed her +hand, then slipped his arm about her waist, then ventured to kiss the dark +cheek turned dreamily from him. Artfully her head sunk to his shoulder, and he +murmured wild nothings—how divine she was, how artistic, how wonderful! +With her view of things, it could only end one way. She manoeuvered him into +calling on her at her home, into studying her books and plays on the top-floor +sitting-room, into hearing her sing. Once fully in his arms, the rest was easy +by suggestion. He learned she was no longer innocent, and then— In the +mean time Cowperwood mingled his speculations concerning large power-houses, +immense reciprocating engines, the problem of a wage scale for his now two +thousand employees, some of whom were threatening to strike, the problem of +securing, bonding, and equipping the La Salle Street tunnel and a down-town +loop in La Salle, Munroe, Dearborn, and Randolph streets, with mental inquiries +and pictures as to what possibly Stephanie Platow might be doing. He could only +make appointments with her from time to time. He did not fail to note that, +after he began to make use of information she let drop as to her whereabouts +from day to day and her free companionship, he heard less of Gardner Knowles, +Lane Cross, and Forbes Gurney, and more of Georgia Timberlake and Ethel +Tuckerman. Why this sudden reticence? On one occasion she did say of Forbes +Gurney “that he was having such a hard time, and that his clothes +weren’t as nice as they should be, poor dear!” Stephanie herself, +owing to gifts made to her by Cowperwood, was resplendent these days. She took +just enough to complete her wardrobe according to her taste. +</p> + +<p> +“Why not send him to me?” Cowperwood asked. “I might find +something to do for him.” He would have been perfectly willing to put him +in some position where he could keep track of his time. However, Mr. Gurney +never sought him for a position, and Stephanie ceased to speak of his poverty. +A gift of two hundred dollars, which Cowperwood made her in June, was followed +by an accidental meeting with her and Gurney in Washington Street. Mr. Gurney, +pale and pleasant, was very well dressed indeed. He wore a pin which Cowperwood +knew had once belonged to Stephanie. She was in no way confused. Finally +Stephanie let it out that Lane Cross, who had gone to New Hampshire for the +summer, had left his studio in her charge. Cowperwood decided to have this +studio watched. +</p> + +<p> +There was in Cowperwood’s employ at this time a young newspaper man, an +ambitious spark aged twenty-six, by the name of Francis Kennedy. He had written +a very intelligent article for the Sunday <i>Inquirer</i>, describing +Cowperwood and his plans, and pointing out what a remarkable man he was. This +pleased Cowperwood. When Kennedy called one day, announcing smartly that he was +anxious to get out of reportorial work, and inquiring whether he couldn’t +find something to do in the street-railway world, Cowperwood saw in him a +possibly useful tool. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll try you out as secretary for a while,” he said, +pleasantly. “There are a few special things I want done. If you succeed +in those, I may find something else for you later.” +</p> + +<p> +Kennedy had been working for him only a little while when he said to him one +day: “Francis, did you ever hear of a young man by the name of Forbes +Gurney in the newspaper world?” +</p> + +<p> +They were in Cowperwood’s private office. +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir,” replied Francis, briskly. +</p> + +<p> +“You have heard of an organization called the Garrick Players, +haven’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Francis, do you suppose you could undertake a little piece of +detective work for me, and handle it intelligently and quietly?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think so,” said Francis, who was the pink of perfection this +morning in a brown suit, garnet tie, and sard sleeve-links. His shoes were +immaculately polished, and his young, healthy face glistened. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you what I want you to do. There is a young actress, or +amateur actress, by the name of Stephanie Platow, who frequents the studio of +an artist named Cross in the New Arts Building. She may even occupy it in his +absence—I don’t know. I want you to find out for me what the +relations of Mr. Gurney and this woman are. I have certain business reasons for +wanting to know.” +</p> + +<p> +Young Kennedy was all attention. +</p> + +<p> +“You couldn’t tell me where I could find out anything about this +Mr. Gurney to begin with, could you?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I think he is a friend of a critic here by the name of Gardner Knowles. +You might ask him. I need not say that you must never mention me. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I understand that thoroughly, Mr. Cowperwood.” Young Kennedy +departed, meditating. How was he to do this? With true journalistic skill he +first sought other newspaper men, from whom he learned—a bit from one and +a scrap from another—of the character of the Garrick Players, and of the +women who belonged to it. He pretended to be writing a one-act play, which he +hoped to have produced. +</p> + +<p> +He then visited Lane Cross’s studio, posing as a newspaper interviewer. +Mr. Cross was out of town, so the elevator man said. His studio was closed. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Kennedy meditated on this fact for a moment. +</p> + +<p> +“Does any one use his studio during the summer months?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I believe there is a young woman who comes here—yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t happen to know who it is?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I do. Her name is Platow. What do you want to know for?” +</p> + +<p> +“Looky here,” exclaimed Kennedy, surveying the rather shabby +attendant with a cordial and persuasive eye, “do you want to make some +money—five or ten dollars, and without any trouble to you?” +</p> + +<p> +The elevator man, whose wages were exactly eight dollars a week, pricked up his +ears. +</p> + +<p> +“I want to know who comes here with this Miss Platow, when they +come—all about it. I’ll make it fifteen dollars if I find out what +I want, and I’ll give you five right now.” +</p> + +<p> +The elevator factotum had just sixty-five cents in his pocket at the time. He +looked at Kennedy with some uncertainty and much desire. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what can I do?” he repeated. “I’m not here after +six. The janitor runs this elevator from six to twelve.” +</p> + +<p> +“There isn’t a room vacant anywhere near this one, is there?” +Kennedy asked, speculatively. +</p> + +<p> +The factotum thought. “Yes, there is. One just across the hall.” +</p> + +<p> +“What time does she come here as a rule?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know anything about nights. In the day she sometimes comes +mornings, sometimes in the afternoon.” +</p> + +<p> +“Anybody with her?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sometimes a man, sometimes a girl or two. I haven’t really paid +much attention to her, to tell you the truth.” +</p> + +<p> +Kennedy walked away whistling. +</p> + +<p> +From this day on Mr. Kennedy became a watcher over this very unconventional +atmosphere. He was in and out, principally observing the comings and goings of +Mr. Gurney. He found what he naturally suspected, that Mr. Gurney and Stephanie +spent hours here at peculiar times—after a company of friends had +jollified, for instance, and all had left, including Gurney, when the latter +would quietly return, with Stephanie sometimes, if she had left with the +others, alone if she had remained behind. The visits were of varying duration, +and Kennedy, to be absolutely accurate, kept days, dates, the duration of the +hours, which he left noted in a sealed envelope for Cowperwood in the morning. +Cowperwood was enraged, but so great was his interest in Stephanie that he was +not prepared to act. He wanted to see to what extent her duplicity would go. +</p> + +<p> +The novelty of this atmosphere and its effect on him was astonishing. Although +his mind was vigorously employed during the day, nevertheless his thoughts kept +returning constantly. Where was she? What was she doing? The bland way in which +she could lie reminded him of himself. To think that she should prefer any one +else to him, especially at this time when he was shining as a great +constructive factor in the city, was too much. It smacked of age, his ultimate +displacement by youth. It cut and hurt. +</p> + +<p> +One morning, after a peculiarly exasperating night of thought concerning her, +he said to young Kennedy: “I have a suggestion for you. I wish you would +get this elevator man you are working with down there to get you a duplicate +key to this studio, and see if there is a bolt on the inside. Let me know when +you do. Bring me the key. The next time she is there of an evening with Mr. +Gurney step out and telephone me.” +</p> + +<p> +The climax came one night several weeks after this discouraging investigation +began. There was a heavy yellow moon in the sky, and a warm, sweet summer wind +was blowing. Stephanie had called on Cowperwood at his office about four to say +that instead of staying down-town with him, as they had casually planned, she +was going to her home on the West Side to attend a garden-party of some kind at +Georgia Timberlake’s. Cowperwood looked at her with—for him—a +morbid eye. He was all cheer, geniality, pleasant badinage; but he was thinking +all the while what a shameless enigma she was, how well she played her part, +what a fool she must take him to be. He gave her youth, her passion, her +attractiveness, her natural promiscuity of soul due credit; but he could not +forgive her for not loving him perfectly, as had so many others. She had on a +summery black-and-white frock and a fetching brown Leghorn hat, which, with a +rich-red poppy ornamenting a flare over her left ear and a peculiar ruching of +white-and-black silk about the crown, made her seem strangely young, debonair, +a study in Hebraic and American origins. +</p> + +<p> +“Going to have a nice time, are you?” he asked, genially, +politically, eying her in his enigmatic and inscrutable way. “Going to +shine among that charming company you keep! I suppose all the standbys will be +there—Bliss Bridge, Mr. Knowles, Mr. Cross—dancing attendance on +you?” +</p> + +<p> +He failed to mention Mr. Gurney. +</p> + +<p> +Stephanie nodded cheerfully. She seemed in an innocent outing mood. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood smiled, thinking how one of these days—very shortly, +perhaps—he was certain to take a signal revenge. He would catch her in a +lie, in a compromising position somewhere—in this studio, +perhaps—and dismiss her with contempt. In an elder day, if they had lived +in Turkey, he would have had her strangled, sewn in a sack, and thrown into the +Bosporus. As it was, he could only dismiss her. He smiled and smiled, smoothing +her hand. “Have a good time,” he called, as she left. Later, at his +own home—it was nearly midnight—Mr. Kennedy called him up. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Cowperwood?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“You know the studio in the New Arts Building?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is occupied now.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood called a servant to bring him his runabout. He had had a down-town +locksmith make a round keystem with a bored clutch at the end of it—a +hollow which would fit over the end of such a key as he had to the studio and +turn it easily from the outside. He felt in his pocket for it, jumped in his +runabout, and hurried away. When he reached the New Arts Building he found +Kennedy in the hall and dismissed him. “Thanks,” he observed, +brusquely. “I will take care of this.” +</p> + +<p> +He hurried up the stairs, avoiding the elevator, to the vacant room opposite, +and thence reconnoitered the studio door. It was as Kennedy had reported. +Stephanie was there, and with Gurney. The pale poet had been brought there to +furnish her an evening of delight. Because of the stillness of the building at +this hour he could hear their muffled voices speaking alternately, and once +Stephanie singing the refrain of a song. He was angry and yet grateful that she +had, in her genial way, taken the trouble to call and assure him that she was +going to a summer lawn-party and dance. He smiled grimly, sarcastically, as he +thought of her surprise. Softly he extracted the clutch-key and inserted it, +covering the end of the key on the inside and turning it. It gave solidly +without sound. He next tried the knob and turned it, feeling the door spring +slightly as he did so. Then inaudibly, because of a gurgled laugh with which he +was thoroughly familiar, he opened it and stepped in. +</p> + +<p> +At his rough, firm cough they sprang up—Gurney to a hiding position +behind a curtain, Stephanie to one of concealment behind draperies on the +couch. She could not speak, and could scarcely believe that her eyes did not +deceive her. Gurney, masculine and defiant, but by no means well composed, +demanded: “Who are you? What do you want here?” Cowperwood replied +very simply and smilingly: “Not very much. Perhaps Miss Platow there will +tell you.” He nodded in her direction. +</p> + +<p> +Stephanie, fixed by his cold, examining eye, shrank nervously, ignoring Gurney +entirely. The latter perceived on the instant that he had a previous liaison to +deal with—an angry and outraged lover—and he was not prepared to +act either wisely or well. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Gurney,” said Cowperwood, complacently, after staring at +Stephanie grimly and scorching her with his scorn, “I have no concern +with you, and do not propose to do anything to disturb you or Miss Platow after +a very few moments. I am not here without reason. This young woman has been +steadily deceiving me. She has lied to me frequently, and pretended an +innocence which I did not believe. To-night she told me she was to be at a +lawn-party on the West Side. She has been my mistress for months. I have given +her money, jewelry, whatever she wanted. Those jade ear-rings, by the way, are +one of my gifts.” He nodded cheerfully in Stephanie’s direction. +“I have come here simply to prove to her that she cannot lie to me any +more. Heretofore, every time I have accused her of things like this she has +cried and lied. I do not know how much you know of her, or how fond you are of +her. I merely wish her, not you, to know”—and he turned and stared +at Stephanie—“that the day of her lying to me is over.” +</p> + +<p> +During this very peculiar harangue Stephanie, who, nervous, fearful, fixed, and +yet beautiful, remained curled up in the corner of the suggestive oriental +divan, had been gazing at Cowperwood in a way which plainly attested, trifle as +she might with others, that she was nevertheless fond of him—intensely +so. His strong, solid figure, confronting her so ruthlessly, gripped her +imagination, of which she had a world. She had managed to conceal her body in +part, but her brown arms and shoulders, her bosom, trim knees, and feet were +exposed in part. Her black hair and naive face were now heavy, distressed, sad. +She was frightened really, for Cowperwood at bottom had always overawed +her—a strange, terrible, fascinating man. Now she sat and looked, seeking +still to lure him by the pathetic cast of her face and soul, while Cowperwood, +scornful of her, and almost openly contemptuous of her lover, and his possible +opposition, merely stood smiling before them. It came over her very swiftly now +just what it was she was losing—a grim, wonderful man. Beside him Gurney, +the pale poet, was rather thin—a mere breath of romance. She wanted to +say something, to make a plea; but it was so plain Cowperwood would have none +of it, and, besides, here was Gurney. Her throat clogged, her eyes filled, even +here, and a mystical bog-fire state of emotion succeeded the primary one of +opposition. Cowperwood knew the look well. It gave him the only sense of +triumph he had. +</p> + +<p> +“Stephanie,” he remarked, “I have just one word to say to you +now. We will not meet any more, of course. You are a good actress. Stick to +your profession. You may shine in it if you do not merge it too completely with +your loves. As for being a free lover, it isn’t incompatible with what +you are, perhaps, but it isn’t socially advisable for you. Good +night.” +</p> + +<p> +He turned and walked quickly out. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Frank,” called Stephanie, in a strange, magnetized, despairing +way, even in the face of her astonished lover. Gurney stared with his mouth +open. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood paid no heed. Out he went through the dark hall and down the stairs. +For once the lure of a beautiful, enigmatic, immoral, and promiscuous +woman—poison flower though she was—was haunting him. +“D— her!” he exclaimed. “D— the little beast, +anyhow! The ——! The ——!” He used terms so hard, +so vile, so sad, all because he knew for once what it was to love and +lose—to want ardently in his way and not to have—now or ever after. +He was determined that his path and that of Stephanie Platow should never be +allowed to cross again. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap29"></a>CHAPTER XXIX.<br/> +A Family Quarrel</h2> + +<p> +It chanced that shortly before this liaison was broken off, some troubling +information was quite innocently conveyed to Aileen by Stephanie Platow’s +own mother. One day Mrs. Platow, in calling on Mrs. Cowperwood, commented on +the fact that Stephanie was gradually improving in her art, that the Garrick +Players had experienced a great deal of trouble, and that Stephanie was shortly +to appear in a new role—something Chinese. +</p> + +<p> +“That was such a charming set of jade you gave her,” she +volunteered, genially. “I only saw it the other day for the first time. +She never told me about it before. She prizes it so very highly, that I feel as +though I ought to thank you myself.” +</p> + +<p> +Aileen opened her eyes. “Jade!” she observed, curiously. +“Why, I don’t remember.” Recalling Cowperwood’s +proclivities on the instant, she was suspicious, distraught. Her face showed +her perplexity. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, yes,” replied Mrs. Platow, Aileen’s show of surprise +troubling her. “The ear-rings and necklet, you know. She said you gave +them to her.” +</p> + +<p> +“To be sure,” answered Aileen, catching herself as by a hair. +“I do recall it now. But it was Frank who really gave them. I hope she +likes them.” +</p> + +<p> +She smiled sweetly. +</p> + +<p> +“She thinks they’re beautiful, and they do become her,” +continued Mrs. Platow, pleasantly, understanding it all, as she fancied. The +truth was that Stephanie, having forgotten, had left her make-up box open one +day at home, and her mother, rummaging in her room for something, had +discovered them and genially confronted her with them, for she knew the value +of jade. Nonplussed for the moment, Stephanie had lost her mental, though not +her outward, composure and referred them back casually to an evening at the +Cowperwood home when Aileen had been present and the gauds had been genially +forced upon her. +</p> + +<p> +Unfortunately for Aileen, the matter was not to be allowed to rest just so, for +going one afternoon to a reception given by Rhees Crier, a young sculptor of +social proclivities, who had been introduced to her by Taylor Lord, she was +given a taste of what it means to be a neglected wife from a public point of +view. As she entered on this occasion she happened to overhear two women +talking in a corner behind a screen erected to conceal wraps. “Oh, here +comes Mrs. Cowperwood,” said one. “She’s the street-railway +magnate’s wife. Last winter and spring he was running with that Platow +girl—of the Garrick Players, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +The other nodded, studying Aileen’s splendiferous green—velvet gown +with envy. +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder if she’s faithful to him?” she queried, while +Aileen strained to hear. “She looks daring enough.” +</p> + +<p> +Aileen managed to catch a glimpse of her observers later, when they were not +looking, and her face showed her mingled resentment and feeling; but it did no +good. The wretched gossipers had wounded her in the keenest way. She was hurt, +angry, nonplussed. To think that Cowperwood by his variability should expose +her to such gossip as this! +</p> + +<p> +One day not so long after her conversation with Mrs. Platow, Aileen happened to +be standing outside the door of her own boudoir, the landing of which commanded +the lower hall, and there overheard two of her servants discussing the +Cowperwood menage in particular and Chicago life in general. One was a tall, +angular girl of perhaps twenty-seven or eight, a chambermaid, the other a +short, stout woman of forty who held the position of assistant housekeeper. +They were pretending to dust, though gossip conducted in a whisper was the +matter for which they were foregathered. The tall girl had recently been +employed in the family of Aymar Cochrane, the former president of the Chicago +West Division Railway, and now a director of the new West Chicago Street +Railway Company. +</p> + +<p> +“And I was that surprised,” Aileen heard this girl saying, +“to think I should be coming here. I cud scarcely believe me ears when +they told me. Why, Miss Florence was runnin’ out to meet him two and +three times in the week. The wonder to me was that her mother never +guessed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Och,” replied the other, “he’s the very divil and all +when it comes to the wimmin.” (Aileen did not see the upward lift of the +hand that accompanied this). “There was a little girl that used to come +here. Her father lives up the street here. Haguenin is his name. He owns that +morning paper, the <i>Press</i>, and has a fine house up the street here a little way. +Well, I haven’t seen her very often of late, but more than once I saw him +kissing her in this very room. Sure his wife knows all about it. Depend on it. +She had an awful fight with some woman here onct, so I hear, some woman that he +was runnin’ with and bringin’ here to the house. I hear it’s +somethin’ terrible the way she beat her up—screamin’ and +carryin’ on. Oh, they’re the divil, these men, when it comes to the +wimmin.” +</p> + +<p> +A slight rustling sound from somewhere sent the two gossipers on their several +ways, but Aileen had heard enough to understand. What was she to do? How was +she to learn more of these new women, of whom she had never heard at all? She +at once suspected Florence Cochrane, for she knew that this servant had worked +in the Cochrane family. And then Cecily Haguenin, the daughter of the editor +with whom they were on the friendliest terms! Cowperwood kissing her! Was there +no end to his liaisons—his infidelity? +</p> + +<p> +She returned, fretting and grieving, to her room, where she meditated and +meditated, wondering whether she should leave him, wondering whether she should +reproach him openly, wondering whether she should employ more detectives. What +good would it do? She had employed detectives once. Had it prevented the +Stephanie Platow incident? Not at all. Would it prevent other liaisons in the +future? Very likely not. Obviously her home life with Cowperwood was coming to +a complete and disastrous end. Things could not go on in this way. She had done +wrong, possibly, in taking him away from Mrs. Cowperwood number one, though she +could scarcely believe that, for Mrs. Lillian Cowperwood was so unsuited to +him—but this repayment! If she had been at all superstitious or +religious, and had known her Bible, which she didn’t, she might have +quoted to herself that very fatalistic statement of the New Testament, +“With what measure ye mete it shall be measured unto you again.” +</p> + +<p> +The truth was that Cowperwood’s continued propensity to rove at liberty +among the fair sex could not in the long run fail of some results of an +unsatisfactory character. Coincident with the disappearance of Stephanie +Platow, he launched upon a variety of episodes, the charming daughter of so +worthy a man as Editor Haguenin, his sincerest and most sympathetic +journalistic supporter; and the daughter of Aymar Cochrane, falling victims, +among others, to what many would have called his wiles. As a matter of fact, in +most cases he was as much sinned against as sinning, since the provocation was +as much offered as given. +</p> + +<p> +The manner in which he came to get in with Cecily Haguenin was simple enough. +Being an old friend of the family, and a frequent visitor at her father’s +house, he found this particular daughter of desire an easy victim. She was a +vigorous blonde creature of twenty at this time, very full and plump, with +large, violet eyes, and with considerable alertness of mind—a sort of +doll girl with whom Cowperwood found it pleasant to amuse himself. A playful +gamboling relationship had existed between them when she was a mere child +attending school, and had continued through her college years whenever she +happened to be at home on a vacation. In these very latest days when Cowperwood +on occasion sat in the Haguenin library consulting with the +journalist-publisher concerning certain moves which he wished to have put right +before the public he saw considerably more of Cecily. One night, when her +father had gone out to look up the previous action of the city council in +connection with some matter of franchises, a series of more or less sympathetic +and understanding glances suddenly culminated in Cecily’s playfully +waving a new novel, which she happened to have in her hand, in +Cowperwood’s face; and he, in reply, laid hold caressingly of her arms. +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t stop me so easily,” she observed, banteringly. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes, I can,” he replied. +</p> + +<p> +A slight struggle ensued, in which he, with her semiwilful connivance, managed +to manoeuver her into his arms, her head backward against his shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” she said, looking up at him with a semi-nervous, +semi-provocative glance, “now what? You’ll just have to let me +go.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not very soon, though.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes, you will. My father will be here in a moment.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, not until then, anyhow. You’re getting to be the sweetest +girl.” +</p> + +<p> +She did not resist, but remained gazing half nervously, half dreamily at him, +whereupon he smoothed her cheek, and then kissed her. Her father’s +returning step put an end to this; but from this point on ascent or descent to +a perfect understanding was easily made. +</p> + +<p> +In the matter of Florence Cochrane, the daughter of Aymar Cochrane, the +president of the Chicago West Division Company—a second affair of the +period—the approach was only slightly different, the result the same. +This girl, to furnish only a brief impression, was a blonde of a different type +from Cecily—delicate, picturesque, dreamy. She was mildly intellectual at +this time, engaged in reading Marlowe and Jonson; and Cowperwood, busy in the +matter of the West Chicago Street Railway, and conferring with her father, was +conceived by her as a great personage of the Elizabethan order. In a tentative +way she was in revolt against an apple-pie order of existence which was being +forced upon her. Cowperwood recognized the mood, trifled with her spiritedly, +looked into her eyes, and found the response he wanted. Neither old Aymar +Cochrane nor his impeccably respectable wife ever discovered. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Subsequently Aileen, reflecting upon these latest developments, was from one +point of view actually pleased or eased. There is always safety in numbers, and +she felt that if Cowperwood were going to go on like this it would not be +possible for him in the long run to take a definite interest in any one; and +so, all things considered, and other things being equal, he would probably just +as leave remain married to her as not. +</p> + +<p> +But what a comment, she could not help reflecting, on her own charms! What an +end to an ideal union that had seemed destined to last all their days! She, +Aileen Butler, who in her youth had deemed herself the peer of any girl in +charm, force, beauty, to be shoved aside thus early in her life—she was +only forty—by the younger generation. And such silly snips as they +were—Stephanie Platow! and Cecily Haguenin! and Florence Cochrane, in all +likelihood another pasty-faced beginner! And here she was—vigorous, +resplendent, smooth of face and body, her forehead, chin, neck, eyes without a +wrinkle, her hair a rich golden reddish glow, her step springing, her weight no +more than one hundred and fifty pounds for her very normal height, with all the +advantages of a complete toilet cabinet, jewels, clothing, taste, and skill in +material selection—being elbowed out by these upstarts. It was almost +unbelievable. It was so unfair. Life was so cruel, Cowperwood so +temperamentally unbalanced. Dear God! to think that this should be true! Why +should he not love her? She studied her beauty in the mirror from time to time, +and raged and raged. Why was her body not sufficient for him? Why should he +deem any one more beautiful? Why should he not be true to his reiterated +protestations that he cared for her? Other men were true to other women. Her +father had been faithful to her mother. At the thought of her own father and +his opinion of her conduct she winced, but it did not change her point of view +as to her present rights. See her hair! See her eyes! See her smooth, +resplendent arms! Why should Cowperwood not love her? Why, indeed? +</p> + +<p> +One night, shortly afterward, she was sitting in her boudoir reading, waiting +for him to come home, when the telephone-bell sounded and he informed her that +he was compelled to remain at the office late. Afterward he said he might be +obliged to run on to Pittsburg for thirty-six hours or thereabouts; but he +would surely be back on the third day, counting the present as one. Aileen was +chagrined. Her voice showed it. They had been scheduled to go to dinner with +the Hoecksemas, and afterward to the theater. Cowperwood suggested that she +should go alone, but Aileen declined rather sharply; she hung up the receiver +without even the pretense of a good-by. And then at ten o’clock he +telephoned again, saying that he had changed his mind, and that if she were +interested to go anywhere—a later supper, or the like—she should +dress, otherwise he would come home expecting to remain. +</p> + +<p> +Aileen immediately concluded that some scheme he had had to amuse himself had +fallen through. Having spoiled her evening, he was coming home to make as much +hay as possible out of this bit of sunshine. This infuriated her. The whole +business of uncertainty in the matter of his affections was telling on her +nerves. A storm was in order, and it had come. He came bustling in a little +later, slipped his arms around her as she came forward and kissed her on the +mouth. He smoothed her arms in a make-believe and yet tender way, and patted +her shoulders. Seeing her frown, he inquired, “What’s troubling +Babykins?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, nothing more than usual,” replied Aileen, irritably. +“Let’s not talk about that. Have you had your dinner?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, we had it brought in.” He was referring to McKenty, Addison, +and himself, and the statement was true. Being in an honest position for once, +he felt called upon to justify himself a little. “It couldn’t be +avoided to-night. I’m sorry that this business takes up so much of my +time, but I’ll get out of it some day soon. Things are bound to ease +up.” +</p> + +<p> +Aileen withdrew from his embrace and went to her dressing-table. A glance +showed her that her hair was slightly awry, and she smoothed it into place. She +looked at her chin, and then went back to her book—rather sulkily, he +thought. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Aileen, what’s the trouble?” he inquired. +“Aren’t you glad to have me up here? I know you have had a pretty +rough road of it of late, but aren’t you willing to let bygones be +bygones and trust to the future a little?” +</p> + +<p> +“The future! The future! Don’t talk to me about the future. +It’s little enough it holds in store for me,” she replied. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood saw that she was verging on an emotional storm, but he trusted to +his powers of persuasion, and her basic affection for him, to soothe and quell +her. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you wouldn’t act this way, pet,” he went on. +“You know I have always cared for you. You know I always shall. +I’ll admit that there are a lot of little things which interfere with my +being at home as much as I would like at present; but that doesn’t alter +the fact that my feeling is the same. I should think you could see that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Feeling! Feeling!” taunted Aileen, suddenly. “Yes, I know +how much feeling you have. You have feeling enough to give other women sets of +jade and jewels, and to run around with every silly little snip you meet. You +needn’t come home here at ten o’clock, when you can’t go +anywhere else, and talk about feeling for me. I know how much feeling you have. +Pshaw!” +</p> + +<p> +She flung herself irritably back in her chair and opened her book. Cowperwood +gazed at her solemnly, for this thrust in regard to Stephanie was a revelation. +This woman business could grow peculiarly exasperating at times. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean, anyhow?” he observed, cautiously and with much +seeming candor. “I haven’t given any jade or jewels to any one, nor +have I been running around with any ‘little snips,’ as you call +them. I don’t know what you are talking about, Aileen.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Frank,” commented Aileen, wearily and incredulously, +“you lie so! Why do you stand there and lie? I’m so tired of it; +I’m so sick of it all. How should the servants know of so many things to +talk of here if they weren’t true? I didn’t invite Mrs. Platow to +come and ask me why you had given her daughter a set of jade. I know why you +lie; you want to hush me up and keep quiet. You’re afraid I’ll go +to Mr. Haguenin or Mr. Cochrane or Mr. Platow, or to all three. Well, you can +rest your soul on that score. I won’t. I’m sick of you and your +lies. Stephanie Platow—the thin stick! Cecily Haguenin—the little +piece of gum! And Florence Cochrane—she looks like a dead fish!” +(Aileen had a genius for characterization at times.) “If it just +weren’t for the way I acted toward my family in Philadelphia, and the +talk it would create, and the injury it would do you financially, I’d act +to-morrow. I’d leave you—that’s what I’d do. And to +think that I should ever have believed that you really loved me, or could care +for any woman permanently. Bosh! But I don’t care. Go on! Only I’ll +tell you one thing. You needn’t think I’m going to go on enduring +all this as I have in the past. I’m not. You’re not going to +deceive me always. I’m not going to stand it. I’m not so old yet. +There are plenty of men who will be glad to pay me attention if you +won’t. I told you once that I wouldn’t be faithful to you if you +weren’t to me, and I won’t be. I’ll show you. I’ll go +with other men. I will! I will! I swear it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Aileen,” he asked, softly, pleadingly, realizing the futility of +additional lies under such circumstances, “won’t you forgive me +this time? Bear with me for the present. I scarcely understand myself at times. +I am not like other men. You and I have run together a long time now. Why not +wait awhile? Give me a chance! See if I do not change. I may.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes, wait! Change. You may change. Haven’t I waited? +Haven’t I walked the floor night after night! when you haven’t been +here? Bear with you—yes, yes! Who’s to bear with me when my heart +is breaking? Oh, God!” she suddenly added, with passionate vigor, +“I’m miserable! I’m miserable! My heart aches! It +aches!” +</p> + +<p> +She clutched her breast and swung from the room, moving with that vigorous +stride that had once appealed to him so, and still did. Alas, alas! it touched +him now, but only as a part of a very shifty and cruel world. He hurried out of +the room after her, and (as at the time of the Rita Sohlberg incident) slipped +his arm about her waist; but she pulled away irritably. “No, no!” +she exclaimed. “Let me alone. I’m tired of that.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re really not fair to me, Aileen,” with a great show of +feeling and sincerity. “You’re letting one affair that came between +us blind your whole point of view. I give you my word I haven’t been +unfaithful to you with Stephanie Platow or any other woman. I may have flirted +with them a little, but that is really nothing. Why not be sensible? I’m +not as black as you paint me. I’m moving in big matters that are as much +for your concern and future as for mine. Be sensible, be liberal.” +</p> + +<p> +There was much argument—the usual charges and countercharges—but, +finally, because of her weariness of heart, his petting, the unsolvability of +it all, she permitted him for the time being to persuade her that there were +still some crumbs of affection left. She was soul-sick, heartsick. Even he, as +he attempted to soothe her, realized clearly that to establish the reality of +his love in her belief he would have to make some much greater effort to +entertain and comfort her, and that this, in his present mood, and with his +leaning toward promiscuity, was practically impossible. For the time being a +peace might be patched up, but in view of what she expected of him—her +passion and selfish individuality—it could not be. He would have to go +on, and she would have to leave him, if needs be; but he could not cease or go +back. He was too passionate, too radiant, too individual and complex to belong +to any one single individual alone. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap30"></a>CHAPTER XXX.<br/> +Obstacles</h2> + +<p> +The impediments that can arise to baffle a great and swelling career are +strange and various. In some instances all the cross-waves of life must be cut +by the strong swimmer. With other personalities there is a chance, or force, +that happily allies itself with them; or they quite unconsciously ally +themselves with it, and find that there is a tide that bears them on. Divine +will? Not necessarily. There is no understanding of it. Guardian spirits? There +are many who so believe, to their utter undoing. (Witness Macbeth). An +unconscious drift in the direction of right, virtue, duty? These are banners of +mortal manufacture. Nothing is proved; all is permitted. +</p> + +<p> +Not long after Cowperwood’s accession to control on the West Side, for +instance, a contest took place between his corporation and a citizen by the +name of Redmond Purdy—real-estate investor, property-trader, and +money-lender—which set Chicago by the ears. The La Salle and Washington +Street tunnels were now in active service, but because of the great north and +south area of the West Side, necessitating the cabling of Van Buren Street and +Blue Island Avenue, there was need of a third tunnel somewhere south of +Washington Street, preferably at Van Buren Street, because the business heart +was thus more directly reached. Cowperwood was willing and anxious to build +this tunnel, though he was puzzled how to secure from the city a right of way +under Van Buren Street, where a bridge loaded with heavy traffic now swung. +There were all sorts of complications. In the first place, the consent of the +War Department at Washington had to be secured in order to tunnel under the +river at all. Secondly, the excavation, if directly under the bridge, might +prove an intolerable nuisance, necessitating the closing or removal of the +bridge. Owing to the critical, not to say hostile, attitude of the newspapers +which, since the La Salle and Washington tunnel grants, were following his +every move with a searchlight, Cowperwood decided not to petition the city for +privileges in this case, but instead to buy the property rights of sufficient +land just north of the bridge, where the digging of the tunnel could proceed +without interference. +</p> + +<p> +The piece of land most suitable for this purpose, a lot 150 x 150, lying a +little way from the river-bank, and occupied by a seven-story loft-building, +was owned by the previously mentioned Redmond Purdy, a long, thin, angular, +dirty person, who wore celluloid collars and cuffs and spoke with a nasal +intonation. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood had the customary overtures made by seemingly disinterested parties +endeavoring to secure the land at a fair price. But Purdy, who was as stingy as +a miser and as incisive as a rat-trap, had caught wind of the proposed tunnel +scheme. He was all alive for a fine profit. “No, no, no,” he +declared, over and over, when approached by the representatives of Mr. +Sylvester Toomey, Cowperwood’s ubiquitous land-agent. “I +don’t want to sell. Go away.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Sylvester Toomey was finally at his wit’s end, and complained to +Cowperwood, who at once sent for those noble beacons of dark and stormy waters, +General Van Sickle and the Hon. Kent Barrows McKibben. The General was now +becoming a little dolty, and Cowperwood was thinking of pensioning him; but +McKibben was in his prime—smug, handsome, deadly, smooth. After talking +it over with Mr. Toomey they returned to Cowperwood’s office with a +promising scheme. The Hon. Nahum Dickensheets, one of the judges of the State +Court of Appeals, and a man long since attached, by methods which need not here +be described, to Cowperwood’s star, had been persuaded to bring his +extensive technical knowledge to bear on the emergency. At his suggestion the +work of digging the tunnel was at once begun—first at the east or +Franklin Street end; then, after eight months’ digging, at the west or +Canal Street end. A shaft was actually sunk some thirty feet back of Mr. +Purdy’s building—between it and the river—while that +gentleman watched with a quizzical gleam in his eye this defiant procedure. He +was sure that when it came to the necessity of annexing his property the North +and West Chicago Street Railways would be obliged to pay through the nose. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’ll be cussed,” he frequently observed to himself, +for he could not see how his exaction of a pound of flesh was to be evaded, and +yet he felt strangely restless at times. Finally, when it became absolutely +necessary for Cowperwood to secure without further delay this coveted strip, he +sent for its occupant, who called in pleasant anticipation of a profitable +conversation; this should be worth a small fortune to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Purdy,” observed Cowperwood, glibly, “you have a piece +of land on the other side of the river that I need. Why don’t you sell it +to me? Can’t we fix this up now in some amicable way?” +</p> + +<p> +He smiled while Purdy cast shrewd, wolfish glances about the place, wondering +how much he could really hope to exact. The building, with all its interior +equipment, land, and all, was worth in the neighborhood of two hundred thousand +dollars. +</p> + +<p> +“Why should I sell? The building is a good building. It’s as useful +to me as it would be to you. I’m making money out of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite true,” replied Cowperwood, “but I am willing to pay +you a fair price for it. A public utility is involved. This tunnel will be a +good thing for the West Side and any other land you may own over there. With +what I will pay you you can buy more land in that neighborhood or elsewhere, +and make a good thing out of it. We need to put this tunnel just where it is, +or I wouldn’t trouble to argue with you. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s just it,” replied Purdy, fixedly. “You’ve +gone ahead and dug your tunnel without consulting me, and now you expect me to +get out of the way. Well, I don’t see that I’m called on to get out +of there just to please you.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I’ll pay you a fair price.” +</p> + +<p> +“How much will you pay me?” +</p> + +<p> +“How much do you want?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Purdy scratched a fox-like ear. “One million dollars.” +</p> + +<p> +“One million dollars!” exclaimed Cowperwood. “Don’t you +think that’s a little steep, Mr. Purdy?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” replied Purdy, sagely. “It’s not any more than +it’s worth.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood sighed. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry,” he replied, meditatively, “but this is +really too much. Wouldn’t you take three hundred thousand dollars in cash +now and consider this thing closed?” +</p> + +<p> +“One million,” replied Purdy, looking sternly at the ceiling. +“Very well, Mr. Purdy,” replied Cowperwood. “I’m very +sorry. It’s plain to me that we can’t do business as I had hoped. +I’m willing to pay you a reasonable sum; but what you ask is far too +much—preposterous! Don’t you think you’d better reconsider? +We might move the tunnel even yet.” +</p> + +<p> +“One million dollars,” said Purdy. +</p> + +<p> +“It can’t be done, Mr. Purdy. It isn’t worth it. Why +won’t you be fair? Call it three hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars +cash, and my check to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wouldn’t take five or six hundred thousand dollars if you were +to offer it to me, Mr. Cowperwood, to-night or any other time. I know my +rights.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, then,” replied Cowperwood, “that’s all I +can say. If you won’t sell, you won’t sell. Perhaps you’ll +change your mind later.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Purdy went out, and Cowperwood called in his lawyers and his engineers. One +Saturday afternoon, a week or two later, when the building in question had been +vacated for the day, a company of three hundred laborers, with wagons, picks, +shovels, and dynamite sticks, arrived. By sundown of the next day (which, being +Sunday, was a legal holiday, with no courts open or sitting to issue +injunctions) this comely structure, the private property of Mr. Redmond Purdy, +was completely razed and a large excavation substituted in its stead. The +gentleman of the celluloid cuffs and collars, when informed about nine +o’clock of this same Sunday morning that his building had been almost +completely removed, was naturally greatly perturbed. A portion of the wall was +still standing when he arrived, hot and excited, and the police were appealed +to. +</p> + +<p> +But, strange to say, this was of little avail, for they were shown a writ of +injunction issued by the court of highest jurisdiction, presided over by the +Hon. Nahum Dickensheets, which restrained all and sundry from interfering. +(Subsequently on demand of another court this remarkable document was +discovered to have disappeared; the contention was that it had never really +existed or been produced at all.) +</p> + +<p> +The demolition and digging proceeded. Then began a scurrying of lawyers to the +door of one friendly judge after another. There were apoplectic cheeks, blazing +eyes, and gasps for breath while the enormity of the offense was being noised +abroad. Law is law, however. Procedure is procedure, and no writ of injunction +was either issuable or returnable on a legal holiday, when no courts were +sitting. Nevertheless, by three o’clock in the afternoon an obliging +magistrate was found who consented to issue an injunction staying this terrible +crime. By this time, however, the building was gone, the excavation complete. +It remained merely for the West Chicago Street Railway Company to secure an +injunction vacating the first injunction, praying that its rights, privileges, +liberties, etc., be not interfered with, and so creating a contest which +naturally threw the matter into the State Court of Appeals, where it could +safely lie. For several years there were numberless injunctions, writs of +errors, doubts, motions to reconsider, threats to carry the matter from the +state to the federal courts on a matter of constitutional privilege, and the +like. The affair was finally settled out of court, for Mr. Purdy by this time +was a more sensible man. In the mean time, however, the newspapers had been +given full details of the transaction, and a storm of words against Cowperwood +ensued. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +But more disturbing than the Redmond Purdy incident was the rivalry of a new +Chicago street-railway company. It appeared first as an idea in the brain of +one James Furnivale Woolsen, a determined young Westerner from California, and +developed by degrees into consents and petitions from fully two-thirds of the +residents of various streets in the extreme southwest section of the city where +it was proposed the new line should be located. This same James Furnivale +Woolsen, being an ambitious person, was not to be so easily put down. Besides +the consent and petitions, which Cowperwood could not easily get away from him, +he had a new form of traction then being tried out in several minor +cities—a form of electric propulsion by means of an overhead wire and a +traveling pole, which was said to be very economical, and to give a service +better than cables and cheaper even than horses. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood had heard all about this new electric system some time before, and +had been studying it for several years with the greatest interest, since it +promised to revolutionize the whole business of street-railroading. However, +having but so recently completed his excellent cable system, he did not see +that it was advisable to throw it away. The trolley was as yet too much of a +novelty; certainly it was not advisable to have it introduced into Chicago +until he was ready to introduce it himself—first on his outlying feeder +lines, he thought, then perhaps generally. +</p> + +<p> +But before he could take suitable action against Woolsen, that engaging young +upstart, who was possessed of a high-power imagination and a gift of gab, had +allied himself with such interested investors as Truman Leslie MacDonald, who +saw here a heaven-sent opportunity of mulcting Cowperwood, and Jordan Jules, +once the president of the North Chicago Gas Company, who had lost money through +Cowperwood in the gas war. Two better instruments for goading a man whom they +considered an enemy could not well be imagined—Truman Leslie with his +dark, waspish, mistrustful, jealous eyes, and his slim, vital body; and Jordan +Jules, short, rotund, sandy, a sickly crop of thin, oily, light hair growing +down over his coat-collar, his forehead and crown glisteningly bald, his eyes a +seeking, searching, revengeful blue. They in turn brought in Samuel Blackman, +once president of the South Side Gas Company; Sunderland Sledd, of local +railroad management and stock-investment fame; and Norrie Simms, president of +the Douglas Trust Company, who, however, was little more than a fiscal agent. +The general feeling was that Cowperwood’s defensive tactics—which +consisted in having the city council refuse to act—could be easily met. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I think we can soon fix that,” exclaimed young MacDonald, +one morning at a meeting. “We ought to be able to smoke them out. A +little publicity will do it.” +</p> + +<p> +He appealed to his father, the editor of the <i>Inquirer</i>, but the latter refused +to act for the time being, seeing that his son was interested. MacDonald, +enraged at the do-nothing attitude of the council, invaded that body and +demanded of Alderman Dowling, still leader, why this matter of the Chicago +general ordinances was still lying unconsidered. Mr. Dowling, a large, mushy, +placid man with blue eyes, an iron frame, and a beefy smile, vouchsafed the +information that, although he was chairman of the committee on streets and +alleys, he knew nothing about it. “I haven’t been payin’ much +attention to things lately,” he replied. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. MacDonald went to see the remaining members of this same committee. They +were non-committal. They would have to look into the matter. Somebody claimed +that there was a flaw in the petitions. +</p> + +<p> +Evidently there was crooked work here somewhere. Cowperwood was to blame, no +doubt. MacDonald conferred with Blackman and Jordan Jules, and it was +determined that the council should be harried into doing its duty. This was a +legitimate enterprise. A new and better system of traction was being kept out +of the city. Schryhart, since he was offered an interest, and since there was +considerable chance of his being able to dominate the new enterprise, agreed +that the ordinances ought to be acted upon. In consequence there was a renewed +hubbub in the newspapers. +</p> + +<p> +It was pointed out through Schryhart’s Chronicle, through Hyssop’s +and Merrill’s papers, and through the <i>Inquirer</i> that such a situation was +intolerable. If the dominant party, at the behest of so sinister an influence +as Cowperwood, was to tie up all outside traction legislation, there could be +but one thing left—an appeal to the voters of the city to turn the +rascals out. No party could survive such a record of political trickery and +financial jugglery. McKenty, Dowling, Cowperwood, and others were characterized +as unreasonable obstructionists and debasing influences. But Cowperwood merely +smiled. These were the caterwaulings of the enemy. Later, when young MacDonald +threatened to bring legal action to compel the council to do its duty, +Cowperwood and his associates were not so cheerful. A mandamus proceeding, +however futile, would give the newspapers great opportunity for chatter; +moreover, a city election was drawing near. However, McKenty and Cowperwood +were by no means helpless. They had offices, jobs, funds, a well-organized +party system, the saloons, the dives, and those dark chambers where at late +hours ballot-boxes are incontinently stuffed. +</p> + +<p> +Did Cowperwood share personally in all this? Not at all. Or McKenty? No. In +good tweed and fine linen they frequently conferred in the offices of the +Chicago Trust Company, the president’s office of the North Chicago Street +Railway System, and Mr. Cowperwood’s library. No dark scenes were ever +enacted there. But just the same, when the time came, the +Schryhart-Simms-MacDonald editorial combination did not win. Mr. +McKenty’s party had the votes. A number of the most flagrantly debauched +aldermen, it is true, were defeated; but what is an alderman here and there? +The newly elected ones, even in the face of pre-election promises and vows, +could be easily suborned or convinced. So the anti-Cowperwood element was just +where it was before; but the feeling against him was much stronger, and +considerable sentiment generated in the public at large that there was +something wrong with the Cowperwood method of street-railway control. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap31"></a>CHAPTER XXXI.<br/> +Untoward Disclosures</h2> + +<p> +Coincident with these public disturbances and of subsequent hearing upon them +was the discovery by Editor Haguenin of Cowperwood’s relationship with +Cecily. It came about not through Aileen, who was no longer willing to fight +Cowperwood in this matter, but through Haguenin’s lady society editor, +who, hearing rumors in the social world, springing from heaven knows where, and +being beholden to Haguenin for many favors, had carried the matter to him in a +very direct way. Haguenin, a man of insufficient worldliness in spite of his +journalistic profession, scarcely believed it. Cowperwood was so suave, so +commercial. He had heard many things concerning him—his past—but +Cowperwood’s present state in Chicago was such, it seemed to him, as to +preclude petty affairs of this kind. Still, the name of his daughter being +involved, he took the matter up with Cecily, who under pressure confessed. She +made the usual plea that she was of age, and that she wished to live her own +life—logic which she had gathered largely from Cowperwood’s +attitude. Haguenin did nothing about it at first, thinking to send Cecily off +to an aunt in Nebraska; but, finding her intractable, and fearing some +counter-advice or reprisal on the part of Cowperwood, who, by the way, had +indorsed paper to the extent of one hundred thousand dollars for him, he +decided to discuss matters first. It meant a cessation of relations and some +inconvenient financial readjustments; but it had to be. He was just on the +point of calling on Cowperwood when the latter, unaware as yet of the latest +development in regard to Cecily, and having some variation of his council +programme to discuss with Haguenin, asked him over the ’phone to lunch. +Haguenin was much surprised, but in a way relieved. “I am busy,” he +said, very heavily, “but cannot you come to the office some time to-day? +There is something I would like to see you about.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood, imagining that there was some editorial or local political +development on foot which might be of interest to him, made an appointment for +shortly after four. He drove to the publisher’s office in the <i>Press</i> +Building, and was greeted by a grave and almost despondent man. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Cowperwood,” began Haguenin, when the financier entered, smart +and trig, his usual air of genial sufficiency written all over him, “I +have known you now for something like fourteen years, and during this time I +have shown you nothing but courtesy and good will. It is true that quite +recently you have done me various financial favors, but that was more due, I +thought, to the sincere friendship you bore me than to anything else. Quite +accidentally I have learned of the relationship that exists between you and my +daughter. I have recently spoken to her, and she admitted all that I need to +know. Common decency, it seems to me, might have suggested to you that you +leave my child out of the list of women you have degraded. Since it has not, I +merely wish to say to you”—and Mr. Haguenin’s face was very +tense and white—“that the relationship between you and me is ended. +The one hundred thousand dollars you have indorsed for me will be arranged for +otherwise as soon as possible, and I hope you will return to me the stock of +this paper that you hold as collateral. Another type of man, Mr. Cowperwood, +might attempt to make you suffer in another way. I presume that you have no +children of your own, or that if you have you lack the parental instinct; +otherwise you could not have injured me in this fashion. I believe that you +will live to see that this policy does not pay in Chicago or anywhere +else.” +</p> + +<p> +Haguenin turned slowly on his heel toward his desk. Cowperwood, who had +listened very patiently and very fixedly, without a tremor of an eyelash, +merely said: “There seems to be no common intellectual ground, Mr. +Haguenin, upon which you and I can meet in this matter. You cannot understand +my point of view. I could not possibly adopt yours. However, as you wish it, +the stock will be returned to you upon receipt of my indorsements. I cannot say +more than that.” +</p> + +<p> +He turned and walked unconcernedly out, thinking that it was too bad to lose +the support of so respectable a man, but also that he could do without it. It +was silly the way parents insisted on their daughters being something that they +did not wish to be. +</p> + +<p> +Haguenin stood by his desk after Cowperwood had gone, wondering where he should +get one hundred thousand dollars quickly, and also what he should do to make +his daughter see the error of her ways. It was an astonishing blow he had +received, he thought, in the house of a friend. It occurred to him that Walter +Melville Hyssop, who was succeeding mightily with his two papers, might come to +his rescue, and that later he could repay him when the <i>Press</i> was more +prosperous. He went out to his house in a quandary concerning life and chance; +while Cowperwood went to the Chicago Trust Company to confer with Videra, and +later out to his own home to consider how he should equalize this loss. The +state and fate of Cecily Haguenin was not of so much importance as many other +things on his mind at this time. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Far more serious were his cogitations with regard to a liaison he had recently +ventured to establish with Mrs. Hosmer Hand, wife of an eminent investor and +financier. Hand was a solid, phlegmatic, heavy-thinking person who had some +years before lost his first wife, to whom he had been eminently faithful. After +that, for a period of years he had been a lonely speculator, attending to his +vast affairs; but finally because of his enormous wealth, his rather +presentable appearance and social rank, he had been entrapped by much social +attention on the part of a Mrs. Jessie Drew Barrett into marrying her daughter +Caroline, a dashing skip of a girl who was clever, incisive, calculating, and +intensely gay. Since she was socially ambitious, and without much heart, the +thought of Hand’s millions, and how advantageous would be her situation +in case he should die, had enabled her to overlook quite easily his heavy, +unyouthful appearance and to see him in the light of a lover. There was +criticism, of course. Hand was considered a victim, and Caroline and her mother +designing minxes and cats; but since the wealthy financier was truly ensnared +it behooved friends and future satellites to be courteous, and so they were. +The wedding was very well attended. Mrs. Hand began to give house-parties, +teas, musicales, and receptions on a lavish scale. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood never met either her or her husband until he was well launched on +his street-car programme. Needing two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in a +hurry, and finding the Chicago Trust Company, the Lake City Bank, and other +institutions heavily loaded with his securities, he turned in a moment of +inspirational thought to Hand. Cowperwood was always a great borrower. His +paper was out in large quantities. He introduced himself frequently to powerful +men in this way, taking long or short loans at high or low rates of interest, +as the case might be, and sometimes finding some one whom he could work with or +use. In the case of Hand, though the latter was ostensibly of the +enemies’ camp—the Schryhart-Union-Gas-Douglas-Trust-Company +crowd—nevertheless Cowperwood had no hesitation in going to him. He +wished to overcome or forestall any unfavorable impression. Though Hand, a +solemn man of shrewd but honest nature, had heard a number of unfavorable +rumors, he was inclined to be fair and think the best. Perhaps Cowperwood was +merely the victim of envious rivals. +</p> + +<p> +When the latter first called on him at his office in the Rookery Building, he +was most cordial. “Come in, Mr. Cowperwood,” he said. “I have +heard a great deal about you from one person and another—mostly from the +newspapers. What can I do for you?” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood exhibited five hundred thousand dollars’ worth of West Chicago +Street Railway stock. “I want to know if I can get two hundred and fifty +thousand dollars on those by to-morrow morning.” +</p> + +<p> +Hand, a placid man, looked at the securities peacefully. “What’s +the matter with your own bank?” He was referring to the Chicago Trust +Company. “Can’t it take care of them for you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Loaded up with other things just now,” smiled Cowperwood, +ingratiatingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, if I can believe all the papers say, you’re going to wreck +these roads or Chicago or yourself; but I don’t live by the papers. How +long would you want it for?” +</p> + +<p> +“Six months, perhaps. A year, if you choose.” +</p> + +<p> +Hand turned over the securities, eying their gold seals. “Five hundred +thousand dollars’ worth of six per cent. West Chicago preferred,” +he commented. “Are you earning six per cent.?” +</p> + +<p> +“We’re earning eight right now. You’ll live to see the day +when these shares will sell at two hundred dollars and pay twelve per cent. at +that.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you’ve quadrupled the issue of the old company? Well, +Chicago’s growing. Leave them here until to-morrow or bring them back. +Send over or call me, and I’ll tell you.” +</p> + +<p> +They talked for a little while on street-railway and corporation matters. Hand +wanted to know something concerning West Chicago land—a region adjoining +Ravenswood. Cowperwood gave him his best advice. +</p> + +<p> +The next day he ’phoned, and the stocks, so Hand informed him, were +available. He would send a check over. So thus a tentative friendship began, +and it lasted until the relationship between Cowperwood and Mrs. Hand was +consummated and discovered. +</p> + +<p> +In Caroline Barrett, as she occasionally preferred to sign herself, Cowperwood +encountered a woman who was as restless and fickle as himself, but not so +shrewd. Socially ambitious, she was anything but socially conventional, and she +did not care for Hand. Once married, she had planned to repay herself in part +by a very gay existence. The affair between her and Cowperwood had begun at a +dinner at the magnificent residence of Hand on the North Shore Drive +overlooking the lake. Cowperwood had gone to talk over with her husband various +Chicago matters. Mrs. Hand was excited by his risque reputation. A little woman +in stature, with intensely white teeth, red lips which she did not hesitate to +rouge on occasion, brown hair, and small brown eyes which had a gay, searching, +defiant twinkle in them, she did her best to be interesting, clever, witty, and +she was. +</p> + +<p> +“I know Frank Cowperwood by reputation, anyhow,” she exclaimed, +holding out a small, white, jeweled hand, the nails of which at their juncture +with the flesh were tinged with henna, and the palms of which were slightly +rouged. Her eyes blazed, and her teeth gleamed. “One can scarcely read of +anything else in the Chicago papers.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood returned his most winning beam. “I’m delighted to meet +you, Mrs. Hand. I have read of you, too. But I hope you don’t believe all +the papers say about me.” +</p> + +<p> +“And if I did it wouldn’t hurt you in my estimation. To do is to be +talked about in these days.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood, because of his desire to employ the services of Hand, was at his +best. He kept the conversation within conventional lines; but all the while he +was exchanging secret, unobserved smiles with Mrs. Hand, whom he realized at +once had married Hand for his money, and was bent, under a somewhat jealous +espionage, to have a good time anyhow. There is a kind of eagerness that goes +with those who are watched and wish to escape that gives them a gay, electric +awareness and sparkle in the presence of an opportunity for release. Mrs. Hand +had this. Cowperwood, a past master in this matter of femininity, studied her +hands, her hair, her eyes, her smile. After some contemplation he decided, +other things being equal, that Mrs. Hand would do, and that he could be +interested if she were very much interested in him. Her telling eyes and +smiles, the heightened color of her cheeks indicated after a time that she was. +</p> + +<p> +Meeting him on the street one day not long after they had first met, she told +him that she was going for a visit to friends at Oconomowoc, in Wisconsin. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t suppose you ever get up that far north in summer, do +you?” she asked, with an air, and smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“I never have,” he replied; “but there’s no telling +what I might do if I were bantered. I suppose you ride and canoe?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes; and play tennis and golf, too.” +</p> + +<p> +“But where would a mere idler like me stay?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, there are several good hotels. There’s never any trouble about +that. I suppose you ride yourself?” +</p> + +<p> +“After a fashion,” replied Cowperwood, who was an expert. +</p> + +<p> +Witness then the casual encounter on horseback, early one Sunday morning in the +painted hills of Wisconsin, of Frank Algernon Cowperwood and Caroline Hand. A +jaunty, racing canter, side by side; idle talk concerning people, scenery, +conveniences; his usual direct suggestions and love-making, and then, +subsequently— +</p> + +<p> +The day of reckoning, if such it might be called, came later. +</p> + +<p> +Caroline Hand was, perhaps, unduly reckless. She admired Cowperwood greatly +without really loving him. He found her interesting, principally because she +was young, debonair, sufficient—a new type. They met in Chicago after a +time instead of in Wisconsin, then in Detroit (where she had friends), then in +Rockford, where a sister had gone to live. It was easy for him with his time +and means. Finally, Duane Kingsland, wholesale flour merchant, religious, +moral, conventional, who knew Cowperwood and his repute, encountered Mrs. Hand +and Cowperwood first near Oconomowoc one summer’s day, and later in +Randolph Street, near Cowperwood’s bachelor rooms. Being the man that he +was and knowing old Hand well, he thought it was his duty to ask the latter if +his wife knew Cowperwood intimately. There was an explosion in the Hand home. +Mrs. Hand, when confronted by her husband, denied, of course, that there was +anything wrong between her and Cowperwood. Her elderly husband, from a certain +telltale excitement and resentment in her manner, did not believe this. He +thought once of confronting Cowperwood; but, being heavy and practical, he +finally decided to sever all business relationships with him and fight him in +other ways. Mrs. Hand was watched very closely, and a suborned maid discovered +an old note she had written to Cowperwood. An attempt to persuade her to leave +for Europe—as old Butler had once attempted to send Aileen years +before—raised a storm of protest, but she went. Hand, from being neutral +if not friendly, became quite the most dangerous and forceful of all +Cowperwood’s Chicago enemies. He was a powerful man. His wrath was +boundless. He looked upon Cowperwood now as a dark and dangerous man—one +of whom Chicago would be well rid. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap32"></a>CHAPTER XXXII.<br/> +A Supper Party</h2> + +<p> +Since the days in which Aileen had been left more or less lonely by Cowperwood, +however, no two individuals had been more faithful in their attentions than +Taylor Lord and Kent McKibben. Both were fond of her in a general way, finding +her interesting physically and temperamentally; but, being beholden to the +magnate for many favors, they were exceedingly circumspect in their attitude +toward her, particularly during those early years in which they knew that +Cowperwood was intensely devoted to her. Later they were not so careful. +</p> + +<p> +It was during this latter period that Aileen came gradually, through the agency +of these two men, to share in a form of mid-world life that was not utterly +dull. In every large city there is a kind of social half world, where artists +and the more adventurous of the socially unconventional and restless meet for +an exchange of things which cannot be counted mere social form and civility. It +is the age-old world of Bohemia. Hither resort those “accidentals” +of fancy that make the stage, the drawing-room, and all the schools of artistic +endeavor interesting or peculiar. In a number of studios in Chicago such as +those of Lane Cross and Rhees Crier, such little circles were to be found. +Rhees Crier, for instance, a purely parlor artist, with all the airs, +conventions, and social adaptability of the tribe, had quite a following. Here +and to several other places by turns Taylor Lord and Kent McKibben conducted +Aileen, both asking and obtaining permission to be civil to her when Cowperwood +was away. +</p> + +<p> +Among the friends of these two at this time was a certain Polk Lynde, an +interesting society figure, whose father owned an immense reaper works, and +whose time was spent in idling, racing, gambling, socializing—anything, +in short, that it came into his head to do. He was tall, dark, athletic, +straight, muscular, with a small dark mustache, dark, black-brown eyes, kinky +black hair, and a fine, almost military carriage—which he clothed always +to the best advantage. A clever philanderer, it was quite his pride that he did +not boast of his conquests. One look at him, however, by the initiated, and the +story was told. Aileen first saw him on a visit to the studio of Rhees Grier. +Being introduced to him very casually on this occasion, she was nevertheless +clearly conscious that she was encountering a fascinating man, and that he was +fixing her with a warm, avid eye. For the moment she recoiled from him as being +a little too brazen in his stare, and yet she admired the general appearance of +him. He was of that smart world that she admired so much, and from which now +apparently she was hopelessly debarred. That trig, bold air of his realized for +her at last the type of man, outside of Cowperwood, whom she would prefer +within limits to admire her. If she were going to be “bad,” as she +would have phrased it to herself, she would be “bad” with a man +such as he. He would be winsome and coaxing, but at the same time strong, +direct, deliciously brutal, like her Frank. He had, too, what Cowperwood could +not have, a certain social air or swagger which came with idleness, much +loafing, a sense of social superiority and security—a devil-may-care +insouciance which recks little of other people’s will or whims. +</p> + +<p> +When she next saw him, which was several weeks later at an affair of the +Courtney Tabors, friends of Lord’s, he exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes. By George! You’re the Mrs. Cowperwood I met several weeks +ago at Rhees Grier’s studio. I’ve not forgotten you. I’ve +seen you in my eye all over Chicago. Taylor Lord introduced me to you. Say, but +you’re a beautiful woman!” +</p> + +<p> +He leaned ingratiatingly, whimsically, admiringly near. +</p> + +<p> +Aileen realized that for so early in the afternoon, and considering the crowd, +he was curiously enthusiastic. The truth was that because of some rounds he had +made elsewhere he was verging toward too much liquor. His eye was alight, his +color coppery, his air swagger, devil-may-care, bacchanal. This made her a +little cautious; but she rather liked his brown, hard face, handsome mouth, and +crisp Jovian curls. His compliment was not utterly improper; but she +nevertheless attempted coyly to avoid him. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, Polk, here’s an old friend of yours over here—Sadie +Boutwell—she wants to meet you again,” some one observed, catching +him by the arm. +</p> + +<p> +“No, you don’t,” he exclaimed, genially, and yet at the same +time a little resentfully—the kind of disjointed resentment a man who has +had the least bit too much is apt to feel on being interrupted. +“I’m not going to walk all over Chicago thinking of a woman +I’ve seen somewhere only to be carried away the first time I do meet her. +I’m going to talk to her first.” +</p> + +<p> +Aileen laughed. “It’s charming of you, but we can meet again, +perhaps. Besides, there’s some one here”—Lord was tactfully +directing her attention to another woman. Rhees Grier and McKibben, who were +present also, came to her assistance. In the hubbub that ensued Aileen was +temporarily extricated and Lynde tactfully steered out of her way. But they had +met again, and it was not to be the last time. Subsequent to this second +meeting, Lynde thought the matter over quite calmly, and decided that he must +make a definite effort to become more intimate with Aileen. Though she was not +as young as some others, she suited his present mood exactly. She was rich +physically—voluptuous and sentient. She was not of his world precisely, +but what of it? She was the wife of an eminent financier, who had been in +society once, and she herself had a dramatic record. He was sure of that. He +could win her if he wanted to. It would be easy, knowing her as he did, and +knowing what he did about her. +</p> + +<p> +So not long after, Lynde ventured to invite her, with Lord, McKibben, Mr. and +Mrs. Rhees Grier, and a young girl friend of Mrs. Grier who was rather +attractive, a Miss Chrystobel Lanman, to a theater and supper party. The +programme was to hear a reigning farce at Hooley’s, then to sup at the +Richelieu, and finally to visit a certain exclusive gambling-parlor which then +flourished on the South Side—the resort of actors, society gamblers, and +the like—where roulette, trente-et-quarante, baccarat, and the honest +game of poker, to say nothing of various other games of chance, could be played +amid exceedingly recherche surroundings. +</p> + +<p> +The party was gay, especially after the adjournment to the Richelieu, where +special dishes of chicken, lobster, and a bucket of champagne were served. +Later at the Alcott Club, as the gambling resort was known, Aileen, according +to Lynde, was to be taught to play baccarat, poker, and any other game that she +wished. “You follow my advice, Mrs. Cowperwood,” he observed, +cheerfully, at dinner—being host, he had put her between himself and +McKibben—“and I’ll show you how to get your money back +anyhow. That’s more than some others can do,” he added, spiritedly, +recalling by a look a recent occasion when he and McKibben, being out with +friends, the latter had advised liberally and had seen his advice go wrong. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you been gambling, Kent?” asked Aileen, archly, turning to +her long-time social mentor and friend. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I can honestly say I haven’t,” replied McKibben, with a +bland smile. “I may have thought I was gambling, but I admit I +don’t know how. Now Polk, here, wins all the time, don’t you, Polk? +Just follow him.” +</p> + +<p> +A wry smile spread over Lynde’s face at this, for it was on record in +certain circles that he had lost as much as ten and even fifteen thousand in an +evening. He also had a record of winning twenty-five thousand once at baccarat +at an all-night and all-day sitting, and then losing it. +</p> + +<p> +Lynde all through the evening had been casting hard, meaning glances into +Aileen’s eyes. She could not avoid this, and she did not feel that she +wanted to. He was so charming. He was talking to her half the time at the +theater, without apparently addressing or even seeing her. Aileen knew well +enough what was in his mind. At times, quite as in those days when she had +first met Cowperwood, she felt an unwilled titillation in her blood. Her eyes +brightened. It was just possible that she could come to love a man like this, +although it would be hard. It would serve Cowperwood right for neglecting her. +Yet even now the shadow of Cowperwood was over her, but also the desire for +love and a full sex life. +</p> + +<p> +In the gambling-rooms was gathered an interested and fairly smart +throng—actors, actresses, clubmen, one or two very emancipated women of +the high local social world, and a number of more or less gentlemanly young +gamblers. Both Lord and McKibben began suggesting column numbers for first +plays to their proteges, while Lynde leaned caressingly over Aileen’s +powdered shoulders. “Let me put this on quatre premier for you,” he +suggested, throwing down a twenty-dollar gold piece. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, but let it be my money,” complained Aileen. “I want to +play with my money. I won’t feel that it’s mine if I +don’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, but you can’t just now. You can’t play with +bills.” She was extracting a crisp roll from her purse. “I’ll +have to exchange them later for you for gold. You can pay me then. He’s +going to call now, anyhow. There you are. He’s done it. Wait a moment. +You may win.” And he paused to study the little ball as it circled round +and round above the receiving pockets. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me see. How much do I get if I win quatre premier?” She was +trying to recall her experiences abroad. +</p> + +<p> +“Ten for one,” replied Lynde; “but you didn’t get it. +Let’s try it once more for luck. It comes up every so often—once in +ten or twelve. I’ve made it often on a first play. How long has it been +since the last quatre premier?” he asked of a neighbor whom he +recognized. +</p> + +<p> +“Seven, I think, Polk. Six or seven. How’s tricks?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, so so.” He turned again to Aileen. “It ought to come up +now soon. I always make it a rule to double my plays each time. It gets you +back all you’ve lost, some time or other.” He put down two +twenties. +</p> + +<p> +“Goodness,” she exclaimed, “that will be two hundred! I had +forgotten that.” +</p> + +<p> +Just then the call came for all placements to cease, and Aileen directed her +attention to the ball. It circled and circled in its dizzy way and then +suddenly dropped. +</p> + +<p> +“Lost again,” commented Lynde. “Well, now we’ll make it +eighty,” and he threw down four twenties. “Just for luck +we’ll put something on thirty-six, and thirteen, and nine.” With an +easy air he laid one hundred dollars in gold on each number. +</p> + +<p> +Aileen liked his manner. This was like Frank. Lynde had the cool spirit of a +plunger. His father, recognizing his temperament, had set over a large fixed +sum to be paid to him annually. She recognized, as in Cowperwood, the spirit of +adventure, only working out in another way. Lynde was perhaps destined to come +to some startlingly reckless end, but what of it? He was a gentleman. His +position in life was secure. That had always been Aileen’s sad, secret +thought. Hers had not been and might never be now. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’m getting foozled already,” she exclaimed, gaily +reverting to a girlhood habit of clapping her hands. “How much will I win +if I win?” The gesture attracted attention even as the ball fell. +</p> + +<p> +“By George, you have it!” exclaimed Lynde, who was watching the +croupier. “Eight hundred, two hundred, two hundred”—he was +counting to himself—“but we lose thirteen. Very good, that makes us +nearly one thousand ahead, counting out what we put down. Rather nice for a +beginning, don’t you think? Now, if you’ll take my advice +you’ll not play quatre premier any more for a while. Suppose you double a +thirteen—you lost on that—and play Bates’s formula. +I’ll show you what that is.” +</p> + +<p> +Already, because he was known to be a plunger, Lynde was gathering a few +spectators behind him, and Aileen, fascinated, and not knowing these mysteries +of chance, was content to watch him. At one stage of the playing Lynde leaned +over and, seeing her smile, whispered: +</p> + +<p> +“What adorable hair and eyes you have! You glow like a great rose. You +have a radiance that is wonderful.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Mr. Lynde! How you talk! Does gambling always affect you this +way?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, you do. Always, apparently!” And he stared hard into her +upturned eyes. Still playing ostensibly for Aileen’s benefit, he now +doubled the cash deposit on his system, laying down a thousand in gold. Aileen +urged him to play for himself and let her watch. “I’ll just put a +little money on these odd numbers here and there, and you play any system you +want. How will that do?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, not at all,” he replied, feelingly. “You’re my +luck. I play with you. You keep the gold for me. I’ll make you a fine +present if I win. The losses are mine.” +</p> + +<p> +“Just as you like. I don’t know really enough about it to play. But +I surely get the nice present if you win?” +</p> + +<p> +“You do, win or lose,” he murmured. “And now you put the +money on the numbers I call. Twenty on seven. Eighty on thirteen. Eighty on +thirty. Twenty on nine. Fifty on twenty-four.” He was following a system +of his own, and in obedience Aileen’s white, plump arm reached here and +there while the spectators paused, realizing that heavier playing was being +done by this pair than by any one else. Lynde was plunging for effect. He lost +a thousand and fifty dollars at one clip. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, all that good money!” exclaimed Aileen, mock-pathetically, as +the croupier raked it in. +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind, we’ll get it back,” exclaimed Lynde, throwing +two one-thousand-dollar bills to the cashier. “Give me gold for +those.” +</p> + +<p> +The man gave him a double handful, which he put down between Aileen’s +white arms. +</p> + +<p> +“One hundred on two. One hundred on four. One hundred on six. One hundred +on eight.” +</p> + +<p> +The pieces were five-dollar gold pieces, and Aileen quickly built up the little +yellow stacks and shoved them in place. Again the other players stopped and +began to watch the odd pair. Aileen’s red-gold head, and pink cheeks, and +swimming eyes, her body swathed in silks and rich laces; and Lynde, erect, his +shirt bosom snowy white, his face dark, almost coppery, his eyes and hair +black—they were indeed a strikingly assorted pair. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s this? What’s this?” asked Grier, coming up. +“Who’s plunging? You, Mrs. Cowperwood?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not plunging,” replied Lynde, indifferently. “We’re +merely working out a formula—Mrs. Cowperwood and I. We’re doing it +together.” +</p> + +<p> +Aileen smiled. She was in her element at last. She was beginning to shine. She +was attracting attention. +</p> + +<p> +“One hundred on twelve. One hundred on eighteen. One hundred on +twenty-six.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good heavens, what are you up to, Lynde?” exclaimed Lord, leaving +Mrs. Rhees and coming over. She followed. Strangers also were gathering. The +business of the place was at its topmost toss—it being two o’clock +in the morning—and the rooms were full. +</p> + +<p> +“How interesting!” observed Miss Lanman, at the other end of the +table, pausing in her playing and staring. McKibben, who was beside her, also +paused. “They’re plunging. Do look at all the money! Goodness, +isn’t she daring-looking—and he?” Aileen’s shining arm +was moving deftly, showily about. +</p> + +<p> +“Look at the bills he’s breaking!” Lynde was taking out a +thick layer of fresh, yellow bills which he was exchanging for gold. +“They make a striking pair, don’t they?” +</p> + +<p> +The board was now practically covered with Lynde’s gold in quaint little +stacks. He had followed a system called Mazarin, which should give him five for +one, and possibly break the bank. Quite a crowd swarmed about the table, their +faces glowing in the artificial light. The exclamation “plunging!” +“plunging!” was to be heard whispered here and there. Lynde was +delightfully cool and straight. His lithe body was quite erect, his eyes +reflective, his teeth set over an unlighted cigarette. Aileen was excited as a +child, delighted to be once more the center of comment. Lord looked at her with +sympathetic eyes. He liked her. Well, let her he amused. It was good for her +now and then; but Lynde was a fool to make a show of himself and risk so much +money. +</p> + +<p> +“Table closed!” called the croupier, and instantly the little ball +began to spin. All eyes followed it. Round and round it went—Aileen as +keen an observer as any. Her face was flushed, her eyes bright. +</p> + +<p> +“If we lose this,” said Lynde, “we will make one more bet +double, and then if we don’t win that we’ll quit.” He was +already out nearly three thousand dollars. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes, indeed! Only I think we ought to quit now. Here goes two +thousand if we don’t win. Don’t you think that’s quite +enough? I haven’t brought you much luck, have I?” +</p> + +<p> +“You are luck,” he whispered. “All the luck I want. One more. +Stand by me for one more try, will you? If we win I’ll quit.” +</p> + +<p> +The little ball clicked even as she nodded, and the croupier, paying out on a +few small stacks here and there, raked all the rest solemnly into the receiving +orifice, while murmurs of sympathetic dissatisfaction went up here and there. +</p> + +<p> +“How much did they have on the board?” asked Miss Lanman of +McKibben, in surprise. “It must have been a great deal, wasn’t +it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, two thousand dollars, perhaps. That isn’t so high here, +though. People do plunge for as much as eight or ten thousand. It all +depends.” McKibben was in a belittling, depreciating mood. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes, but not often, surely.” +</p> + +<p> +“For the love of heavens, Polk!” exclaimed Rhees Grier, coming up +and plucking at his sleeve; “if you want to give your money away give it +to me. I can gather it in just as well as that croupier, and I’ll go get +a truck and haul it home, where it will do some good. It’s perfectly +terrible the way you are carrying on.” +</p> + +<p> +Lynde took his loss with equanimity. “Now to double it,” he +observed, “and get all our losses back, or go downstairs and have a +rarebit and some champagne. What form of a present would please you +best?—but never mind. I know a souvenir for this occasion.” +</p> + +<p> +He smiled and bought more gold. Aileen stacked it up showily, if a little +repentantly. She did not quite approve of this—his plunging—and yet +she did; she could not help sympathizing with the plunging spirit. In a few +moments it was on the board—the same combination, the same stacks, only +doubled—four thousand all told. The croupier called, the ball rolled and +fell. Barring three hundred dollars returned, the bank took it all. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, now for a rarebit,” exclaimed Lynde, easily, turning to +Lord, who stood behind him smiling. “You haven’t a match, have you? +We’ve had a run of bad luck, that’s sure.” +</p> + +<p> +Lynde was secretly the least bit disgruntled, for if he had won he had intended +to take a portion of the winnings and put it in a necklace or some other gewgaw +for Aileen. Now he must pay for it. Yet there was some satisfaction in having +made an impression as a calm and indifferent, though heavy loser. He gave +Aileen his arm. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, my lady,” he observed, “we didn’t win; but we +had a little fun out of it, I hope? That combination, if it had come out, would +have set us up handsomely. Better luck next time, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +He smiled genially. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but I was to have been your luck, and I wasn’t,” +replied Aileen. +</p> + +<p> +“You are all the luck I want, if you’re willing to be. Come to the +Richelieu to-morrow with me for lunch—will you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Let me see,” replied Aileen, who, observing his ready and somewhat +iron fervor, was doubtful. “I can’t do that,” she said, +finally, “I have another engagement.” +</p> + +<p> +“How about Tuesday, then?” +</p> + +<p> +Aileen, realizing of a sudden that she was making much of a situation that +ought to be handled with a light hand, answered readily: “Very +well—Tuesday! Only call me up before. I may have to change my mind or the +time.” And she smiled good-naturedly. +</p> + +<p> +After this Lynde had no opportunity to talk to Aileen privately; but in saying +good night he ventured to press her arm suggestively. She suffered a peculiar +nervous thrill from this, but decided curiously that she had brought it upon +herself by her eagerness for life and revenge, and must make up her mind. Did +she or did she not wish to go on with this? This was the question uppermost, +and she felt that she must decide. However, as in most such cases, +circumstances were to help decide for her, and, unquestionably, a portion of +this truth was in her mind as she was shown gallantly to her door by Taylor +Lord. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap33"></a>CHAPTER XXXIII.<br/> +Mr. Lynde to the Rescue</h2> + +<p> +The interested appearance of a man like Polk Lynde at this stage of +Aileen’s affairs was a bit of fortuitous or gratuitous humor on the part +of fate, which is involved with that subconscious chemistry of things of which +as yet we know nothing. Here was Aileen brooding over her fate, meditating over +her wrongs, as it were; and here was Polk Lynde, an interesting, forceful +Lothario of the city, who was perhaps as well suited to her moods and her +tastes at this time as any male outside of Cowperwood could be. +</p> + +<p> +In many respects Lynde was a charming man. He was comparatively young—not +more than Aileen’s own age—schooled, if not educated, at one of the +best American colleges, of excellent taste in the matter of clothes, friends, +and the details of living with which he chose to surround himself, but at heart +a rake. He loved, and had from his youth up, to gamble. He was in one phase of +the word a HARD and yet by no means a self-destructive drinker, for he had an +iron constitution and could consume spirituous waters with the minimum of ill +effect. He had what Gibbon was wont to call “the most amiable of our +vices,” a passion for women, and he cared no more for the cool, patient, +almost penitent methods by which his father had built up the immense reaper +business, of which he was supposedly the heir, than he cared for the mysteries +or sacred rights of the Chaldees. He realized that the business itself was a +splendid thing. He liked on occasion to think of it with all its extent of +ground-space, plain red-brick buildings, tall stacks and yelling whistles; but +he liked in no way to have anything to do with the rather commonplace routine +of its manipulation. +</p> + +<p> +The principal difficulty with Aileen under these circumstances, of course, was +her intense vanity and self-consciousness. Never was there a vainer or more +sex-troubled woman. Why, she asked herself, should she sit here in loneliness +day after day, brooding about Cowperwood, eating her heart out, while he was +flitting about gathering the sweets of life elsewhere? Why should she not offer +her continued charms as a solace and a delight to other men who would +appreciate them? Would not such a policy have all the essentials of justice in +it? Yet even now, so precious had Cowperwood been to her hitherto, and so +wonderful, that she was scarcely able to think of serious disloyalty. He was so +charming when he was nice—so splendid. When Lynde sought to hold her to +the proposed luncheon engagement she at first declined. And there, under +slightly differing conditions, the matter might easily have stood. But it so +happened that just at this time Aileen was being almost daily harassed by +additional evidence and reminders of Cowperwood’s infidelity. +</p> + +<p> +For instance, going one day to call on the Haguenins—for she was +perfectly willing to keep up the pretense of amity in so long as they had not +found out the truth—she was informed that Mrs. Haguenin was “not at +home.” Shortly thereafter the <i>Press</i>, which had always been favorable to +Cowperwood, and which Aileen regularly read because of its friendly comment, +suddenly veered and began to attack him. There were solemn suggestions at first +that his policy and intentions might not be in accord with the best interests +of the city. A little later Haguenin printed editorials which referred to +Cowperwood as “the wrecker,” “the Philadelphia +adventurer,” “a conscienceless promoter,” and the like. +Aileen guessed instantly what the trouble was, but she was too disturbed as to +her own position to make any comment. She could not resolve the threats and +menaces of Cowperwood’s envious world any more than she could see her way +through her own grim difficulties. +</p> + +<p> +One day, in scanning the columns of that faithful chronicle of Chicago social +doings, the Chicago Saturday Review, she came across an item which served as a +final blow. “For some time in high social circles,” the paragraph +ran, “speculation has been rife as to the amours and liaisons of a +certain individual of great wealth and pseudo social prominence, who once made +a serious attempt to enter Chicago society. It is not necessary to name the +man, for all who are acquainted with recent events in Chicago will know who is +meant. The latest rumor to affect his already nefarious reputation relates to +two women—one the daughter, and the other the wife, of men of repute and +standing in the community. In these latest instances it is more than likely +that he has arrayed influences of the greatest importance socially and +financially against himself, for the husband in the one case and the father in +the other are men of weight and authority. The suggestion has more than once +been made that Chicago should and eventually would not tolerate his bucaneering +methods in finance and social matters; but thus far no definite action has been +taken to cast him out. The crowning wonder of all is that the wife, who was +brought here from the East, and who—so rumor has it—made a rather +scandalous sacrifice of her own reputation and another woman’s heart and +home in order to obtain the privilege of living with him, should continue so to +do.” +</p> + +<p> +Aileen understood perfectly what was meant. “The father” of the +so-called “one” was probably Haguenin or Cochrane, more than likely +Haguenin. “The husband of the other”—but who was the husband +of the other? She had not heard of any scandal with the wife of anybody. It +could not be the case of Rita Sohlberg and her husband—that was too far +back. It must be some new affair of which she had not the least inkling, and so +she sat and reflected. Now, she told herself, if she received another +invitation from Lynde she would accept it. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +It was only a few days later that Aileen and Lynde met in the gold-room of the +Richelieu. Strange to relate, for one determined to be indifferent she had +spent much time in making a fetching toilet. It being February and chill with +glittering snow on the ground, she had chosen a dark-green broadcloth gown, +quite new, with lapis-lazuli buttons that worked a “Y” pattern +across her bosom, a seal turban with an emerald plume which complemented a +sealskin jacket with immense wrought silver buttons, and bronze shoes. To +perfect it all, Aileen had fastened lapis-lazuli ear-rings of a small +flower-form in her ears, and wore a plain, heavy gold bracelet. Lynde came up +with a look of keen approval written on his handsome brown face. “Will +you let me tell you how nice you look?” he said, sinking into the chair +opposite. “You show beautiful taste in choosing the right colors. Your +ear-rings go so well with your hair.” +</p> + +<p> +Although Aileen feared because of his desperateness, she was caught by his +sleek force—that air of iron strength under a parlor mask. His long, +brown, artistic hands, hard and muscular, indicated an idle force that might be +used in many ways. They harmonized with his teeth and chin. +</p> + +<p> +“So you came, didn’t you?” he went on, looking at her +steadily, while she fronted his gaze boldly for a moment, only to look +evasively down. +</p> + +<p> +He still studied her carefully, looking at her chin and mouth and piquant nose. +In her colorful cheeks and strong arms and shoulders, indicated by her +well-tailored suit, he recognized the human vigor he most craved in a woman. By +way of diversion he ordered an old-fashioned whisky cocktail, urging her to +join him. Finding her obdurate, he drew from his pocket a little box. +</p> + +<p> +“We agreed when we played the other night on a memento, didn’t +we?” he said. “A sort of souvenir? Guess?” +</p> + +<p> +Aileen looked at it a little nonplussed, recognizing the contents of the box to +be jewelry. “Oh, you shouldn’t have done that,” she +protested. “The understanding was that we were to win. You lost, and that +ended the bargain. I should have shared the losses. I haven’t forgiven +you for that yet, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“How ungallant that would make me!” he said, smilingly, as he +trifled with the long, thin, lacquered case. “You wouldn’t want to +make me ungallant, would you? Be a good fellow—a good sport, as they say. +Guess, and it’s yours.” +</p> + +<p> +Aileen pursed her lips at this ardent entreaty. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I don’t mind guessing,” she commented, superiorly, +“though I sha’n’t take it. It might be a pin, it might be a +set of ear-rings, it might be a bracelet—” +</p> + +<p> +He made no comment, but opened it, revealing a necklace of gold wrought into +the form of a grape-vine of the most curious workmanship, with a cluster of +leaves artistically carved and arranged as a breastpiece, the center of them +formed by a black opal, which shone with an enticing luster. Lynde knew well +enough that Aileen was familiar with many jewels, and that only one of ornate +construction and value would appeal to her sense of what was becoming to her. +He watched her face closely while she studied the details of the necklace. +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t it exquisite!” she commented. “What a lovely +opal—what an odd design.” She went over the separate leaves. +“You shouldn’t be so foolish. I couldn’t take it. I have too +many things as it is, and besides—” She was thinking of what she +would say if Cowperwood chanced to ask her where she got it. He was so +intuitive. +</p> + +<p> +“And besides?” he queried. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing,” she replied, “except that I mustn’t take it, +really.” “Won’t you take it as a souvenir even if—our +agreement, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Even if what?” she queried. +</p> + +<p> +“Even if nothing else comes of it. A memento, then—truly—you +know.” +</p> + +<p> +He laid hold of her fingers with his cool, vigorous ones. A year before, even +six months, Aileen would have released her hand smilingly. Now she hesitated. +Why should she be so squeamish with other men when Cowperwood was so unkind to +her? +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me something,” Lynde asked, noting the doubt and holding her +fingers gently but firmly, “do you care for me at all?” +</p> + +<p> +“I like you, yes. I can’t say that it is anything more than +that.” +</p> + +<p> +She flushed, though, in spite of herself. +</p> + +<p> +He merely gazed at her with his hard, burning eyes. The materiality that +accompanies romance in so many temperaments awakened in her, and quite put +Cowperwood out of her mind for the moment. It was an astonishing and +revolutionary experience for her. She quite burned in reply, and Lynde smiled +sweetly, encouragingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Why won’t you be friends with me, my sweetheart? I know +you’re not happy—I can see that. Neither am I. I have a wreckless, +wretched disposition that gets me into all sorts of hell. I need some one to +care for me. Why won’t you? You’re just my sort. I feel it. Do you +love him so much”—he was referring to Cowperwood—“that +you can’t love any one else?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, him!” retorted Aileen, irritably, almost disloyally. “He +doesn’t care for me any more. He wouldn’t mind. It isn’t +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, what is it? Why won’t you? Am I not interesting +enough? Don’t you like me? Don’t you feel that I’m really +suited to you?” His hand sought hers softly. +</p> + +<p> +Aileen accepted the caress. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it isn’t that,” she replied, feelingly, running back in +her mind over her long career with Cowperwood, his former love, his keen +protestations. She had expected to make so much out of her life with him, and +here she was sitting in a public restaurant flirting with and extracting +sympathy from a comparative stranger. It cut her to the quick for the moment +and sealed her lips. Hot, unbidden tears welled to her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Lynde saw them. He was really very sorry for her, though her beauty made him +wish to take advantage of her distress. “Why should you cry, +dearest?” he asked, softly, looking at her flushed cheeks and colorful +eyes. “You have beauty; you are young; you’re lovely. He’s +not the only man in the world. Why should you be faithful when he isn’t +faithful to you? This Hand affair is all over town. When you meet some one that +really would care for you, why shouldn’t you? If he doesn’t want +you, there are others.” +</p> + +<p> +At the mention of the Hand affair Aileen straightened up. “The Hand +affair?” she asked, curiously. “What is that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you know?” he replied, a little surprised. “I +thought you did, or I certainly wouldn’t have mentioned it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I know about what it is,” replied Aileen, wisely, and with a +touch of sardonic humor. “There have been so many or the same kind. I +suppose it must be the case the Chicago <i>Review</i> was referring to—the wife +of the prominent financier. Has he been trifling with Mrs. Hand?” +</p> + +<p> +“Something like that,” replied Lynde. “I’m sorry that I +spoke, though? really I am. I didn’t mean to be carrying tales.” +</p> + +<p> +“Soldiers in a common fight, eh?” taunted Aileen, gaily. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, not that, exactly. Please don’t be mean. I’m not so bad. +It’s just a principle with me. We all have our little foibles.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I know,” replied Aileen; but her mind was running on Mrs. +Hand. So she was the latest. “Well, I admire his taste, anyway, in this +case,” she said, archly. “There have been so many, though. She is +just one more.” +</p> + +<p> +Lynde smiled. He himself admired Cowperwood’s taste. Then he dropped the +subject. +</p> + +<p> +“But let’s forget that,” he said. “Please don’t +worry about him any more. You can’t change that. Pull yourself +together.” He squeezed her fingers. “Will you?” he asked, +lifting his eyebrows in inquiry. +</p> + +<p> +“Will I what?” replied Aileen, meditatively. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you know. The necklace for one thing. Me, too.” His eyes +coaxed and laughed and pleaded. +</p> + +<p> +Aileen smiled. “You’re a bad boy,” she said, evasively. This +revelation in regard to Mrs. Hand had made her singularly retaliatory in +spirit. “Let me think. Don’t ask me to take the necklace to-day. I +couldn’t. I couldn’t wear it, anyhow. Let me see you another +time.” She moved her plump hand in an uncertain way, and he smoothed her +wrist. +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder if you wouldn’t like to go around to the studio of a +friend of mine here in the tower?” he asked, quite nonchalantly. +“He has such a charming collection of landscapes. You’re interested +in pictures, I know. Your husband has some of the finest.” +</p> + +<p> +Instantly Aileen understood what was meant—quite by instinct. The alleged +studio must be private bachelor quarters. +</p> + +<p> +“Not this afternoon,” she replied, quite wrought up and disturbed. +“Not to-day. Another time. And I must be going now. But I will see +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“And this?” he asked, picking up the necklace. +</p> + +<p> +“You keep it until I do come,” she replied. “I may take it +then.” +</p> + +<p> +She relaxed a little, pleased that she was getting safely away; but her mood +was anything but antagonistic, and her spirits were as shredded as wind-whipped +clouds. It was time she wanted—a little time—that was all. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap34"></a>CHAPTER XXXIV.<br/> +Enter Hosmer Hand</h2> + +<p> +It is needless to say that the solemn rage of Hand, to say nothing of the +pathetic anger of Haguenin, coupled with the wrath of Redmond Purdy, who +related to all his sad story, and of young MacDonald and his associates of the +Chicago General Company, constituted an atmosphere highly charged with +possibilities and potent for dramatic results. The most serious element in this +at present was Hosmer Hand, who, being exceedingly wealthy and a director in a +number of the principal mercantile and financial institutions of the city, was +in a position to do Cowperwood some real financial harm. Hand had been +extremely fond of his young wife. Being a man of but few experiences with +women, it astonished and enraged him that a man like Cowperwood should dare to +venture on his preserves in this reckless way, should take his dignity so +lightly. He burned now with a hot, slow fire of revenge. +</p> + +<p> +Those who know anything concerning the financial world and its great adventures +know how precious is that reputation for probity, solidarity, and conservatism +on which so many of the successful enterprises of the world are based. If men +are not absolutely honest themselves they at least wish for and have faith in +the honesty of others. No set of men know more about each other, garner more +carefully all the straws of rumor which may affect the financial and social +well being of an individual one way or another, keep a tighter mouth concerning +their own affairs and a sharper eye on that of their neighbors. +Cowperwood’s credit had hitherto been good because it was known that he +had a “soft thing” in the Chicago street-railway field, that he +paid his interest charges promptly, that he had organized the group of men who +now, under him, controlled the Chicago Trust Company and the North and West +Chicago Street Railways, and that the Lake City Bank, of which Addison was +still president, considered his collateral sound. Nevertheless, even previous +to this time there had been a protesting element in the shape of Schryhart, +Simms, and others of considerable import in the Douglas Trust, who had lost no +chance to say to one and all that Cowperwood was an interloper, and that his +course was marked by political and social trickery and chicanery, if not by +financial dishonesty. As a matter of fact, Schryhart, who had once been a +director of the Lake City National along with Hand, Arneel, and others, had +resigned and withdrawn all his deposits sometime before because he found, as he +declared, that Addison was favoring Cowperwood and the Chicago Trust Company +with loans, when there was no need of so doing—when it was not +essentially advantageous for the bank so to do. Both Arneel and Hand, having at +this time no personal quarrel with Cowperwood on any score, had considered this +protest as biased. Addison had maintained that the loans were neither unduly +large nor out of proportion to the general loans of the bank. The collateral +offered was excellent. “I don’t want to quarrel with +Schryhart,” Addison had protested at the time; “but I am afraid his +charge is unfair. He is trying to vent a private grudge through the Lake +National. That is not the way nor this the place to do it.” +</p> + +<p> +Both Hand and Arneel, sober men both, agreed with this—admiring +Addison—and so the case stood. Schryhart, however, frequently intimated +to them both that Cowperwood was merely building up the Chicago Trust Company +at the expense of the Lake City National, in order to make the former strong +enough to do without any aid, at which time Addison would resign and the Lake +City would be allowed to shift for itself. Hand had never acted on this +suggestion but he had thought. +</p> + +<p> +It was not until the incidents relating to Cowperwood and Mrs. Hand had come to +light that things financial and otherwise began to darken up. Hand, being +greatly hurt in his pride, contemplated only severe reprisal. Meeting Schryhart +at a directors’ meeting one day not long after his difficulty had come +upon him, he remarked: +</p> + +<p> +“I thought a few years ago, Norman, when you talked to me about this man +Cowperwood that you were merely jealous—a dissatisfied business rival. +Recently a few things have come to my notice which cause me to think +differently. It is very plain to me now that the man is thoroughly +bad—from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet. It’s a +pity the city has to endure him.” +</p> + +<p> +“So you’re just beginning to find that out, are you, Hosmer?” +answered Schryhart. “Well, I’ll not say I told you so. Perhaps +you’ll agree with me now that the responsible people of Chicago ought to +do something about it.” +</p> + +<p> +Hand, a very heavy, taciturn man, merely looked at him. “I’ll be +ready enough to do,” he said, “when I see how and what’s to +be done.” +</p> + +<p> +A little later Schryhart, meeting Duane Kingsland, learned the true source of +Hand’s feeling against Cowperwood, and was not slow in transferring this +titbit to Merrill, Simms, and others. Merrill, who, though Cowperwood had +refused to extend his La Salle Street tunnel loop about State Street and his +store, had hitherto always liked him after a fashion—remotely admired his +courage and daring—was now appropriately shocked. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Anson,” observed Schryhart, “the man is no good. He has +the heart of a hyena and the friendliness of a scorpion. You heard how he +treated Hand, didn’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” replied Merrill, “I didn’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it’s this way, so I hear.” And Schryhart leaned over +and confidentially communicated considerable information into Mr. +Merrill’s left ear. +</p> + +<p> +The latter raised his eyebrows. “Indeed!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“And the way he came to meet her,” added Schryhart, contemptuously, +“was this. He went to Hand originally to borrow two hundred and fifty +thousand dollars on West Chicago Street Railway. Angry? The word is no name for +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t say so,” commented Merrill, dryly, though +privately interested and fascinated, for Mrs. Hand had always seemed very +attractive to him. “I don’t wonder.” +</p> + +<p> +He recalled that his own wife had recently insisted on inviting Cowperwood +once. +</p> + +<p> +Similarly Hand, meeting Arneel not so long afterward, confided to him that +Cowperwood was trying to repudiate a sacred agreement. Arneel was grieved and +surprised. It was enough for him to know that Hand had been seriously injured. +Between the two of them they now decided to indicate to Addison, as president +of the Lake City Bank, that all relations with Cowperwood and the Chicago Trust +Company must cease. The result of this was, not long after, that Addison, very +suave and gracious, agreed to give Cowperwood due warning that all his loans +would have to be taken care of and then resigned—to become, seven months +later, president of the Chicago Trust Company. This desertion created a great +stir at the time, astonishing the very men who had suspected that it might come +to pass. The papers were full of it. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, let him go,” observed Arneel to Hand, sourly, on the day +that Addison notified the board of directors of the Lake City of his +contemplated resignation. “If he wants to sever his connection with a +bank like this to go with a man like that, it’s his own lookout. He may +live to regret it.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +It so happened that by now another election was pending Chicago, and Hand, +along with Schryhart and Arneel—who joined their forces because of his +friendship for Hand—decided to try to fight Cowperwood through this +means. +</p> + +<p> +Hosmer Hand, feeling that he had the burden of a great duty upon him, was not +slow in acting. He was always, when aroused, a determined and able fighter. +Needing an able lieutenant in the impending political conflict, he finally +bethought himself of a man who had recently come to figure somewhat +conspicuously in Chicago politics—one Patrick Gilgan, the same Patrick +Gilgan of Cowperwood’s old Hyde Park gas-war days. Mr. Gilgan was now a +comparatively well-to-do man. Owing to a genial capacity for mixing with +people, a close mouth, and absolutely no understanding of, and consequently no +conscience in matters of large public import (in so far as they related to the +so-called rights of the mass), he was a fit individual to succeed politically. +His saloon was the finest in all Wentworth Avenue. It fairly glittered with the +newly introduced incandescent lamp reflected in a perfect world of beveled and +faceted mirrors. His ward, or district, was full of low, rain-beaten cottages +crowded together along half-made streets; but Patrick Gilgan was now a state +senator, slated for Congress at the next Congressional election, and a possible +successor of the Hon. John J. McKenty as dictator of the city, if only the +Republican party should come into power. (Hyde Park, before it had been annexed +to the city, had always been Republican, and since then, although the larger +city was normally Democratic, Gilgan could not conveniently change.) Hearing +from the political discussion which preceded the election that Gilgan was by +far the most powerful politician on the South Side, Hand sent for him. +Personally, Hand had far less sympathy with the polite moralistic efforts of +men like Haguenin, Hyssop, and others, who were content to preach morality and +strive to win by the efforts of the unco good, than he had with the cold +political logic of a man like Cowperwood himself. If Cowperwood could work +through McKenty to such a powerful end, he, Hand, could find some one else who +could be made as powerful as McKenty. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Gilgan,” said Hand, when the Irishman came in, medium tall, +beefy, with shrewd, twinkling gray eyes and hairy hands, “you don’t +know me—” +</p> + +<p> +“I know of you well enough,” smiled the Irishman, with a soft +brogue. “You don’t need an introduction to talk to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good,” replied Hand, extending his hand. “I know of +you, too. Then we can talk. It’s the political situation here in Chicago +I’d like to discuss with you. I’m not a politician myself, but I +take some interest in what’s going on. I want to know what you think will +be the probable outcome of the present situation here in the city.” +</p> + +<p> +Gilgan, having no reason for laying his private political convictions bare to +any one whose motive he did not know, merely replied: “Oh, I think the +Republicans may have a pretty good show. They have all but one or two of the +papers with them, I see. I don’t know much outside of what I read and +hear people talk.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Hand knew that Gilgan was sparring, and was glad to find his man canny and +calculating. +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t asked you to come here just to be talking over politics +in general, as you may imagine, Mr. Gilgan. I want to put a particular problem +before you. Do you happen to know either Mr. McKenty or Mr. Cowperwood?” +</p> + +<p> +“I never met either of them to talk to,” replied Gilgan. “I +know Mr. McKenty by sight, and I’ve seen Mr. Cowperwood once.” He +said no more. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Mr. Hand, “suppose a group of influential men +here in Chicago were to get together and guarantee sufficient funds for a +city-wide campaign; now, if you had the complete support of the newspapers and +the Republican organization in the bargain, could you organize the opposition +here so that the Democratic party could be beaten this fall? I’m not +talking about the mayor merely and the principal city officers, but the +council, too—the aldermen. I want to fix things so that the +McKenty-Cowperwood crowd couldn’t get an alderman or a city official to +sell out, once they are elected. I want the Democratic party beaten so +thoroughly that there won’t be any question in anybody’s mind as to +the fact that it has been done. There will be plenty of money forthcoming if +you can prove to me, or, rather, to the group of men I am thinking of, that the +thing can be done.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Gilgan blinked his eyes solemnly. He rubbed his knees, put his thumbs in +the armholes of his vest, took out a cigar, lit it, and gazed poetically at the +ceiling. He was thinking very, very hard. Mr. Cowperwood and Mr. McKenty, as he +knew, were very powerful men. He had always managed to down the McKenty +opposition in his ward, and several others adjacent to it, and in the +Eighteenth Senatorial District, which he represented. But to be called upon to +defeat him in Chicago, that was different. Still, the thought of a large amount +of cash to be distributed through him, and the chance of wresting the city +leadership from McKenty by the aid of the so-called moral forces of the city, +was very inspiring. Mr. Gilgan was a good politician. He loved to scheme and +plot and make deals—as much for the fun of it as anything else. Just now +he drew a solemn face, which, however, concealed a very light heart. +</p> + +<p> +“I have heard,” went on Hand, “that you have built up a +strong organization in your ward and district.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve managed to hold me own,” suggested Gilgan, archly. +“But this winning all over Chicago,” he went on, after a moment, +“now, that’s a pretty large order. There are thirty-one wards in +Chicago this election, and all but eight of them are nominally Democratic. I +know most of the men that are in them now, and some of them are pretty shrewd +men, too. This man Dowling in council is nobody’s fool, let me tell you +that. Then there’s Duvanicki and Ungerich and Tiernan and +Kerrigan—all good men.” He mentioned four of the most powerful and +crooked aldermen in the city. “You see, Mr. Hand, the way things are now +the Democrats have the offices, and the small jobs to give out. That gives them +plenty of political workers to begin with. Then they have the privilege of +collecting money from those in office to help elect themselves. That’s +another great privilege.” He smiled. “Then this man Cowperwood +employs all of ten thousand men at present, and any ward boss that’s +favorable to him can send a man out of work to him and he’ll find a place +for him. That’s a gre-a-eat help in building up a party following. Then +there’s the money a man like Cowperwood and others can contribute at +election time. Say what you will, Mr. Hand, but it’s the two, and five, +and ten dollar bills paid out at the last moment over the saloon bars and at +the polling-places that do the work. Give me enough money”—and at +this noble thought Mr. Gilgan straightened up and slapped one fist lightly in +the other, adjusting at the same time his half-burned cigar so that it should +not burn his hand—“and I can carry every ward in Chicago, bar none. +If I have money enough,” he repeated, emphasizing the last two words. He +put his cigar back in his mouth, blinked his eyes defiantly, and leaned back in +his chair. +</p> + +<p> +“Very good,” commented Hand, simply; “but how much +money?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, that’s another question,” replied Gilgan, straightening +up once more. “Some wards require more than others. Counting out the +eight that are normally Republican as safe, you would have to carry eighteen +others to have a majority in council. I don’t see how anything under ten +to fifteen thousand dollars to a ward would be safe to go on. I should say +three hundred thousand dollars would be safer, and that wouldn’t be any +too much by any means.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Gilgan restored his cigar and puffed heavily the while he leaned back and +lifted his eyes once more. +</p> + +<p> +“And how would that money be distributed exactly?” inquired Mr. +Hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, well, it’s never wise to look into such matters too +closely,” commented Mr. Gilgan, comfortably. “There’s such a +thing as cutting your cloth too close in politics. There are ward captains, +leaders, block captains, workers. They all have to have money to do +with—to work up sentiment—and you can’t be too inquiring as +to just how they do it. It’s spent in saloons, and buying coal for +mother, and getting Johnnie a new suit here and there. Then there are +torch-light processions and club-rooms and jobs to look after. Sure, +there’s plenty of places for it. Some men may have to be brought into +these wards to live—kept in boarding-houses for a week or ten +days.” He waved a hand deprecatingly. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Hand, who had never busied himself with the minutiae of politics, opened +his eyes slightly. This colonizing idea was a little liberal, he thought. +</p> + +<p> +“Who distributes this money?” he asked, finally. +</p> + +<p> +“Nominally, the Republican County Committee, if it’s in charge; +actually, the man or men who are leading the fight. In the case of the +Democratic party it’s John J. McKenty, and don’t you forget it. In +my district it’s me, and no one else.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Hand, slow, solid, almost obtuse at times, meditated under lowering brows. +He had always been associated with a more or less silk-stocking crew who were +unused to the rough usage of back-room saloon politics, yet every one suspected +vaguely, of course, at times that ballot-boxes were stuffed and ward +lodging-houses colonized. Every one (at least every one of any worldly +intelligence) knew that political capital was collected from office-seekers, +office-holders, beneficiaries of all sorts and conditions under the reigning +city administration. Mr. Hand had himself contributed to the Republican party +for favors received or about to be. As a man who had been compelled to handle +large affairs in a large way he was not inclined to quarrel with this. Three +hundred thousand dollars was a large sum, and he was not inclined to subscribe +it alone, but fancied that at his recommendation and with his advice it could +be raised. Was Gilgan the man to fight Cowperwood? He looked him over and +decided—other things being equal—that he was. And forthwith the +bargain was struck. Gilgan, as a Republican central +committeeman—chairman, possibly—was to visit every ward, connect up +with every available Republican force, pick strong, suitable anti-Cowperwood +candidates, and try to elect them, while he, Hand, organized the money element +and collected the necessary cash. Gilgan was to be given money personally. He +was to have the undivided if secret support of all the high Republican elements +in the city. His business was to win at almost any cost. And as a reward he was +to have the Republican support for Congress, or, failing that, the practical +Republican leadership in city and county. +</p> + +<p> +“Anyhow,” said Hand, after Mr. Gilgan finally took his departure, +“things won’t be so easy for Mr. Cowperwood in the future as they +were in the past. And when it comes to getting his franchises renewed, if +I’m alive, we’ll see whether he will or not.” +</p> + +<p> +The heavy financier actually growled a low growl as he spoke out loud to +himself. He felt a boundless rancor toward the man who had, as he supposed, +alienated the affections of his smart young wife. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap35"></a>CHAPTER XXXV.<br/> +A Political Agreement</h2> + +<p> +In the first and second wards of Chicago at this time—wards including the +business heart, South Clark Street, the water-front, the river-levee, and the +like—were two men, Michael (alias Smiling Mike) Tiernan and Patrick +(alias Emerald Pat) Kerrigan, who, for picturequeness of character and +sordidness of atmosphere, could not be equaled elsewhere in the city, if in the +nation at large. “Smiling” Mike Tiernan, proud possessor of four of +the largest and filthiest saloons of this area, was a man of large and genial +mold—perhaps six feet one inch in height, broad-shouldered in proportion, +with a bovine head, bullet-shaped from one angle, and big, healthy, hairy hands +and large feet. He had done many things from digging in a ditch to occupying a +seat in the city council from this his beloved ward, which he sold out +regularly for one purpose and another; but his chief present joy consisted in +sitting behind a solid mahogany railing at a rosewood desk in the back portion +of his largest Clark Street hostelry—“The Silver Moon.” Here +he counted up the returns from his various properties—salons, gambling +resorts, and houses of prostitution—which he manipulated with the +connivance or blinking courtesy of the present administration, and listened to +the pleas and demands of his henchmen and tenants. +</p> + +<p> +The character of Mr. Kerrigan, Mr. Tiernan’s only rival in this rather +difficult and sordid region, was somewhat different. He was a small man, quite +dapper, with a lean, hollow, and somewhat haggard face, but by no means sickly +body, a large, strident mustache, a wealth of coal-black hair parted slickly on +one side, and a shrewd, genial brown-black eye—constituting altogether a +rather pleasing and ornate figure whom it was not at all unsatisfactory to +meet. His ears were large and stood out bat-wise from his head; and his eyes +gleamed with a smart, evasive light. He was cleverer financially than Tiernan, +richer, and no more than thirty-five, whereas Mr. Tiernan was forty-five years +of age. Like Mr. Tiernan in the first ward, Mr. Kerrigan was a power in the +second, and controlled a most useful and dangerous floating vote. His saloons +harbored the largest floating element that was to be found in the +city—longshoremen, railroad hands, stevedores, tramps, thugs, thieves, +pimps, rounders, detectives, and the like. He was very vain, considered himself +handsome, a “killer” with the ladies. Married, and with two +children and a sedate young wife, he still had his mistress, who changed from +year to year, and his intermediate girls. His clothes were altogether +noteworthy, but it was his pride to eschew jewelry, except for one enormous +emerald, value fourteen thousand dollars, which he wore in his necktie on +occasions, and the wonder of which, pervading all Dearborn Street and the city +council, had won him the soubriquet of “Emerald Pat.” At first he +rejoiced heartily in this title, as he did in a gold and diamond medal awarded +him by a Chicago brewery for selling the largest number of barrels of beer of +any saloon in Chicago. More recently, the newspapers having begun to pay +humorous attention to both himself and Mr. Tiernan, because of their prosperity +and individuality, he resented it. +</p> + +<p> +The relation of these two men to the present political situation was peculiar, +and, as it turned out, was to constitute the weak spot in the +Cowperwood-McKenty campaign. Tiernan and Kerrigan, to begin with, being +neighbors and friends, worked together in politics and business, on occasions +pooling their issues and doing each other favors. The enterprises in which they +were engaged being low and shabby, they needed counsel and consolation. +Infinitely beneath a man like McKenty in understanding and a politic grasp of +life, they were, nevertheless, as they prospered, somewhat jealous of him and +his high estate. They saw with speculative and somewhat jealous eyes how, after +his union with Cowperwood, he grew and how he managed to work his will in many +ways—by extracting tolls from the police department, and heavy annual +campaign contributions from manufacturers favored by the city gas and water +departments. McKenty—a born manipulator in this respect—knew where +political funds were to be had in an hour of emergency, and he did not hesitate +to demand them. Tiernan and Kerrigan had always been fairly treated by him as +politics go; but they had never as yet been included in his inner council of +plotters. When he was down-town on one errand or another, he stopped in at +their places to shake hands with them, to inquire after business, to ask if +there was any favor he could do them; but never did he stoop to ask a favor of +them or personally to promise any form of reward. That was the business of +Dowling and others through whom he worked. +</p> + +<p> +Naturally men of strong, restive, animal disposition, finding no complete +outlet for all their growing capacity, Tiernan and Kerrigan were both curious +to see in what way they could add to their honors and emoluments. Their wards, +more than any in the city, were increasing in what might be called a +vote-piling capacity, the honest, legitimate vote not being so large, but the +opportunities afforded for colonizing, repeating, and ballot-box stuffing being +immense. In a doubtful mayoralty campaign the first and second wards alone, +coupled with a portion of the third adjoining them, would register sufficient +illegitimate votes (after voting-hours, if necessary) to completely change the +complexion of the city as to the general officers nominated. Large amounts of +money were sent to Tiernan and Kerrigan around election time by the Democratic +County Committee to be disposed of as they saw fit. They merely sent in a rough +estimate of how much they would need, and always received a little more than +they asked for. They never made nor were asked to make accounting afterward. +Tiernan would receive as high as fifteen and eighteen, Kerrigan sometimes as +much as twenty to twenty-five thousand dollars, his being the pivotal ward +under such circumstances. +</p> + +<p> +McKenty had recently begun to recognize that these two men would soon have to +be given fuller consideration, for they were becoming more or less influential. +But how? Their personalities, let alone the reputation of their wards and the +methods they employed, were not such as to command public confidence. In the +mean time, owing to the tremendous growth of the city, the growth of their own +private business, and the amount of ballot-box stuffing, repeating, and the +like which was required of them, they were growing more and more restless. Why +should not they be slated for higher offices? they now frequently asked +themselves. Tiernan would have been delighted to have been nominated for +sheriff or city treasurer. He considered himself eminently qualified. Kerrigan +at the last city convention had privately urged on Dowling the wisdom of +nominating him for the position of commissioner of highways and sewers, which +office he was anxious to obtain because of its reported commercial perquisites; +but this year, of all times, owing to the need of nominating an unblemished +ticket to defeat the sharp Republican opposition, such a nomination was not +possible. It would have drawn the fire of all the respectable elements in the +city. As a result both Tiernan and Kerrigan, thinking over their services, past +and future, felt very much disgruntled. They were really not large enough +mentally to understand how dangerous—outside of certain fields of +activity—they were to the party. +</p> + +<p> +After his conference with Hand, Gilgan, going about the city with the promise +of ready cash on his lips, was able to arouse considerable enthusiasm for the +Republican cause. In the wards and sections where the so-called “better +element” prevailed it seemed probable, because of the heavy moral +teaching of the newspapers, that the respectable vote would array itself almost +solidly this time against Cowperwood. In the poorer wards it would not be so +easy. True, it was possible, by a sufficient outlay of cash, to find certain +hardy bucaneers who could be induced to knife their own brothers, but the +result was not certain. Having heard through one person and another of the +disgruntled mood of both Kerrigan and Tiernan, and recognizing himself, even if +he was a Republican, to be a man much more of their own stripe than either +McKenty or Dowling, Gilgan decided to visit that lusty pair and see what could +be done by way of alienating them from the present center of power. +</p> + +<p> +After due reflection he first sought out “Emerald Pat” Kerrigan, +whom he knew personally but with whom he was by no means intimate politically, +at his “Emporium Bar” in Dearborn Street. This particular saloon, a +feature of political Chicago at this time, was a large affair containing among +other marvelous saloon fixtures a circular bar of cherry wood twelve feet in +diameter, which glowed as a small mountain with the customary plain and colored +glasses, bottles, labels, and mirrors. The floor was a composition of small, +shaded red-and-green marbles; the ceiling a daub of pinky, fleshy nudes +floating among diaphanous clouds; the walls were alternate panels of cerise and +brown set in rosewood. Mr. Kerrigan, when other duties were not pressing, was +usually to be found standing chatting with several friends and surveying the +wonders of his bar trade, which was very large. On the day of Mr. +Gilgan’s call he was resplendent in a dark-brown suit with a fine red +stripe in it, Cordovan leather shoes, a wine-colored tie ornamented with the +emerald of so much renown, and a straw hat of flaring proportions and novel +weave. About his waist, in lieu of a waistcoat, was fastened one of the +eccentricities of the day, a manufactured silk sash. He formed an interesting +contrast with Mr. Gilgan, who now came up very moist, pink, and warm, in a +fine, light tweed of creamy, showy texture, straw hat, and yellow shoes. +</p> + +<p> +“How are you, Kerrigan?” he observed, genially, there being no +political enmity between them. “How’s the first, and how’s +trade? I see you haven’t lost the emerald yet?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. No danger of that. Oh, trade’s all right. And so’s the +first. How’s Mr. Gilgan?” Kerrigan extended his hand cordially. +</p> + +<p> +“I have a word to say to you. Have you any time to spare?” +</p> + +<p> +For answer Mr. Kerrigan led the way into the back room. Already he had heard +rumors of a strong Republican opposition at the coming election. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Gilgan sat down. “It’s about things this fall I’ve come +to see you, of course,” he began, smilingly. “You and I are +supposed to be on opposite sides of the fence, and we are as a rule, but I am +wondering whether we need be this time or not?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Kerrigan, shrewd though seemingly simple, fixed him with an amiable eye. +“What’s your scheme?” he said. “I’m always open +to a good idea.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it’s just this,” began Mr. Gilgan, feeling his way. +“You have a fine big ward here that you carry in your vest pocket, and so +has Tiernan, as we all know; and we all know, too, that if it wasn’t for +what you and him can do there wouldn’t always be a Democratic mayor +elected. Now, I have an idea, from looking into the thing, that neither you nor +Tiernan have got as much out of it so far as you might have.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Kerrigan was too cautious to comment as to that, though Mr. Gilgan paused +for a moment. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, I have a plan, as I say, and you can take it or leave it, just as +you want, and no hard feelings one way or the other. I think the Republicans +are going to win this fall—McKenty or no McKenty—first, second, and +third wards with us or not, as they choose. The doings of the big +fellow”—he was referring to McKenty—“with the other +fellow in North Clark Street”—Mr. Gilgan preferred to be a little +enigmatic at times—“are very much in the wind just now. You see how +the papers stand. I happen to know where there’s any quantity of money +coming into the game from big financial quarters who have no use for this +railroad man. It’s a solid La Salle and Dearborn Street line-up, so far +as I can see. Why, I don’t know. But so it is. Maybe you know better than +I do. Anyhow, that’s the way it stands now. Add to that the fact that +there are eight naturally Republican wards as it is, and ten more where there +is always a fighting chance, and you begin to see what I’m driving at. +Count out these last ten, though, and bet only on the eight that are sure to +stand. That leaves twenty-three wards that we Republicans always conceded to +you people; but if we manage to carry thirteen of them along with the eight +I’m talking about, we’ll have a majority in council, +and”—flick! he snapped his fingers—“out you +go—you, McKenty, Cowperwood, and all the rest. No more franchises, no +more street-paving contracts, no more gas deals. Nothing—for two years, +anyhow, and maybe longer. If we win we’ll take the jobs and the fat +deals.” He paused and surveyed Kerrigan cheerfully but defiantly. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, I’ve just been all over the city,” he continued, +“in every ward and precinct, so I know something of what I am talking +about. I have the men and the cash to put up a fight all along the line this +time. This fall we win—me and the big fellows over there in La Salle +Street, and all the Republicans or Democrats or Prohibitionists, or whoever +else comes in with us—do you get me? We’re going to put up the +biggest political fight Chicago has ever seen. I’m not naming any names +just yet, but when the time comes you’ll see. Now, what I want to ask of +you is this, and I’ll not mince me words nor beat around the bush. Will +you and Tiernan come in with me and Edstrom to take over the city and run it +during the next two years? If you will, we can win hands down. It will be a +case of share and share alike on everything—police, gas, water, highways, +street-railways, everything—or we’ll divide beforehand and put it +down in black and white. I know that you and Tiernan work together, or I +wouldn’t talk about this. Edstrom has the Swedes where he wants them, and +he’ll poll twenty thousand of them this fall. There’s Ungerich with +his Germans; one of us might make a deal with him afterward, give him most any +office he wants. If we win this time we can hold the city for six or eight +years anyhow, most likely, and after that—well, there’s no use +lookin’ too far in the future—Anyhow we’d have a majority of +the council and carry the mayor along with it.” +</p> + +<p> +“If—” commented Mr. Kerrigan, dryly. +</p> + +<p> +“If,” replied Mr. Gilgan, sententiously. “You’re very +right. There’s a big ‘if’ in there, I’ll admit. But if +these two wards—yours and Tiernan’s—could by any chance be +carried for the Republicans they’d be equal to any four or five of the +others.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very true,” replied Mr. Kerrigan, “if they could be carried +for the Republicans. But they can’t be. What do you want me to do, +anyhow? Lose me seat in council and be run out of the Democratic party? +What’s your game? You don’t take me for a plain damn fool, do +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sorry the man that ever took ‘Emerald Pat’ for that,” +answered Gilgan, with honeyed compliment. “I never would. But no one is +askin’ ye to lose your seat in council and be run out of the Democratic +party. What’s to hinder you from electin’ yourself and +droppin’ the rest of the ticket?” He had almost said +“knifing.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Kerrigan smiled. In spite of all his previous dissatisfaction with the +Chicago situation he had not thought of Mr. Gilgan’s talk as leading to +this. It was an interesting idea. He had “knifed” people +before—here and there a particular candidate whom it was desirable to +undo. If the Democratic party was in any danger of losing this fall, and if +Gilgan was honest in his desire to divide and control, it might not be such a +bad thing. Neither Cowperwood, McKenty, nor Dowling had ever favored him in any +particular way. If they lost through him, and he could still keep himself in +power, they would have to make terms with him. There was no chance of their +running him out. Why shouldn’t he knife the ticket? It was worth thinking +over, to say the least. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all very fine,” he observed, dryly, after his +meditations had run their course; “but how do I know that you +wouldn’t turn around and ‘welch’ on the agreement +afterward?” (Mr. Gilgan stirred irritably at the suggestion.) “Dave +Morrissey came to me four years ago to help him out, and a lot of satisfaction +I got afterward.” Kerrigan was referring to a man whom he had helped make +county clerk, and who had turned on him when he asked for return favors and his +support for the office of commissioner of highways. Morrissey had become a +prominent politician. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s very easy to say,” replied Gilgan, irritably, +“but it’s not true of me. Ask any man in my district. Ask the men +who know me. I’ll put my part of the bargain in black and white if +you’ll put yours. If I don’t make good, show me up afterward. +I’ll take you to the people that are backing me. I’ll show you the +money. I’ve got the goods this time. What do you stand to lose, anyhow? +They can’t run you out for cutting the ticket. They can’t prove it. +We’ll bring police in here to make it look like a fair vote. I’ll +put up as much money as they will to carry this district, and more.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Kerrigan suddenly saw a grand coup here. He could “draw down” +from the Democrats, as he would have expressed it, twenty to twenty-five +thousand dollars to do the dirty work here. Gilgan would furnish him as much +and more—the situation being so critical. Perhaps fifteen or eighteen +thousand would be necessary to poll the number of votes required either way. At +the last hour, before stuffing the boxes, he would learn how the city was +going. If it looked favorable for the Republicans it would be easy to complete +the victory and complain that his lieutenants had been suborned. If it looked +certain for the Democrats he could throw Gilgan and pocket his funds. In either +case he would be “in” twenty-five to thirty thousand dollars, and +he would still be councilman. +</p> + +<p> +“All very fine,” replied Mr. Kerrigan, pretending a dullness which +he did not feel; “but it’s damned ticklish business at best. I +don’t know that I want anything to do with it even if we could win. +It’s true the City Hall crowd have never played into my hands very much; +but this is a Democratic district, and I’m a Democrat. If it ever got out +that I had thrown the party it would be pretty near all day with me. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m a man of my word,” declared Mr. Gilgan, emphatically, +getting up. “I never threw a man or a bet in my life. Look at me record +in the eighteenth. Did you ever hear any one say that I had?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I never did,” returned Kerrigan, mildly. “But it’s +a pretty large thing you’re proposing, Mr. Gilgan. I wouldn’t want +to say what I thought about it offhand. This ward is supposed to be Democratic. +It couldn’t be swung over into the Republican column without a good bit +of fuss being made about it. You’d better see Mr. Tiernan first and hear +what he has to say. Afterward I might be willing to talk about it further. Not +now, though—not now.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Gilgan went away quite jauntily and cheerfully. He was not at all downcast. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap36"></a>CHAPTER XXXVI.<br/> +An Election Draws Near</h2> + +<p> +Subsequently Mr. Kerrigan called on Mr. Tiernan casually. Mr. Tiernan returned +the call. A little later Messrs. Tiernan, Kerrigan, and Gilgan, in a +parlor-room in a small hotel in Milwaukee (in order not to be seen together), +conferred. Finally Messrs. Tiernan, Edstrom, Kerrigan, and Gilgan met and +mapped out a programme of division far too intricate to be indicated here. +Needless to say, it involved the division of chief clerks, pro rata, of police +graft, of gambling and bawdy-house perquisites, of returns from gas, +street-railway, and other organizations. It was sealed with many solemn +promises. If it could be made effective this quadrumvirate was to endure for +years. Judges, small magistrates, officers large and small, the shrievalty, the +water office, the tax office, all were to come within its purview. It was a +fine, handsome political dream, and as such worthy of every courtesy and +consideration but it was only a political dream in its ultimate aspects, and as +such impressed the participants themselves at times. +</p> + +<p> +The campaign was now in full blast. The summer and fall (September and October) +went by to the tune of Democratic and Republican marching club bands, to the +sound of lusty political voices orating in parks, at street-corners, in wooden +“wigwams,” halls, tents, and parlors—wherever a meager +handful of listeners could be drummed up and made by any device to keep still. +The newspapers honked and bellowed, as is the way with those profit-appointed +advocates and guardians of “right” and “justice.” +Cowperwood and McKenty were denounced from nearly every street-corner in +Chicago. Wagons and sign-boards on wheels were hauled about labeled +“Break the partnership between the street-railway corporations and the +city council.” “Do you want more streets stolen?” “Do +you want Cowperwood to own Chicago?” Cowperwood himself, coming down-town +of a morning or driving home of an evening, saw these things. He saw the huge +signs, listened to speeches denouncing himself, and smiled. By now he was quite +aware as to whence this powerful uprising had sprung. Hand was back of it, he +knew—for so McKenty and Addison had quickly discovered—and with +Hand was Schryhart, Arneel, Merrill, the Douglas Trust Company, the various +editors, young Truman Leslie MacDonald, the old gas crowd, the Chicago General +Company—all. He even suspected that certain aldermen might possibly be +suborned to desert him, though all professed loyalty. McKenty, Addison, Videra, +and himself were planning the details of their defenses as carefully and +effectively as possible. Cowperwood was fully alive to the fact that if he lost +this election—the first to be vigorously contested—it might involve +a serious chain of events; but he did not propose to be unduly disturbed, since +he could always fight in the courts by money, and by preferment in the council, +and with the mayor and the city attorney. “There is more than one way to +kill a cat,” was one of his pet expressions, and it expressed his logic +and courage exactly. Yet he did not wish to lose. +</p> + +<p> +One of the amusing features of the campaign was that the McKenty orators had +been instructed to shout as loudly for reforms as the Republicans, only instead +of assailing Cowperwood and McKenty they were to point out that +Schryhart’s Chicago City Railway was far more rapacious, and that this +was a scheme to give it a blanket franchise of all streets not yet covered by +either the Cowperwood or the Schryhart-Hand-Arneel lines. It was a pretty +argument. The Democrats could point with pride to a uniformly liberal +interpretation of some trying Sunday laws, whereby under Republican and reform +administrations it had been occasionally difficult for the honest working-man +to get his glass or pail of beer on Sunday. On the other hand it was possible +for the Republican orators to show how “the low dives and +gin-mills” were everywhere being operated in favor of McKenty, and that +under the highly respectable administration of the Republican candidate for +mayor this partnership between the city government and vice and crime would be +nullified. +</p> + +<p> +“If I am elected,” declared the Honorable Chaffee Thayer Sluss, the +Republican candidate, “neither Frank Cowperwood nor John McKenty will +dare to show his face in the City Hall unless he comes with clean hands and an +honest purpose. +</p> + +<p> +“Hooray!” yelled the crowd. +</p> + +<p> +“I know that ass,” commented Addison, when he read this in the +Transcript. “He used to be a clerk in the Douglas Trust Company. +He’s made a little money recently in the paper business. He’s a +mere tool for the Arneel-Schryhart interests. He hasn’t the courage of a +two-inch fish-worm.” +</p> + +<p> +When McKenty read it he simply observed: “There are other ways of going +to City Hall than by going yourself.” He was depending upon a +councilmanic majority at least. +</p> + +<p> +However, in the midst of this uproar the goings to and fro of Gilgan, Edstrom, +Kerrigan, and Tiernan were nor fully grasped. A more urbanely shifty pair than +these latter were never seen. While fraternizing secretly with both Gilgan and +Edstrom, laying out their political programme most neatly, they were at the +same time conferring with Dowling, Duvanicki, even McKenty himself. Seeing that +the outcome was, for some reason—he could scarcely see why—looking +very uncertain, McKenty one day asked the two of them to come to see him. On +getting the letter Mr. Tiernan strolled over to Mr. Kerrigan’s place to +see whether he also had received a message. +</p> + +<p> +“Sure, sure! I did!” replied Mr. Kerrigan, gaily. “Here it is +now in me outside coat pocket. ‘Dear Mr. Kerrigan,’” he read, +“‘won’t you do me the favor to come over to-morrow evening at +seven and dine with me? Mr. Ungerich, Mr. Duvanicki, and several others will +very likely drop in afterward. I have asked Mr. Tiernan to come at the same +time. Sincerely, John J. McKenty.’ That’s the way he does +it,” added Mr. Kerrigan; “just like that.” +</p> + +<p> +He kissed the letter mockingly and put it back into his pocket. +</p> + +<p> +“Sure I got one, jist the same way. The very same langwidge, +nearly,” commented Mr. Tiernan, sweetly. “He’s beginning to +wake up, eh? What! The little old first and second are beginning to look purty +big just now, eh? What!” +</p> + +<p> +“Tush!” observed Mr. Kerrigan to Mr. Tiernan, with a marked +sardonic emphasis, “that combination won’t last forever. +They’ve been getting too big for their pants, I’m thinking. Well, +it’s a long road, eh? It’s pretty near time, what?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re right,” responded Mr. Tiernan, feelingly. “It +is a long road. These are the two big wards of the city, and everybody knows +it. If we turn on them at the last moment where will they be, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +He put a fat finger alongside of his heavy reddish nose and looked at Mr. +Kerrigan out of squinted eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re damned right,” replied the little politician, +cheerfully. +</p> + +<p> +They went to the dinner separately, so as not to appear to have conferred +before, and greeted each other on arriving as though they had not seen each +other for days. +</p> + +<p> +“How’s business, Mike?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, fair, Pat. How’s things with you?” +</p> + +<p> +“So so.” +</p> + +<p> +“Things lookin’ all right in your ward for November?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tiernan wrinkled a fat forehead. “Can’t tell yet.” All +this was for the benefit of Mr. McKenty, who did not suspect rank party +disloyalty. +</p> + +<p> +Nothing much came of this conference, except that they sat about discussing in +a general way wards, pluralities, what Zeigler was likely to do with the +twelfth, whether Pinski could make it in the sixth, Schlumbohm in the +twentieth, and so on. New Republican contestants in old, safe Democratic wards +were making things look dubious. +</p> + +<p> +“And how about the first, Kerrigan?” inquired Ungerich, a thin, +reflective German-American of shrewd presence. Ungerich was one who had +hitherto wormed himself higher in McKenty’s favor than either Kerrigan or +Tiernan. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, the first’s all right,” replied Kerrigan, archly. +“Of course you never can tell. This fellow Scully may do something, but I +don’t think it will be much. If we have the same police +protection—” +</p> + +<p> +Ungerich was gratified. He was having a struggle in his own ward, where a rival +by the name of Glover appeared to be pouring out money like water. He would +require considerably more money than usual to win. It was the same with +Duvanicki. +</p> + +<p> +McKenty finally parted with his lieutenants—more feelingly with Kerrigan +and Tiernan than he had ever done before. He did not wholly trust these two, +and he could not exactly admire them and their methods, which were the roughest +of all, but they were useful. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m glad to learn,” he said, at parting, “that things +are looking all right with you, Pat, and you, Mike,” nodding to each in +turn. “We’re going to need the most we can get out of everybody. I +depend on you two to make a fine showing—the best of any. The rest of us +will not forget it when the plums are being handed around afterward.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you can depend on me to do the best I can always,” commented +Mr. Kerrigan, sympathetically. “It’s a tough year, but we +haven’t failed yet.” +</p> + +<p> +“And me, Chief! That goes for me,” observed Mr. Tiernan, raucously. +“I guess I can do as well as I have.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good for you, Mike!” soothed McKenty, laying a gentle hand on his +shoulder. “And you, too, Kerrigan. Yours are the key wards, and we +understand that. I’ve always been sorry that the leaders couldn’t +agree on you two for something better than councilmen; but next time there +won’t be any doubt of it, if I have any influence then.” He went in +and closed the door. Outside a cool October wind was whipping dead leaves and +weed stalks along the pavements. Neither Tiernan nor Kerrigan spoke, though +they had come away together, until they were two hundred feet down the avenue +toward Van Buren. +</p> + +<p> +“Some talk, that, eh?” commented Mr. Tiernan, eying Mr. Kerrigan in +the flare of a passing gas-lamp. +</p> + +<p> +“Sure. That’s the stuff they always hand out when they’re up +against it. Pretty kind words, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“And after ten years of about the roughest work that’s done, eh? +It’s about time, what? Say, it’s a wonder he didn’t think of +that last June when the convention was in session. +</p> + +<p> +“Tush! Mikey,” smiled Mr. Kerrigan, grimly. “You’re a +bad little boy. You want your pie too soon. Wait another two or four or six +years, like Paddy Kerrigan and the others.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I will—not,” growled Mr. Tiernan. “Wait’ll +the sixth.” +</p> + +<p> +“No more, will I,” replied Mr. Kerrigan. “Say, we know a +trick that beats that next-year business to a pulp. What?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re dead right,” commented Mr. Tiernan. +</p> + +<p> +And so they went peacefully home. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap37"></a>CHAPTER XXXVII.<br/> +Aileen’s Revenge</h2> + +<p> +The interesting Polk Lynde, rising one morning, decided that his affair with +Aileen, sympathetic as it was, must culminate in the one fashion satisfactory +to him here and now—this day, if possible, or the next. Since the +luncheon some considerable time had elapsed, and although he had tried to seek +her out in various ways, Aileen, owing to a certain feeling that she must think +and not jeopardize her future, had evaded him. She realized well enough that +she was at the turning of the balance, now that opportunity was knocking so +loudly at her door, and she was exceedingly coy and distrait. In spite of +herself the old grip of Cowperwood was over her—the conviction that he +was such a tremendous figure in the world—and this made her strangely +disturbed, nebulous, and meditative. Another type of woman, having troubled as +much as she had done, would have made short work of it, particularly since the +details in regard to Mrs. Hand had been added. Not so Aileen. She could not +quite forget the early vows and promises exchanged between them, nor conquer +the often-fractured illusions that he might still behave himself. +</p> + +<p> +On the other hand, Polk Lynde, marauder, social adventurer, a bucaneer of the +affections, was not so easily to be put aside, delayed, and gainsaid. Not +unlike Cowperwood, he was a man of real force, and his methods, in so far as +women were concerned, were even more daring. Long trifling with the sex had +taught him that they were coy, uncertain, foolishly inconsistent in their +moods, even with regard to what they most desired. If one contemplated victory, +it had frequently to be taken with an iron hand. +</p> + +<p> +From this attitude on his part had sprung his rather dark fame. Aileen felt it +on the day that she took lunch with him. His solemn, dark eyes were +treacherously sweet. She felt as if she might be paving the way for some +situation in which she would find herself helpless before his sudden +mood—and yet she had come. +</p> + +<p> +But Lynde, meditating Aileen’s delay, had this day decided that he should +get a definite decision, and that it should be favorable. He called her up at +ten in the morning and chafed her concerning her indecision and changeable +moods. He wanted to know whether she would not come and see the paintings at +his friend’s studio—whether she could not make up her mind to come +to a barn-dance which some bachelor friends of his had arranged. When she +pleaded being out of sorts he urged her to pull herself together. +“You’re making things very difficult for your admirers,” he +suggested, sweetly. +</p> + +<p> +Aileen fancied she had postponed the struggle diplomatically for some little +time without ending it, when at two o’clock in the afternoon her +door-bell was rung and the name of Lynde brought up. “He said he was sure +you were in,” commented the footman, on whom had been pressed a dollar, +“and would you see him for just a moment? He would not keep you more than +a moment.” +</p> + +<p> +Aileen, taken off her guard by this effrontery, uncertain as to whether there +might not be something of some slight import concerning which he wished to +speak to her, quarreling with herself because of her indecision, really +fascinated by Lynde as a rival for her affections, and remembering his jesting, +coaxing voice of the morning, decided to go down. She was lonely, and, clad in +a lavender housegown with an ermine collar and sleeve cuffs, was reading a +book. +</p> + +<p> +“Show him into the music-room,” she said to the lackey. When she +entered she was breathing with some slight difficulty, for so Lynde affected +her. She knew she had displayed fear by not going to him before, and previous +cowardice plainly manifested does not add to one’s power of resistance. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” she exclaimed, with an assumption of bravado which she did +not feel. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon after your telephone +message. You have never been in our house before, have you? Won’t you put +up your coat and hat and come into the gallery? It’s brighter there, and +you might be interested in some of the pictures.” +</p> + +<p> +Lynde, who was seeking for any pretext whereby he might prolong his stay and +overcome her nervous mood, accepted, pretending, however, that he was merely +passing and with a moment to spare. +</p> + +<p> +“Thought I’d get just one glimpse of you again. Couldn’t +resist the temptation to look in. Stunning room, isn’t it? +Spacious—and there you are! Who did that? Oh, I see—Van Beers. And +a jolly fine piece of work it is, too, charming.” +</p> + +<p> +He surveyed her and then turned back to the picture where, ten years younger, +buoyant, hopeful, carrying her blue-and-white striped parasol, she sat on a +stone bench against the Dutch background of sky and clouds. Charmed by the +picture she presented in both cases, he was genially complimentary. To-day she +was stouter, ruddier—the fiber of her had hardened, as it does with so +many as the years come on; but she was still in full bloom—a little late +in the summer, but in full bloom. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes; and this Rembrandt—I’m surprised! I did not know +your husband’s collection was so representative. Israels, I see, and +Gerome, and Meissonier! Gad! It is a representative collection, isn’t +it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Some of the things are excellent,” she commented, with an air, +aping Cowperwood and others, “but a number will be weeded out +eventually—that Paul Potter and this Goy—as better examples come +into the market.” +</p> + +<p> +She had heard Cowperwood say as much, over and over. +</p> + +<p> +Finding that conversation was possible between them in this easy, impersonal +way, Aileen became quite natural and interested, pleased and entertained by his +discreet and charming presence. Evidently he did not intend to pay much more +than a passing social call. On the other hand, Lynde was studying her, +wondering what effect his light, distant air was having. As he finished a very +casual survey of the gallery he remarked: +</p> + +<p> +“I have always wondered about this house. I knew Lord did it, of course, +and I always heard it was well done. That is the dining-room, I suppose?” +</p> + +<p> +Aileen, who had always been inordinately vain of the house in spite of the fact +that it had proved of small use socially, was delighted to show him the +remainder of the rooms. Lynde, who was used, of course, to houses of all +degrees of material splendor—that of his own family being one of the +best—pretended an interest he did not feel. He commented as he went on +the taste of the decorations and wood-carving, the charm of the arrangement +that permitted neat brief vistas, and the like. +</p> + +<p> +“Just wait a moment,” said Aileen, as they neared the door of her +own boudoir. “I’ve forgotten whether mine is in order. I want you +to see that.” +</p> + +<p> +She opened it and stepped in. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, you may come,” she called. +</p> + +<p> +He followed. “Oh yes, indeed. Very charming. Very graceful—those +little lacy dancing figures—aren’t they? A delightful color scheme. +It harmonizes with you exactly. It is quite like you.” +</p> + +<p> +He paused, looking at the spacious rug, which was of warm blues and creams, and +at the gilt ormolu bed. “Well done,” he said, and then, suddenly +changing his mood and dropping his talk of decoration (Aileen was to his right, +and he was between her and the door), he added: “Tell me now why +won’t you come to the barn-dance to-night? It would be charming. You will +enjoy it.” +</p> + +<p> +Aileen saw the sudden change in his mood. She recognized that by showing him +the rooms she had led herself into an easily made disturbing position. His dark +engaging eyes told their own story. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I don’t feel in the mood to. I haven’t for a number of +things for some time. I—” +</p> + +<p> +She began to move unconcernedly about him toward the door, but he detained her +with his hand. “Don’t go just yet,” he said. “Let me +talk to you. You always evade me in such a nervous way. Don’t you like me +at all?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes, I like you; but can’t we talk just as well down in the +music-room as here? Can’t I tell you why I evade you down there just as +well as I can here?” She smiled a winning and now fearless smile. +</p> + +<p> +Lynde showed his even white teeth in two gleaming rows. His eyes filled with a +gay maliciousness. “Surely, surely,” he replied; “but +you’re so nice in your own room here. I hate to leave it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Just the same,” replied Aileen, still gay, but now slightly +disturbed also, “I think we might as well. You will find me just as +entertaining downstairs.” +</p> + +<p> +She moved, but his strength, quite as Cowperwood’s, was much too great +for her. He was a strong man. +</p> + +<p> +“Really, you know,” she said, “you mustn’t act this way +here. Some one might come in. What cause have I given you to make you think you +could do like this with me?” +</p> + +<p> +“What cause?” he asked, bending over her and smoothing her plump +arms with his brown hands. “Oh, no definite cause, perhaps. You are a +cause in yourself. I told you how sweet I thought you were, the night we were +at the Alcott. Didn’t you understand then? I thought you did.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I understood that you liked me, and all that, perhaps. Any one might +do that. But as for anything like—well—taking such liberties with +me—I never dreamed of it. But listen. I think I hear some one +coming.” Aileen, making a sudden vigorous effort to free herself and +failing, added: “Please let me go, Mr. Lynde. It isn’t very gallant +of you, I must say, restraining a woman against her will. If I had given you +any real cause—I shall be angry in a moment.” +</p> + +<p> +Again the even smiling teeth and dark, wrinkling, malicious eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Really! How you go on! You would think I was a perfect stranger. +Don’t you remember what you said to me at lunch? You didn’t keep +your promise. You practically gave me to understand that you would come. Why +didn’t you? Are you afraid of me, or don’t you like me, or both? I +think you’re delicious, splendid, and I want to know.” +</p> + +<p> +He shifted his position, putting one arm about her waist, pulling her close to +him, looking into her eyes. With the other he held her free arm. Suddenly he +covered her mouth with his and then kissed her cheeks. “You care for me, +don’t you? What did you mean by saying you might come, if you +didn’t?” +</p> + +<p> +He held her quite firm, while Aileen struggled. It was a new sensation +this—that of the other man, and this was Polk Lynde, the first individual +outside of Cowperwood to whom she had ever felt drawn. But now, here, in her +own room—and it was within the range of possibilities that Cowperwood +might return or the servants enter. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, but think what you are doing,” she protested, not really +disturbed as yet as to the outcome of the contest with him, and feeling as +though he were merely trying to make her be sweet to him without intending +anything more at present—“here in my own room! Really, you’re +not the man I thought you were at all, if you don’t instantly let me go. +Mr. Lynde! Mr. Lynde!” (He had bent over and was kissing her). “Oh, +you shouldn’t do this! Really! I—I said I might come, but that was +far from doing it. And to have you come here and take advantage of me in this +way! I think you’re horrid. If I ever had any interest in you, it is +quite dead now, I can assure you. Unless you let me go at once, I give you my +word I will never see you any more. I won’t! Really, I won’t! I +mean it! Oh, please let me go! I’ll scream, I tell you! I’ll never +see you again after this day! Oh—” It was an intense but useless +struggle. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Coming home one evening about a week later, Cowperwood found Aileen humming +cheerfully, and yet also in a seemingly deep and reflective mood. She was just +completing an evening toilet, and looked young and colorful—quite her +avid, seeking self of earlier days. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” he asked, cheerfully, “how have things gone +to-day?” Aileen, feeling somehow, as one will on occasions, that if she +had done wrong she was justified and that sometime because of this she might +even win Cowperwood back, felt somewhat kindlier toward him. “Oh, very +well,” she replied. “I stopped in at the Hoecksemas’ this +afternoon for a little while. They’re going to Mexico in November. She +has the darlingest new basket-carriage—if she only looked like anything +when she rode in it. Etta is getting ready to enter Bryn Mawr. She is all +fussed up about leaving her dog and cat. Then I went down to one of Lane +Cross’s receptions, and over to Merrill’s”—she was +referring to the great store—“and home. I saw Taylor Lord and Polk +Lynde together in Wabash Avenue.” +</p> + +<p> +“Polk Lynde?” commented Cowperwood. “Is he +interesting?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, he is,” replied Aileen. “I never met a man with such +perfect manners. He’s so fascinating. He’s just like a boy, and +yet, Heaven knows, he seems to have had enough worldly experience.” +</p> + +<p> +“So I’ve heard,” commented Cowperwood. “Wasn’t he +the one that was mixed up in that Carmen Torriba case here a few years +ago?” Cowperwood was referring to the matter of a Spanish dancer +traveling in America with whom Lynde had been apparently desperately in love. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes,” replied Aileen, maliciously; “but that +oughtn’t to make any difference to you. He’s charming, anyhow. I +like him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t say it did, did I? You don’t object to my +mentioning a mere incident?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I know about the incident,” replied Aileen, jestingly. +“I know you.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean by that?” he asked, studying her face. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I know you,” she replied, sweetly and yet defensively. +“You think I’ll stay here and be content while you run about with +other women—play the sweet and loving wife? Well, I won’t. I know +why you say this about Lynde. It’s to keep me from being interested in +him, possibly. Well, I will be if I want to. I told you I would be, and I will. +You can do what you please about that. You don’t want me, so why should +you be disturbed as to whether other men are interested in me or not?” +</p> + +<p> +The truth was that Cowperwood was not clearly thinking of any probable relation +between Lynde and Aileen any more than he was in connection with her and any +other man, and yet in a remote way he was sensing some one. It was this that +Aileen felt in him, and that brought forth her seemingly uncalled-for comment. +Cowperwood, under the circumstances, attempted to be as suave as possible, +having caught the implication clearly. +</p> + +<p> +“Aileen,” he cooed, “how you talk! Why do you say that? You +know I care for you. I can’t prevent anything you want to do, and +I’m sure you know I don’t want to. It’s you that I want to +see satisfied. You know that I care.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I know how you care,” replied Aileen, her mood changing for +the moment. “Don’t start that old stuff, please. I’m sick of +it. I know how you’re running around. I know about Mrs. Hand. Even the +newspapers make that plain. You’ve been home just one evening in the last +eight days, long enough for me to get more than a glimpse of you. Don’t +talk to me. Don’t try to bill and coo. I’ve always known. +Don’t think I don’t know who your latest flame is. But don’t +begin to whine, and don’t quarrel with me if I go about and get +interested in other men, as I certainly will. It will be all your fault if I +do, and you know it. Don’t begin and complain. It won’t do you any +good. I’m not going to sit here and be made a fool of. I’ve told +you that over and over. You don’t believe it, but I’m not. I told +you that I’d find some one one of these days, and I will. As a matter of +fact, I have already.” +</p> + +<p> +At this remark Cowperwood surveyed her coolly, critically, and yet not +unsympathetically; but she swung out of the room with a defiant air before +anything could be said, and went down to the music-room, from whence a few +moments later there rolled up to him from the hall below the strains of the +second Hungarian Rhapsodie, feelingly and for once movingly played. Into it +Aileen put some of her own wild woe and misery. Cowperwood hated the thought +for the moment that some one as smug as Lynde—so good-looking, so suave a +society rake—should interest Aileen; but if it must be, it must be. He +could have no honest reason for complaint. At the same time a breath of real +sorrow for the days that had gone swept over him. He remembered her in +Philadelphia in her red cape as a school-girl—in his father’s +house—out horseback-riding, driving. What a splendid, loving girl she had +been—such a sweet fool of love. Could she really have decided not to +worry about him any more? Could it be possible that she might find some one +else who would be interested in her, and in whom she would take a keen +interest? It was an odd thought for him. +</p> + +<p> +He watched her as she came into the dining-room later, arrayed in green silk of +the shade of copper patina, her hair done in a high coil—and in spite of +himself he could not help admiring her. She looked very young in her soul, and +yet moody—loving (for some one), eager, and defiant. He reflected for a +moment what terrible things passion and love are—how they make fools of +us all. “All of us are in the grip of a great creative impulse,” he +said to himself. He talked of other things for a while—the approaching +election, a poster-wagon he had seen bearing the question, “Shall +Cowperwood own the city?” “Pretty cheap politics, I call +that,” he commented. And then he told of stopping in a so-called +Republican wigwam at State and Sixteenth streets—a great, cheaply +erected, unpainted wooden shack with seats, and of hearing himself bitterly +denounced by the reigning orator. “I was tempted once to ask that donkey +a few questions,” he added, “but I decided I wouldn’t.” +</p> + +<p> +Aileen had to smile. In spite of all his faults he was such a wonderful +man—to set a city thus by the ears. “Yet, what care I how fair he +be, if he be not fair to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you meet any one else besides Lynde you liked?” he finally +asked, archly, seeking to gather further data without stirring up too much +feeling. +</p> + +<p> +Aileen, who had been studying him, feeling sure the subject would come up +again, replied: “No, I haven’t; but I don’t need to. One is +enough.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean by that?” he asked, gently. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, just what I say. One will do.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean you are in love with Lynde?” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean—oh!” She stopped and surveyed him defiantly. +“What difference does it make to you what I mean? Yes, I am. But what do +you care? Why do you sit there and question me? It doesn’t make any +difference to you what I do. You don’t want me. Why should you sit there +and try to find out, or watch? It hasn’t been any consideration for you +that has restrained me so far. Suppose I am in love? What difference would it +make to you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I care. You know I care. Why do you say that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, you care,” she flared. “I know how you care. Well, +I’ll just tell you one thing”—rage at his indifference was +driving her on—“I am in love with Lynde, and what’s more, +I’m his mistress. And I’ll continue to be. But what do you care? +Pshaw!” +</p> + +<p> +Her eyes blazed hotly, her color rose high and strong. She breathed heavily. +</p> + +<p> +At this announcement, made in the heat of spite and rage generated by long +indifference, Cowperwood sat up for a moment, and his eyes hardened with quite +that implacable glare with which he sometimes confronted an enemy. He felt at +once there were many things he could do to make her life miserable, and to take +revenge on Lynde, but he decided after a moment he would not. It was not +weakness, but a sense of superior power that was moving him. Why should he be +jealous? Had he not been unkind enough? In a moment his mood changed to one of +sorrow for Aileen, for himself, for life, indeed—its tangles of desire +and necessity. He could not blame Aileen. Lynde was surely attractive. He had +no desire to part with her or to quarrel with him—merely to temporarily +cease all intimate relations with her and allow her mood to clear itself up. +Perhaps she would want to leave him of her own accord. Perhaps, if he ever +found the right woman, this might prove good grounds for his leaving her. The +right woman—where was she? He had never found her yet. +</p> + +<p> +“Aileen,” he said, quite softly, “I wish you wouldn’t +feel so bitterly about this. Why should you? When did you do this? Will you +tell me that?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I’ll not tell you that,” she replied, bitterly. +“It’s none of your affair, and I’ll not tell you. Why should +you ask? You don’t care.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I do care, I tell you,” he returned, irritably, almost +roughly. “When did you? You can tell me that, at least.” His eyes +had a hard, cold look for the moment, dying away, though, into kindly inquiry. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, not long ago. About a week,” Aileen answered, as though she +were compelled. +</p> + +<p> +“How long have you known him?” he asked, curiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, four or five months, now. I met him last winter.” +</p> + +<p> +“And did you do this deliberately—because you were in love with +him, or because you wanted to hurt me?” +</p> + +<p> +He could not believe from past scenes between them that she had ceased to love +him. +</p> + +<p> +Aileen stirred irritably. “I like that,” she flared. “I did +it because I wanted to, and not because of any love for you—I can tell +you that. I like your nerve sitting here presuming to question me after the way +you have neglected me.” She pushed back her plate, and made as if to get +up. +</p> + +<p> +“Wait a minute, Aileen,” he said, simply, putting down his knife +and fork and looking across the handsome table where Sevres, silver, fruit, and +dainty dishes were spread, and where under silk-shaded lights they sat opposite +each other. “I wish you wouldn’t talk that way to me. You know that +I am not a petty, fourth-rate fool. You know that, whatever you do, I am not +going to quarrel with you. I know what the trouble is with you. I know why you +are acting this way, and how you will feel afterward if you go on. It +isn’t anything I will do—” He paused, caught by a wave of +feeling. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, isn’t it?” she blazed, trying to overcome the emotion +that was rising in herself. The calmness of him stirred up memories of the +past. “Well, you keep your sympathy for yourself. I don’t need it. +I will get along. I wish you wouldn’t talk to me.” +</p> + +<p> +She shoved her plate away with such force that she upset a glass in which was +champagne, the wine making a frayed, yellowish splotch on the white linen, and, +rising, hurried toward the door. She was choking with anger, pain, shame, +regret. +</p> + +<p> +“Aileen! Aileen!” he called, hurrying after her, regardless of the +butler, who, hearing the sound of stirring chairs, had entered. These family +woes were an old story to him. “It’s love you want—not +revenge. I know—I can tell. You want to be loved by some one completely. +I’m sorry. You mustn’t be too hard on me. I sha’n’t be +on you.” He seized her by the arm and detained her as they entered the +next room. By this time Aileen was too ablaze with emotion to talk sensibly or +understand what he was doing. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me go!” she exclaimed, angrily, hot tears in her eyes. +“Let me go! I tell you I don’t love you any more. I tell you I hate +you!” She flung herself loose and stood erect before him. “I +don’t want you to talk to me! I don’t want you to speak to me! +You’re the cause of all my troubles. You’re the cause of whatever I +do, when I do it, and don’t you dare to deny it! You’ll see! +You’ll see! I’ll show you what I’ll do!” +</p> + +<p> +She twisted and turned, but he held her firmly until, in his strong grasp, as +usual, she collapsed and began to cry. “Oh, I cry,” she declared, +even in her tears, “but it will be just the same. It’s too late! +too late!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap38"></a>CHAPTER XXXVIII.<br/> +An Hour of Defeat</h2> + +<p> +The stoic Cowperwood, listening to the blare and excitement that went with the +fall campaign, was much more pained to learn of Aileen’s desertion than +to know that he had arrayed a whole social element against himself in Chicago. +He could not forget the wonder of those first days when Aileen was young, and +love and hope had been the substance of her being. The thought ran through all +his efforts and cogitations like a distantly orchestrated undertone. In the +main, in spite of his activity, he was an introspective man, and art, drama, +and the pathos of broken ideals were not beyond him. He harbored in no way any +grudge against Aileen—only a kind of sorrow over the inevitable +consequences of his own ungovernable disposition, the will to freedom within +himself. Change! Change! the inevitable passing of things! Who parts with a +perfect thing, even if no more than an unreasoning love, without a touch of +self-pity? +</p> + +<p> +But there followed swiftly the sixth of November, with its election, noisy and +irrational, and the latter resulted in a resounding defeat. Out of the +thirty-two Democratic aldermen nominated only ten were elected, giving the +opposition a full two-thirds majority in council, Messrs. Tiernan and Kerrigan, +of course, being safely in their places. With them came a Republican mayor and +all his Republican associates on the ticket, who were now supposed to carry out +the theories of the respectable and the virtuous. Cowperwood knew what it meant +and prepared at once to make overtures to the enemy. From McKenty and others he +learned by degrees the full story of Tiernan’s and Kerrigan’s +treachery, but he did not store it up bitterly against them. Such was life. +They must be looked after more carefully in future, or caught in some trap and +utterly undone. According to their own accounts, they had barely managed to +scrape through. +</p> + +<p> +“Look at meself! I only won by three hundred votes,” archly +declared Mr. Kerrigan, on divers and sundry occasions. “By God, I almost +lost me own ward!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tiernan was equally emphatic. “The police was no good to me,” +he declared, firmly. “They let the other fellows beat up me men. I only +polled six thousand when I should have had nine.” +</p> + +<p> +But no one believed them. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +While McKenty meditated as to how in two years he should be able to undo this +temporary victory, and Cowperwood was deciding that conciliation was the best +policy for him, Schryhart, Hand, and Arneel, joining hands with young +MacDonald, were wondering how they could make sure that this party victory +would cripple Cowperwood and permanently prevent him from returning to power. +It was a long, intricate fight that followed, but it involved (before +Cowperwood could possibly reach the new aldermen) a proposed reintroduction and +passage of the much-opposed General Electric franchise, the granting of rights +and privileges in outlying districts to various minor companies, and last and +worst—a thing which had not previously dawned on Cowperwood as in any way +probable—the projection of an ordinance granting to a certain South Side +corporation the privilege of erecting and operating an elevated road. This was +as severe a blow as any that had yet been dealt Cowperwood, for it introduced a +new factor and complication into the Chicago street-railway situation which had +hitherto, for all its troubles, been comparatively simple. +</p> + +<p> +In order to make this plain it should be said that some eighteen or twenty +years before in New York there had been devised and erected a series of +elevated roads calculated to relieve the congestion of traffic on the lower +portion of that long and narrow island, and they had proved an immense success. +Cowperwood had been interested in them, along with everything else which +pertained to public street traffic, from the very beginning. In his various +trips to New York he had made a careful physical inspection of them. He knew +all about their incorporation, backers, the expense connected with them, their +returns, and so forth. Personally, in so far as New York was concerned, he +considered them an ideal solution of traffic on that crowded island. Here in +Chicago, where the population was as yet comparatively small—verging now +toward a million, and widely scattered over a great area—he did not feel +that they would be profitable—certainly not for some years to come. What +traffic they gained would be taken from the surface lines, and if he built them +he would be merely doubling his expenses to halve his profits. From time to +time he had contemplated the possibility of their being built by other +men—providing they could secure a franchise, which previous to the late +election had not seemed probable—and in this connection he had once said +to Addison: “Let them sink their money, and about the time the population +is sufficient to support the lines they will have been driven into the hands of +receivers. That will simply chase the game into my bag, and I can buy them for +a mere song.” With this conclusion Addison had agreed. But since this +conversation circumstances made the construction of these elevated roads far +less problematic. +</p> + +<p> +In the first place, public interest in the idea of elevated roads was +increasing. They were a novelty, a factor in the life of New York; and at this +time rivalry with the great cosmopolitan heart was very keen in the mind of the +average Chicago citizen. Public sentiment in this direction, however naive or +unworthy, was nevertheless sufficient to make any elevated road in Chicago +popular for the time being. In the second place, it so happened that because of +this swelling tide of municipal enthusiasm, this renaissance of the West, +Chicago had finally been chosen, at a date shortly preceding the present +campaign, as the favored city for an enormous international fair—quite +the largest ever given in America. Men such as Hand, Schryhart, Merrill, and +Arneel, to say nothing of the various newspaper publishers and editors, had +been enthusiastic supporters of the project, and in this Cowperwood had been +one with them. No sooner, however, had the award actually been granted than +Cowperwood’s enemies made it their first concern to utilize the situation +against him. +</p> + +<p> +To begin with, the site of the fair, by aid of the new anti-Cowperwood council, +was located on the South Side, at the terminus of the Schryhart line, thus +making the whole city pay tribute to that corporation. Simultaneously the +thought suddenly dawned upon the Schryhart faction that it would be an +excellent stroke of business if the New York elevated-road idea were now +introduced into the city—not so much with the purpose of making money +immediately, but in order to bring the hated magnate to an understanding that +he had a formidable rival which might invade the territory that he now +monopolized, curtailing his and thus making it advisable for him to close out +his holdings and depart. Bland and interesting were the conferences held by Mr. +Schryhart with Mr. Hand, and by Mr. Hand with Mr. Arneel on this subject. Their +plan as first outlined was to build an elevated road on the South +Side—south of the proposed fair-grounds—and once that was +popular—having previously secured franchises which would cover the entire +field, West, South, and North—to construct the others at their leisure, +and so to bid Mr. Cowperwood a sweet and smiling adieu. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood, awaiting the assembling of the new city council one month after +election, did not propose to wait in peace and quiet until the enemy should +strike at him unprepared. Calling those familiar agents, his corporation +attorneys, around him, he was shortly informed of the new elevated-road idea, +and it gave him a real shock. Obviously Hand and Schryhart were now in deadly +earnest. At once he dictated a letter to Mr. Gilgan asking him to call at his +office. At the same time he hurriedly adjured his advisers to use due diligence +in discovering what influences could be brought to bear on the new mayor, the +honorable Chaffee Thayer Sluss, to cause him to veto the ordinances in case +they came before him—to effect in him, indeed, a total change of heart. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +The Hon. Chaffee Thayer Sluss, whose attitude in this instance was to prove +crucial, was a tall, shapely, somewhat grandiloquent person who took himself +and his social and commercial opportunities and doings in the most serious and, +as it were, elevated light. You know, perhaps, the type of man or woman who, +raised in an atmosphere of comparative comfort and some small social +pretension, and being short of those gray convolutions in the human brain-pan +which permit an individual to see life in all its fortuitousness and +uncertainty, proceed because of an absence of necessity and the consequent lack +of human experience to take themselves and all that they do in the most +reverential and Providence-protected spirit. The Hon. Chaffee Thayer Sluss +reasoned that, because of the splendid ancestry on which he prided himself, he +was an essentially honest man. His father had amassed a small fortune in the +wholesale harness business. The wife whom at the age of twenty-eight he had +married—a pretty but inconsequential type of woman—was the daughter +of a pickle manufacturer, whose wares were in some demand and whose children +had been considered good “catches” in the neighborhood from which +the Hon. Chaffee Sluss emanated. There had been a highly conservative wedding +feast, and a honeymoon trip to the Garden of the Gods and the Grand Canon. Then +the sleek Chaffee, much in the grace of both families because of his smug +determination to rise in the world, had returned to his business, which was +that of a paper-broker, and had begun with the greatest care to amass a +competence on his own account. +</p> + +<p> +The Honorable Chaffee, be it admitted, had no particular faults, unless those +of smugness and a certain over-carefulness as to his own prospects and +opportunities can be counted as such. But he had one weakness, which, in view +of his young wife’s stern and somewhat Puritanic ideas and the religious +propensities of his father and father-in-law, was exceedingly disturbing to +him. He had an eye for the beauty of women in general, and particularly for +plump, blonde women with corn-colored hair. Now and then, in spite of the fact +that he had an ideal wife and two lovely children, he would cast a meditative +and speculative eye after those alluring forms that cross the path of all men +and that seem to beckon slyly by implication if not by actual, open suggestion. +</p> + +<p> +However, it was not until several years after Mr. Sluss had married, and when +he might have been considered settled in the ways of righteousness, that he +actually essayed to any extent the role of a gay Lothario. An experience or two +with the less vigorous and vicious girls of the streets, a tentative love +affair with a girl in his office who was not new to the practices she +encouraged, and he was fairly launched. He lent himself at first to the great +folly of pretending to love truly; but this was taken by one and another +intelligent young woman with a grain of salt. The entertainment and preferment +he could provide were accepted as sufficient reward. One girl, however, +actually seduced, had to be compensated by five thousand dollars—and that +after such terrors and heartaches (his wife, her family, and his own looming up +horribly in the background) as should have cured him forever of a penchant for +stenographers and employees generally. Thereafter for a long time he confined +himself strictly to such acquaintances as he could make through agents, +brokers, and manufacturers who did business with him, and who occasionally +invited him to one form of bacchanalian feast or another. +</p> + +<p> +As time went on he became wiser, if, alas, a little more eager. By association +with merchants and some superior politicians whom he chanced to encounter, and +because the ward in which he lived happened to be a pivotal one, he began to +speak publicly on occasion and to gather dimly the import of that logic which +sees life as a pagan wild, and religion and convention as the forms man puts on +or off to suit his fancy, mood, and whims during the onward drift of the ages. +Not for Chaffee Thayer Sluss to grasp the true meaning of it all. His brain was +not big enough. Men led dual lives, it was true; but say what you would, and in +the face of his own erring conduct, this was very bad. On Sunday, when he went +to church with his wife, he felt that religion was essential and purifying. In +his own business he found himself frequently confronted by various little flaws +of logic relating to undue profits, misrepresentations, and the like; but say +what you would, nevertheless and notwithstanding, God was God, morality was +superior, the church was important. It was wrong to yield to one’s +impulses, as he found it so fascinating to do. One should be better than his +neighbor, or pretend to be. +</p> + +<p> +What is to be done with such a rag-bag, moralistic ass as this? In spite of all +his philanderings, and the resultant qualms due to his fear of being found out, +he prospered in business and rose to some eminence in his own community. As he +had grown more lax he had become somewhat more genial and tolerant, more +generally acceptable. He was a good Republican, a follower in the wake of +Norrie Simms and young Truman Leslie MacDonald. His father-in-law was both rich +and moderately influential. Having lent himself to some campaign speaking, and +to party work in general, he proved quite an adept. Because of all these +things—his ability, such as it was, his pliability, and his thoroughly +respectable savor—he had been slated as candidate for mayor on the +Republican ticket, which had subsequently been elected. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood was well aware, from remarks made in the previous campaign, of the +derogatory attitude of Mayor Sluss. Already he had discussed it in a +conversation with the Hon. Joel Avery (ex-state senator), who was in his employ +at the time. Avery had recently been in all sorts of corporation work, and knew +the ins and outs of the courts—lawyers, judges, politicians—as he +knew his revised statutes. He was a very little man—not more than five +feet one inch tall—with a wide forehead, saffron hair and brows, brown, +cat-like eyes and a mushy underlip that occasionally covered the upper one as +he thought. After years and years Mr. Avery had learned to smile, but it was in +a strange, exotic way. Mostly he gazed steadily, folded his lower lip over his +upper one, and expressed his almost unchangeable conclusions in slow Addisonian +phrases. In the present crisis it was Mr. Avery who had a suggestion to make. +</p> + +<p> +“One thing that I think could be done,” he said to Cowperwood one +day in a very confidential conference, “would be to have a look into +the—the—shall I say the heart affairs—of the Hon. Chaffee +Thayer Sluss.” Mr. Avery’s cat-like eyes gleamed sardonically. +“Unless I am greatly mistaken, judging the man by his personal presence +merely, he is the sort of person who probably has had, or if not might readily +be induced to have, some compromising affair with a woman which would require +considerable sacrifice on his part to smooth over. We are all human and +vulnerable”—up went Mr. Avery’s lower lip covering the upper +one, and then down again—“and it does not behoove any of us to be +too severely ethical and self-righteous. Mr. Sluss is a well-meaning man, but a +trifle sentimental, as I take it.” +</p> + +<p> +As Mr. Avery paused Cowperwood merely contemplated him, amused no less by his +personal appearance than by his suggestion. +</p> + +<p> +“Not a bad idea,” he said, “though I don’t like to mix +heart affairs with politics.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Mr. Avery, soulfully, “there may be something in +it. I don’t know. You never can tell.” +</p> + +<p> +The upshot of this was that the task of obtaining an account of Mr. +Sluss’s habits, tastes, and proclivities was assigned to that now rather +dignified legal personage, Mr. Burton Stimson, who in turn assigned it to an +assistant, a Mr. Marchbanks. It was an amazing situation in some respects, but +those who know anything concerning the intricacies of politics, finance, and +corporate control, as they were practised in those palmy days, would never +marvel at the wells of subtlety, sinks of misery, and morasses of disaster +which they represented. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +From another quarter, the Hon. Patrick Gilgan was not slow in responding to +Cowperwood’s message. Whatever his political connections and +proclivities, he did not care to neglect so powerful a man. +</p> + +<p> +“And what can I be doing for you to-day, Mr. Cowperwood?” he +inquired, when he arrived looking nice and fresh, very spick and span after his +victory. +</p> + +<p> +“Listen, Mr. Gilgan,” said Cowperwood, simply, eying the Republican +county chairman very fixedly and twiddling his thumbs with fingers interlocked, +“are you going to let the city council jam through the General Electric +and that South Side ‘L’ road ordinance without giving me a chance +to say a word or do anything about it?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Gilgan, so Cowperwood knew, was only one of a new quadrumvirate setting out +to rule the city, but he pretended to believe that he was the last +word—an all power and authority—after the fashion of McKenty. +“Me good man,” replied Gilgan, archly, “you flatter me. I +haven’t the city council in me vest pocket. I’ve been county +chairman, it’s true, and helped to elect some of these men, but I +don’t own ’em. Why shouldn’t they pass the General Electric +ordinance? It’s an honest ordinance, as far as I know. All the newspapers +have been for it. As for this ‘L’ road ordinance, I haven’t +anything to do with it. It isn’t anything I know much about. Young +MacDonald and Mr. Schryhart are looking after that.” +</p> + +<p> +As a matter of fact, all that Mr. Gilgan was saying was decidedly true. A +henchman of young MacDonald’s who was beginning to learn to play +politics—an alderman by the name of Klemm—had been scheduled as a +kind of field-marshal, and it was MacDonald—not Gilgan, Tiernan, +Kerrigan, or Edstrom—who was to round up the recalcitrant aldermen, +telling them their duty. Gilgan’s quadrumvirate had not as yet got their +machine in good working order, though they were doing their best to bring this +about. “I helped to elect every one of these men, it’s true; but +that doesn’t mean I’m running ’em by any means,” +concluded Gilgan. “Not yet, anyhow.” +</p> + +<p> +At the “not yet” Cowperwood smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“Just the same, Mr. Gilgan,” he went on, smoothly, +“you’re the nominal head and front of this whole movement in +opposition to me at present, and you’re the one I have to look to. You +have this present Republican situation almost entirely in your own fingers, and +you can do about as you like if you’re so minded. If you choose you can +persuade the members of council to take considerable more time than they +otherwise would in passing these ordinances—of that I’m sure. I +don’t know whether you know or not, Mr. Gilgan, though I suppose you do, +that this whole fight against me is a strike campaign intended to drive me out +of Chicago. Now you’re a man of sense and judgment and considerable +business experience, and I want to ask you if you think that is fair. I came +here some sixteen or seventeen years ago and went into the gas business. It was +an open field, the field I undertook to develop—outlying towns on the +North, South, and West sides. Yet the moment I started the old-line companies +began to fight me, though I wasn’t invading their territory at all at the +time.” +</p> + +<p> +“I remember it well enough,” replied Gilgan. “I was one of +the men that helped you to get your Hyde Park franchise. You’d never have +got it if it hadn’t been for me. That fellow McKibben,” added +Gilgan, with a grin, “a likely chap, him. He always walked as if he had +on rubber shoes. He’s with you yet, I suppose?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, he’s around here somewhere,” replied Cowperwood, +loftily. “But to go back to this other matter, most of the men that are +behind this General Electric ordinance and this ‘L’ road franchise +were in the gas business—Blackman, Jules, Baker, Schryhart, and +others—and they are angry because I came into their field, and angrier +still because they had eventually to buy me out. They’re angry because I +reorganized these old-fashioned street-railway companies here and put them on +their feet. Merrill is angry because I didn’t run a loop around his +store, and the others are angry because I ever got a loop at all. They’re +all angry because I managed to step in and do the things that they should have +done long before. I came here—and that’s the whole story in a +nutshell. I’ve had to have the city council with me to be able to do +anything at all, and because I managed to make it friendly and keep it so +they’ve turned on me in that section and gone into politics. I know well +enough, Mr. Gilgan,” concluded Cowperwood, “who has been behind you +in this fight. I’ve known all along where the money has been coming from. +You’ve won, and you’ve won handsomely, and I for one don’t +begrudge you your victory in the least; but what I want to know now is, are you +going to help them carry this fight on against me in this way, or are you not? +Are you going to give me a fighting chance? There’s going to be another +election in two years. Politics isn’t a bed of roses that stays made just +because you make it once. These fellows that you have got in with are a crowd +of silk stockings. They haven’t any sympathy with you or any one like +you. They’re willing to be friendly with you now—just long enough +to get something out of you and club me to death. But after that how long do +you think they will have any use for you—how long?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not very long, maybe,” replied Gilgan, simply and contemplatively, +“but the world is the world, and we have to take it as we find it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite so,” replied Cowperwood, undismayed; “but Chicago is +Chicago, and I will be here as long as they will. Fighting me in this +fashion—building elevated roads to cut into my profits and giving +franchises to rival companies—isn’t going to get me out or +seriously injure me, either. I’m here to stay, and the political +situation as it is to-day isn’t going to remain the same forever and +ever. Now, you are an ambitious man; I can see that. You’re not in +politics for your health—that I know. Tell me exactly what it is you want +and whether I can’t get it for you as quick if not quicker than these +other fellows? What is it I can do for you that will make you see that my side +is just as good as theirs and better? I am playing a legitimate game in +Chicago. I’ve been building up an excellent street-car service. I +don’t want to be annoyed every fifteen minutes by a rival company coming +into the field. Now, what can I do to straighten this out? Isn’t there +some way that you and I can come together without fighting at every step? +Can’t you suggest some programme we can both follow that will make things +easier?” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood paused, and Gilgan thought for a long time. It was true, as +Cowperwood said, that he was not in politics for his health. The situation, as +at present conditioned, was not inherently favorable for the brilliant +programme he had originally mapped out for himself. Tiernan, Kerrigan, and +Edstrom were friendly as yet; but they were already making extravagant demands; +and the reformers—those who had been led by the newspapers to believe +that Cowperwood was a scoundrel and all his works vile—were demanding +that a strictly moral programme be adhered to in all the doings of council, and +that no jobs, contracts, or deals of any kind be entered into without the full +knowledge of the newspapers and of the public. Gilgan, even after the first +post-election conference with his colleagues, had begun to feel that he was +between the devil and the deep sea, but he was feeling his way, and not +inclined to be in too much of a hurry. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s rather a flat proposition you’re makin’ +me,” he said softly, after a time, “askin’ me to throw down +me friends the moment I’ve won a victory for ’em. It’s not +the way I’ve been used to playin’ politics. There may be a lot of +truth in what you say. Still, a man can’t be jumpin’ around like a +cat in a bag. He has to be faithful to somebody sometime.” Mr. Gilgan +paused, considerably nonplussed by his own position. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” replied Cowperwood, sympathetically, “think it over. +It’s difficult business, this business of politics. I’m in it, for +one, only because I have to be. If you see any way you can help me, or I can +help you, let me know. In the mean time don’t take in bad part what +I’ve just said. I’m in the position of a man with his hack to the +wall. I’m fighting for my life. Naturally, I’m going to fight. But +you and I needn’t be the worse friends for that. We may become the best +of friends yet.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s well I know that,” said Gilgan, “and it’s +the best of friends I’d like to be with you. But even if I could take +care of the aldermen, which I couldn’t alone as yet, there’s the +mayor. I don’t know him at all except to say how-do-ye-do now and then; +but he’s very much opposed to you, as I understand it. He’ll be +running around most likely and talking in the papers. A man like that can do a +good deal.” +</p> + +<p> +“I may be able to arrange for that,” replied Cowperwood. +“Perhaps Mr. Sluss can be reached. It may be that he isn’t as +opposed to me as he thinks he is. You never can tell.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap39"></a>CHAPTER XXXIX.<br/> +The New Administration</h2> + +<p> +Oliver Marchbanks, the youthful fox to whom Stimson had assigned the task of +trapping Mr. Sluss in some legally unsanctioned act, had by scurrying about +finally pieced together enough of a story to make it exceedingly unpleasant for +the Honorable Chaffee in case he were to become the too willing tool of +Cowperwood’s enemies. The principal agent in this affair was a certain +Claudia Carlstadt—adventuress, detective by disposition, and a sort of +smiling prostitute and hireling, who was at the same time a highly presentable +and experienced individual. Needless to say, Cowperwood knew nothing of these +minor proceedings, though a genial nod from him in the beginning had set in +motion the whole machinery of trespass in this respect. +</p> + +<p> +Claudia Carlstadt—the instrument of the Honorable Chaffee’s +undoing—was blonde, slender, notably fresh as yet, being only twenty-six, +and as ruthless and unconsciously cruel as only the avaricious and unthinking +type—unthinking in the larger philosophic meaning of the word—can +be. To grasp the reason for her being, one would have had to see the spiritless +South Halstead Street world from which she had sprung—one of those +neighborhoods of old, cracked, and battered houses where slatterns trudge to +and fro with beer-cans and shutters swing on broken hinges. In her youth +Claudia had been made to “rush the growler,” to sell newspapers at +the corner of Halstead and Harrison streets, and to buy cocaine at the nearest +drug store. Her little dresses and underclothing had always been of the poorest +and shabbiest material—torn and dirty, her ragged stockings frequently +showed the white flesh of her thin little legs, and her shoes were worn and +cracked, letting the water and snow seep through in winter. Her companions were +wretched little street boys of her own neighborhood, from whom she learned to +swear and to understand and indulge in vile practices, though, as is often the +case with children, she was not utterly depraved thereby, at that. At eleven, +when her mother died, she ran away from the wretched children’s home to +which she had been committed, and by putting up a piteous tale she was harbored +on the West Side by an Irish family whose two daughters were clerks in a large +retail store. Through these Claudia became a cash-girl. Thereafter followed an +individual career as strange and checkered as anything that had gone before. +Sufficient to say that Claudia’s native intelligence was considerable. At +the age of twenty she had managed—through her connections with the son of +a shoe manufacturer and with a rich jeweler—to amass a little cash and an +extended wardrobe. It was then that a handsome young Western Congressman, newly +elected, invited her to Washington to take a position in a government bureau. +This necessitated a knowledge of stenography and typewriting, which she soon +acquired. Later she was introduced by a Western Senator into that form of +secret service which has no connection with legitimate government, but which is +profitable. She was used to extract secrets by flattery and cajolery where +ordinary bribery would not avail. A matter of tracing the secret financial +connections of an Illinois Congressman finally brought her back to Chicago, and +here young Stimson encountered her. From him she learned of the political and +financial conspiracy against Cowperwood, and was in an odd manner fascinated. +From her Congressmen friends she already knew something of Sluss. Stimson +indicated that it would be worth two or three thousand dollars and expenses if +the mayor were successfully compromised. Thus Claudia Carlstadt was gently +navigated into Mr. Sluss’s glowing life. +</p> + +<p> +The matter was not so difficult of accomplishment. Through the Hon. Joel Avery, +Marchbanks secured a letter from a political friend of Mr. Sluss in behalf of a +young widow—temporarily embarrassed, a competent stenographer, and the +like—who wished a place under the new administration. Thus equipped, +Claudia presented herself at the mayor’s office armed for the fray, as it +were, in a fetching black silk of a strangely heavy grain, her throat and +fingers ornamented with simple pearls, her yellow hair arranged about her +temples in exquisite curls. Mr. Sluss was very busy, but made an appointment. +The next time she appeared a yellow and red velvet rose had been added to her +corsage. She was a shapely, full-bosomed young woman who had acquired the art +of walking, sitting, standing, and bending after the most approved theories of +the Washington cocotte. Mr. Sluss was interested at once, but circumspect and +careful. He was now mayor of a great city, the cynosure of all eyes. It seemed +to him he remembered having already met Mrs. Brandon, as the lady styled +herself, and she reminded him where. It had been two years before in the grill +of the Richelieu. He immediately recalled details of the interesting occasion. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, yes, and since then, as I understand it, you married and your +husband died. Most unfortunate.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Sluss had a large international manner suited, as he thought, to a man in +so exalted a position. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Brandon nodded resignedly. Her eyebrows and lashes were carefully darkened +so as to sweeten the lines of her face, and a dimple had been made in one cheek +by the aid of an orange stick. She was the picture of delicate femininity +appealingly distressful, and yet to all appearance commercially competent. +</p> + +<p> +“At the time I met you you were connected with the government service in +Washington, I believe.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I had a small place in the Treasury Department, but this new +administration put me out.” +</p> + +<p> +She lifted her eyes and leaned forward, thus bringing her torso into a +ravishing position. She had the air of one who has done many things besides +work in the Treasury Department. No least detail, as she observed, was lost on +Mr. Sluss. He noted her shoes, which were button patent leather with cloth +tops; her gloves, which were glace black kid with white stitching at the back +and fastened by dark-gamet buttons; the coral necklace worn on this occasion, +and her yellow and red velvet rose. Evidently a trig and hopeful widow, even if +so recently bereaved. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me see,” mused Mr. Sluss, “where are you living? Just +let me make a note of your address. This is a very nice letter from Mr. Barry. +Suppose you give me a few days to think what I can do? This is Tuesday. Come in +again on Friday. I’ll see if anything suggests itself.” +</p> + +<p> +He strolled with her to the official door, and noted that her step was light +and springy. At parting she turned a very melting gaze upon him, and at once he +decided that if he could he would find her something. She was the most +fascinating applicant that had yet appeared. +</p> + +<p> +The end of Chaffee Thayer Sluss was not far distant after this. Mrs. Brandon +returned, as requested, her costume enlivened this time by a red-silk petticoat +which contrived to show its ingratiating flounces beneath the glistening black +broadcloth of her skirt. +</p> + +<p> +“Say, did you get on to that?” observed one of the doormen, a +hold-over from the previous regime, to another of the same vintage. “Some +style to the new administration, hey? We’re not so slow, do you +think?” +</p> + +<p> +He pulled his coat together and fumbled at his collar to give himself an air of +smartness, and gazed gaily at his partner, both of them over sixty and dusty +specimens, at that. +</p> + +<p> +The other poked him in the stomach. “Hold your horses there, Bill. Not so +fast. We ain’t got a real start yet. Give us another six months, and then +watch out.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Sluss was pleased to see Mrs. Brandon. He had spoken to John Bastienelli, +the new commissioner of taxes, whose offices were directly over the way on the +same hall, and the latter, seeing that he might want favors of the mayor later +on, had volubly agreed to take care of the lady. +</p> + +<p> +“I am very glad to be able to give you this letter to Mr. +Bastienelli,” commented Mr. Sluss, as he rang for a stenographer, +“not only for the sake of my old friend Mr. Barry, but for your own as +well. Do you know Mr. Barry very well?” he asked, curiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Only slightly,” admitted Mrs. Brandon, feeling that Mr. Sluss +would be glad to know she was not very intimate with those who were +recommending her. “I was sent to him by a Mr. Amerman.” (She named +an entirely fictitious personage.) +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Sluss was relieved. As he handed her the note she once more surveyed him +with those grateful, persuasive, appealing eyes. They made him almost dizzy, +and set up a chemical perturbation in his blood which quite dispelled his good +resolutions in regard to the strange woman and his need of being circumspect. +</p> + +<p> +“You say you are living on the North Side?” he inquired, smiling +weakly, almost foolishly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I have taken such a nice little apartment over-looking Lincoln +Park. I didn’t know whether I was going to be able to keep it up, but now +that I have this position— You’ve been so very kind to me, Mr. +Sluss,” she concluded, with the same I-need-to-be-cared-for air. “I +hope you won’t forget me entirely. If I could be of any personal service +to you at any time—” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Sluss was rather beside himself at the thought that this charming baggage +of femininity, having come so close for the minute, was now passing on and +might disappear entirely. By a great effort of daring, as they walked toward +the door, he managed to say: “I shall have to look into that little place +of yours sometime and see how you are getting along. I live up that way +myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, do!” she exclaimed, warmly. “It would be so kind. I am +practically alone in the world. Perhaps you play cards. I know how to make a +most wonderful punch. I should like you to see how cozily I am settled.” +</p> + +<p> +At this Mr. Sluss, now completely in tow of his principal weakness, +capitulated. “I will,” he said, “I surely will. And that +sooner than you expect, perhaps. You must let me know how you are getting +along.” +</p> + +<p> +He took her hand. She held his quite warmly. “Now I’ll hold you to +your promise,” she gurgled, in a throaty, coaxing way. A few days later +he encountered her at lunch-time in his hall, where she had been literally +lying in wait for him in order to repeat her invitation. Then he came. +</p> + +<p> +The hold-over employees who worked about the City Hall in connection with the +mayor’s office were hereafter instructed to note as witnesses the times +of arrival and departure of Mrs. Brandon and Mr. Sluss. A note that he wrote to +Mrs. Brandon was carefully treasured, and sufficient evidence as to their +presence at hotels and restaurants was garnered to make out a damaging case. +The whole affair took about four months; then Mrs. Brandon suddenly received an +offer to return to Washington, and decided to depart. The letters that followed +her were a part of the data that was finally assembled in Mr. Stimson’s +office to be used against Mr. Sluss in case he became too obstreperous in his +opposition to Cowperwood. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +In the mean time the organization which Mr. Gilgan had planned with Mr. +Tiernan, Mr. Kerrigan, and Mr. Edstrom was encountering what might be called +rough sledding. It was discovered that, owing to the temperaments of some of +the new aldermen, and to the self-righteous attitude of their political +sponsors, no franchises of any kind were to be passed unless they had the moral +approval of such men as Hand, Sluss, and the other reformers; above all, no +money of any kind was to be paid to anybody for anything. +</p> + +<p> +“Whaddye think of those damn four-flushers and come-ons, anyhow?” +inquired Mr. Kerrigan of Mr. Tiernan, shortly subsequent to a conference with +Gilgan, from which Tiernan had been unavoidably absent. “They’ve +got an ordinance drawn up covering the whole city in an elevated-road scheme, +and there ain’t anything in it for anybody. Say, whaddye think they think +we are, anyhow? Hey?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tiernan himself, after his own conference with Edstrom, had been busy +getting the lay of the land, as he termed it; and his investigations led him to +believe that a certain alderman by the name of Klemm, a clever and very +respectable German-American from the North Side, was to be the leader of the +Republicans in council, and that he and some ten or twelve others were +determined, because of moral principles alone, that only honest measures should +be passed. It was staggering. +</p> + +<p> +At this news Mr. Kerrigan, who had been calculating on a number of thousands of +dollars for his vote on various occasions, stared incredulously. “Well, +I’ll be damned!” he commented. “They’ve got a nerve! +What?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been talking to this fellow Klemm of the twentieth,” +said Mr. Tiernan, sardonically. “Say, he’s a real one! I met him +over at the Tremont talkin’ to Hvranek. He shakes hands like a dead fish. +Whaddye think he had the nerve to say to me. ‘This isn’t the Mr. +Tiernan of the second?’ he says. +</p> + +<p> +“‘I’m the same,’ says I. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well, you don’t look as savage as I thought you did,’ +says he. Haw-haw! I felt like sayin’, ‘If you don’t go way +I’ll give you a slight tap on the wrist.’ I’d like just one +pass at a stiff like that up a dark alley.” (Mr. Tiernan almost groaned +in anguish.) “And then he begins to say he doesn’t see how there +can be any reasonable objection to allowin’ various new companies to +enter the street-car field. ‘It’s sufficiently clear,’ he +says, ‘that the public is against monopolies in any form.’” +(Mr. Tiernan was mocking Mr. Klemm’s voice and language.) “My +eye!” he concluded, sententiously. “Wait till he tries to throw +that dope into Gumble and Pinski and Schlumbohm—haw, haw, haw!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Kerrigan, at the thought of these hearty aldermen accustomed to all the +perquisites of graft and rake-off, leaned back and gave vent to a burst of +deep-chested laughter. “I’ll tell you what it is, Mike,” he +said, archly, hitching up his tight, very artistic, and almost English +trousers, “we’re up against a bunch of pikers in this Gilgan crowd, +and they’ve gotta be taught a lesson. He knows it as well as anybody +else. None o’ that Christian con game goes around where I am. I believe +this man Cowperwood’s right when he says them fellows are a bunch of +soreheads and jealous. If Cowperwood’s willing to put down good hard +money to keep ’em out of his game, let them do as much to stay in it. +This ain’t no charity grab-bag. We ought to be able to round up enough of +these new fellows to make Schryhart and MacDonald come down good and plenty for +what they want. From what Gilgan said all along, I thought he was dealing with +live ones. They paid to win the election. Now let ’em pay to pull off a +swell franchise if they want it, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re damn right,” echoed Tiernan. “I’m with +you to a T.” +</p> + +<p> +It was not long after this conversation that Mr. Truman Leslie MacDonald, +acting through Alderman Klemm, proceeded to make a count of noses, and found to +his astonishment that he was not as strong as he had thought he was. Political +loyalty is such a fickle thing. A number of aldermen with curious +names—Horback, Fogarty, McGrane, Sumulsky—showed signs of being +tampered with. He hurried at once to Messrs. Hand, Schryhart, and Arneel with +this disconcerting information. They had been congratulating themselves that +the recent victory, if it resulted in nothing else, would at least produce a +blanket ‘L’ road franchise, and that this would be sufficient to +bring Cowperwood to his knees. +</p> + +<p> +Upon receiving MacDonald’s message Hand sent at once for Gilgan. When he +inquired as to how soon a vote on the General Electric franchise—which +had been introduced by Mr. Klemm—could reasonably be expected, Gilgan +declared himself much grieved to admit that in one direction or other +considerable opposition seemed to have developed to the measure. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that?” said Hand, a little savagely. +“Didn’t we make a plain bargain in regard to this? You had all the +money you asked for, didn’t you? You said you could give me twenty-six +aldermen who would vote as we agreed. You’re not going to go back on your +bargain, are you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Bargain! bargain!” retorted Gilgan, irritated because of the +spirit of the assault. “I agreed to elect twenty-six Republican aldermen, +and that I did. I don’t own ’em body and soul. I didn’t name +’em in every case. I made deals with the men in the different wards that +had the best chance, and that the people wanted. I’m not responsible for +any crooked work that’s going on behind my back, am I? I’m not +responsible for men’s not being straight if they’re not?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Gilgan’s face was an aggrieved question-mark. +</p> + +<p> +“But you had the picking of these men,” insisted Mr. Hand, +aggressively. “Every one of them had your personal indorsement. You made +the deals with them. You don’t mean to say they’re going back on +their sacred agreement to fight Cowperwood tooth and nail? There can’t be +any misunderstanding on their part as to what they were elected to do. The +newspapers have been full of the fact that nothing favorable to Cowperwood was +to be put through.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all true enough,” replied Mr. Gilgan; “but I +can’t be held responsible for the private honesty of everybody. Sure I +selected these men. Sure I did! But I selected them with the help of the rest +of the Republicans and some of the Democrats. I had to make the best terms I +could—to pick the men that could win. As far as I can find out most of +’em are satisfied not to do anything for Cowperwood. It’s passing +these ordinances in favor of other people that’s stirring up the +trouble.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Hand’s broad forehead wrinkled, and his blue eyes surveyed Mr. Gilgan +with suspicion. “Who are these men, anyhow?” he inquired. +“I’d like to get a list of them.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Gilgan, safe in his own subtlety, was ready with a toll of the supposed +recalcitrants. They must fight their own battles. Mr. Hand wrote down the +names, determining meanwhile to bring pressure to bear. He decided also to +watch Mr. Gilgan. If there should prove to be a hitch in the programme the +newspapers should be informed and commanded to thunder appropriately. Such +aldermen as proved unfaithful to the great trust imposed on them should be +smoked out, followed back to the wards which had elected them, and exposed to +the people who were behind them. Their names should be pilloried in the public +press. The customary hints as to Cowperwood’s deviltry and trickery +should be redoubled. +</p> + +<p> +But in the mean time Messrs. Stimson, Avery, McKibben, Van Sickle, and others +were on Cowperwood’s behalf acting separately upon various unattached +aldermen—those not temperamentally and chronically allied with the reform +idea—and making them understand that if they could find it possible to +refrain from supporting anti-Cowperwood measures for the next two years, a +bonus in the shape of an annual salary of two thousand dollars or a gift in +some other form—perhaps a troublesome note indorsed or a mortgage taken +care of—would be forthcoming, together with a guarantee that the general +public should never know. In no case was such an offer made direct. Friends or +neighbors, or suave unidentified strangers, brought mysterious messages. By +this method some eleven aldermen—quite apart from the ten regular +Democrats who, because of McKenty and his influence, could be counted +upon—had been already suborned. Although Schryhart, Hand, and Arneel did +not know it, their plans—even as they planned—were being thus +undermined, and, try as they would, the coveted ordinance for a blanket +franchise persistently eluded them. They had to content themselves for the time +being with a franchise for a single ‘L’ road line on the South Side +in Schryhart’s own territory, and with a franchise to the General +Electric covering only one unimportant line, which it would be easy for +Cowperwood, if he continued in power, to take over at some later time. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap40"></a>CHAPTER XL.<br/> +A Trip to Louisville</h2> + +<p> +The most serious difficulty confronting Cowperwood from now on was really not +so much political as financial. In building up and financing his Chicago +street-railway enterprises he had, in those days when Addison was president of +the Lake City National, used that bank as his chief source of supply. +Afterward, when Addison had been forced to retire from the Lake City to assume +charge of the Chicago Trust Company, Cowperwood had succeeded in having the +latter designated as a central reserve and in inducing a number of rural banks +to keep their special deposits in its vaults. However, since the war on him and +his interests had begun to strengthen through the efforts of Hand and +Arneel—men most influential in the control of the other central-reserve +banks of Chicago, and in close touch with the money barons of New +York—there were signs not wanting that some of the country banks +depositing with the Chicago Trust Company had been induced to withdraw because +of pressure from outside inimical forces, and that more were to follow. It was +some time before Cowperwood fully realized to what an extent this financial +opposition might be directed against himself. In its very beginning it +necessitated speedy hurryings to New York, Philadelphia, Cincinnati, Baltimore, +Boston—even London at times—on the chance that there would be loose +and ready cash in someone’s possession. It was on one of these +peregrinations that he encountered a curious personality which led to various +complications in his life, sentimental and otherwise, which he had not hitherto +contemplated. +</p> + +<p> +In various sections of the country Cowperwood had met many men of wealth, some +grave, some gay, with whom he did business, and among these in Louisville, +Kentucky, he encountered a certain Col. Nathaniel Gillis, very wealthy, a +horseman, inventor, roue, from whom he occasionally extracted loans. The +Colonel was an interesting figure in Kentucky society; and, taking a great +liking to Cowperwood, he found pleasure, during the brief periods in which they +were together, in piloting him about. On one occasion in Louisville he +observed: “To-night, Frank, with your permission, I am going to introduce +you to one of the most interesting women I know. She isn’t good, but +she’s entertaining. She has had a troubled history. She is the ex-wife of +two of my best friends, both dead, and the ex-mistress of another. I like her +because I knew her father and mother, and because she was a clever little girl +and still is a nice woman, even if she is getting along. She keeps a sort of +house of convenience here in Louisville for a few of her old friends. You +haven’t anything particular to do to-night, have you? Suppose we go +around there?” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood, who was always genially sportive when among strong men—a sort +of bounding collie—and who liked to humor those who could be of use to +him, agreed. +</p> + +<p> +“It sounds interesting to me. Certainly I’ll go. Tell me more about +her. Is she good-looking?” +</p> + +<p> +“Rather. But better yet, she is connected with a number of women who +are.” The Colonel, who had a small, gray goatee and sportive dark eyes, +winked the latter solemnly. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood arose. +</p> + +<p> +“Take me there,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +It was a rainy night. The business on which he was seeing the Colonel required +another day to complete. There was little or nothing to do. On the way the +Colonel retailed more of the life history of Nannie Hedden, as he familiarly +called her, and explained that, although this was her maiden name, she had +subsequently become first Mrs. John Alexander Fleming, then, after a divorce, +Mrs. Ira George Carter, and now, alas! was known among the exclusive set of +fast livers, to which he belonged, as plain Hattie Starr, the keeper of a more +or less secret house of ill repute. Cowperwood did not take so much interest in +all this until he saw her, and then only because of two children the Colonel +told him about, one a girl by her first marriage, Berenice Fleming, who was +away in a New York boarding-school, the other a boy, Rolfe Carter, who was in a +military school for boys somewhere in the West. +</p> + +<p> +“That daughter of hers,” observed the Colonel, “is a chip of +the old block, unless I miss my guess. I only saw her two or three times a few +years ago when I was down East at her mother’s summer home; but she +struck me as having great charm even for a girl of ten. She’s a lady +born, if ever there was one. How her mother is to keep her straight, living as +she does, is more than I know. How she keeps her in that school is a mystery. +There’s apt to be a scandal here at any time. I’m very sure the +girl doesn’t know anything about her mother’s business. She never +lets her come out here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Berenice Fleming,” Cowperwood thought to himself. “What a +pleasing name, and what a peculiar handicap in life.” +</p> + +<p> +“How old is the daughter now?” he inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, she must be about fifteen—not more than that.” +</p> + +<p> +When they reached the house, which was located in a rather somber, treeless +street, Cowperwood was surprised to find the interior spacious and tastefully +furnished. Presently Mrs. Carter, as she was generally known in society, or +Hattie Starr, as she was known to a less satisfying world, appeared. Cowperwood +realized at once that he was in the presence of a woman who, whatever her +present occupation, was not without marked evidences of refinement. She was +exceedingly intelligent, if not highly intellectual, trig, vivacious, anything +but commonplace. A certain spirited undulation in her walk, a seeming gay, +frank indifference to her position in life, an obvious accustomedness to polite +surroundings took his fancy. Her hair was built up in a loose Frenchy way, +after the fashion of the empire, and her cheeks were slightly mottled with red +veins. Her color was too high, and yet it was not utterly unbecoming. She had +friendly gray-blue eyes, which went well with her light-brown hair; along with +a pink flowered house-gown, which became her fulling figure, she wore pearls. +</p> + +<p> +“The widow of two husbands,” thought Cowperwood; “the mother +of two children!” With the Colonel’s easy introduction began a +light conversation. Mrs. Carter gracefully persisted that she had known of +Cowperwood for some time. His strenuous street-railway operations were more or +less familiar to her. +</p> + +<p> +“It would be nice,” she suggested, “since Mr. Cowperwood is +here, if we invited Grace Deming to call.” +</p> + +<p> +The latter was a favorite of the Colonel’s. +</p> + +<p> +“I would be very glad if I could talk to Mrs. Carter,” gallantly +volunteered Cowperwood—he scarcely knew why. He was curious to learn more +of her history. On subsequent occasions, and in more extended conversation with +the Colonel, it was retailed to him in full. +</p> + +<p> +Nannie Hedden, or Mrs. John Alexander Fleming, or Mrs. Ira George Carter, or +Hattie Starr, was by birth a descendant of a long line of Virginia and Kentucky +Heddens and Colters, related in a definite or vague way to half the aristocracy +of four or five of the surrounding states. Now, although still a woman of +brilliant parts, she was the keeper of a select house of assignation in this +meager city of perhaps two hundred thousand population. How had it happened? +How could it possibly have come about? She had been in her day a reigning +beauty. She had been born to money and had married money. Her first husband, +John Alexander Fleming, who had inherited wealth, tastes, privileges, and vices +from a long line of slave-holding, tobacco-growing Flemings, was a charming man +of the Kentucky-Virginia society type. He had been trained in the law with a +view to entering the diplomatic service, but, being an idler by nature, had +never done so. Instead, horse-raising, horse-racing, philandering, dancing, +hunting, and the like, had taken up his time. When their wedding took place the +Kentucky-Virginia society world considered it a great match. There was wealth +on both sides. Then came much more of that idle social whirl which had produced +the marriage. Even philanderings of a very vital character were not barred, +though deception, in some degree at least, would be necessary. As a natural +result there followed the appearance in the mountains of North Carolina during +a charming autumn outing of a gay young spark by the name of Tucker Tanner, and +the bestowal on him by the beautiful Nannie Fleming—as she was then +called—of her temporary affections. Kind friends were quick to report +what Fleming himself did not see, and Fleming, roue that he was, encountering +young Mr. Tanner on a high mountain road one evening, said to him, “You +get out of this party by night, or I will let daylight through you in the +morning.” Tucker Tanner, realizing that however senseless and unfair the +exaggerated chivalry of the South might be, the end would be bullets just the +same, departed. Mrs. Fleming, disturbed but unrepentant, considered herself +greatly abused. There was much scandal. Then came quarrels, drinking on both +sides, finally a divorce. Mr. Tucker Tanner did not appear to claim his damaged +love, but the aforementioned Ira George Carter, a penniless never-do-well of +the same generation and social standing, offered himself and was accepted. By +the first marriage there had been one child, a girl. By the second there was +another child, a boy. Ira George Carter, before the children were old enough to +impress Mrs. Carter with the importance of their needs or her own affection for +them, had squandered, in one ridiculous venture after another, the bulk of the +property willed to her by her father, Major Wickham Hedden. Ultimately, after +drunkenness and dissipation on the husband’s side, and finally his death, +came the approach of poverty. Mrs. Carter was not practical, and still +passionate and inclined to dissipation. However, the aimless, fatuous going to +pieces of Ira George Carter, the looming pathos of the future of the children, +and a growing sense of affection and responsibility had finally sobered her. +The lure of love and life had not entirely disappeared, but her chance of +sipping at those crystal founts had grown sadly slender. A woman of +thirty-eight and still possessing some beauty, she was not content to eat the +husks provided for the unworthy. Her gorge rose at the thought of that +neglected state into which the pariahs of society fall and on which the +inexperienced so cheerfully comment. Neglected by her own set, shunned by the +respectable, her fortune quite gone, she was nevertheless determined that she +would not be a back-street seamstress or a pensioner upon the bounty of quondam +friends. By insensible degrees came first unhallowed relationships through +friendship and passing passion, then a curious intermediate state between the +high world of fashion and the half world of harlotry, until, finally, in +Louisville, she had become, not openly, but actually, the mistress of a house +of ill repute. Men who knew how these things were done, and who were consulting +their own convenience far more than her welfare, suggested the advisability of +it. Three or four friends like Colonel Gillis wished rooms—convenient +place in which to loaf, gamble, and bring their women. Hattie Starr was her +name now, and as such she had even become known in a vague way to the +police—but only vaguely—as a woman whose home was suspiciously gay +on occasions. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood, with his appetite for the wonders of life, his appreciation of the +dramas which produce either failure or success, could not help being interested +in this spoiled woman who was sailing so vaguely the seas of chance. Colonel +Gillis once said that with some strong man to back her, Nannie Fleming could be +put back into society. She had a pleasant appeal—she and her two +children, of whom she never spoke. After a few visits to her home Cowperwood +spent hours talking with Mrs. Carter whenever he was in Louisville. On one +occasion, as they were entering her boudoir, she picked up a photograph of her +daughter from the dresser and dropped it into a drawer. Cowperwood had never +seen this picture before. It was that of a girl of fifteen or sixteen, of whom +he obtained but the most fleeting glance. Yet, with that instinct for the +essential and vital which invariably possessed him, he gained a keen impression +of it. It was of a delicately haggard child with a marvelously agreeable smile, +a fine, high-poised head upon a thin neck, and an air of bored superiority. +Combined with this was a touch of weariness about the eyelids which drooped in +a lofty way. Cowperwood was fascinated. Because of the daughter he professed an +interest in the mother, which he really did not feel. +</p> + +<p> +A little later Cowperwood was moved to definite action by the discovery in a +photographer’s window in Louisville of a second picture of +Berenice—a rather large affair which Mrs. Carter had had enlarged from a +print sent her by her daughter some time before. Berenice was standing rather +indifferently posed at the corner of a colonial mantel, a soft straw outing-hat +held negligently in one hand, one hip sunk lower than the other, a faint, +elusive smile playing dimly around her mouth. The smile was really not a smile, +but only the wraith of one, and the eyes were wide, disingenuous, mock-simple. +The picture because of its simplicity, appealed to him. He did not know that +Mrs. Carter had never sanctioned its display. “A personage,” was +Cowperwood’s comment to himself, and he walked into the +photographer’s office to see what could be done about its removal and the +destruction of the plates. A half-hundred dollars, he found, would arrange it +all—plates, prints, everything. Since by this ruse he secured a picture +for himself, he promptly had it framed and hung in his Chicago rooms, where +sometimes of an afternoon when he was hurrying to change his clothes he stopped +to look at it. With each succeeding examination his admiration and curiosity +grew. Here was perhaps, he thought, the true society woman, the high-born lady, +the realization of that ideal which Mrs. Merrill and many another grande dame +had suggested. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +It was not so long after this again that, chancing to be in Louisville, he +discovered Mrs. Carter in a very troubled social condition. Her affairs had +received a severe setback. A certain Major Hagenback, a citizen of considerable +prominence, had died in her home under peculiar circumstances. He was a man of +wealth, married, and nominally living with his wife in Lexington. As a matter +of fact, he spent very little time there, and at the time of his death of heart +failure was leading a pleasurable existence with a Miss Trent, an actress, whom +he had introduced to Mrs. Carter as his friend. The police, through a talkative +deputy coroner, were made aware of all the facts. Pictures of Miss Trent, Mrs. +Carter, Major Hagenback, his wife, and many curious details concerning Mrs. +Carter’s home were about to appear in the papers when Colonel Gillis and +others who were powerful socially and politically interfered; the affair was +hushed up, but Mrs. Carter was in distress. This was more than she had +bargained for. +</p> + +<p> +Her quondam friends were frightened away for the nonce. She herself had lost +courage. When Cowperwood saw her she had been in the very human act of crying, +and her eyes were red. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well,” he commented, on seeing her—she was in moody +gray in the bargain—“you don’t mean to tell me you’re +worrying about anything, are you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Mr. Cowperwood,” she explained, pathetically, “I have +had so much trouble since I saw you. You heard of Major Hagenback’s +death, didn’t you?” Cowperwood, who had heard something of the +story from Colonel Gillis, nodded. “Well, I have just been notified by +the police that I will have to move, and the landlord has given me notice, too. +If it just weren’t for my two children—” +</p> + +<p> +She dabbed at her eyes pathetically. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood meditated interestedly. +</p> + +<p> +“Haven’t you any place you can go?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I have a summer place in Pennsylvania,” she confessed; “but +I can’t go there very well in February. Besides, it’s my living +I’m worrying about. I have only this to depend on.” +</p> + +<p> +She waved her hand inclusively toward the various rooms. “Don’t you +own that place in Pennsylvania?” he inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but it isn’t worth much, and I couldn’t sell it. +I’ve been trying to do that anyhow for some time, because Berenice is +getting tired of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“And haven’t you any money laid away?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s taken all I have to run this place and keep the children in +school. I’ve been trying to give Berenice and Rolfe a chance to do +something for themselves.” +</p> + +<p> +At the repetition of Berenice’s name Cowperwood consulted his own +interest or mood in the matter. A little assistance for her would not bother +him much. Besides, it would probably eventually bring about a meeting with the +daughter. +</p> + +<p> +“Why don’t you clear out of this?” he observed, finally. +“It’s no business to be in, anyhow, if you have any regard for your +children. They can’t survive anything like this. You want to put your +daughter back in society, don’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes,” almost pleaded Mrs. Carter. +</p> + +<p> +“Precisely,” commented Cowperwood, who, when he was thinking, +almost invariably dropped into a short, cold, curt, business manner. Yet he was +humanely inclined in this instance. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, why not live in your Pennsylvania place for the present, or, +if not that, go to New York? You can’t stay here. Ship or sell these +things.” He waved a hand toward the rooms. +</p> + +<p> +“I would only too gladly,” replied Mrs. Carter, “if I knew +what to do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Take my advice and go to New York for the present. You will get rid of +your expenses here, and I will help you with the rest—for the present, +anyhow. You can get a start again. It is too bad about these children of yours. +I will take care of the boy as soon as he is old enough. As for +Berenice”—he used her name softly—“if she can stay in +her school until she is nineteen or twenty the chances are that she will make +social connections which will save her nicely. The thing for you to do is to +avoid meeting any of this old crowd out here in the future if you can. It might +be advisable to take her abroad for a time after she leaves school.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, if I just could,” sighed Mrs. Carter, rather lamely. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, do what I suggest now, and we will see,” observed +Cowperwood. “It would be a pity if your two children were to have their +lives ruined by such an accident as this.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Carter, realizing that here, in the shape of Cowperwood, if he chose to be +generous, was the open way out of a lowering dungeon of misery, was inclined to +give vent to a bit of grateful emotion, but, finding him subtly remote, +restrained herself. His manner, while warmly generous at times, was also easily +distant, except when he wished it to be otherwise. Just now he was thinking of +the high soul of Berenice Fleming and of its possible value to him. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap41"></a>CHAPTER XLI.<br/> +The Daughter of Mrs. Fleming</h2> + +<p> +Berenice Fleming, at the time Cowperwood first encountered her mother, was an +inmate of the Misses Brewster’s School for Girls, then on Riverside +Drive, New York, and one of the most exclusive establishments of its kind in +America. The social prestige and connections of the Heddens, Flemings, and +Carters were sufficient to gain her this introduction, though the social +fortunes of her mother were already at this time on the down grade. A tall +girl, delicately haggard, as he had imagined her, with reddish-bronze hair of a +tinge but distantly allied to that of Aileen’s, she was unlike any woman +Cowperwood had ever known. Even at seventeen she stood up and out with an +inexplicable superiority which brought her the feverish and exotic attention of +lesser personalities whose emotional animality found an outlet in swinging a +censer at her shrine. +</p> + +<p> +A strange maiden, decidedly! Even at this age, when she was, as one might +suppose, a mere slip of a girl, she was deeply conscious of herself, her sex, +her significance, her possible social import. Armed with a fair skin, a few +freckles, an almost too high color at times, strange, deep, night-blue, +cat-like eyes, a long nose, a rather pleasant mouth, perfect teeth, and a +really good chin, she moved always with a feline grace that was careless, +superior, sinuous, and yet the acme of harmony and a rhythmic flow of lines. +One of her mess-hall tricks, when unobserved by her instructors, was to walk +with six plates and a water-pitcher all gracefully poised on the top of her +head after the fashion of the Asiatic and the African, her hips moving, her +shoulders, neck, and head still. Girls begged weeks on end to have her repeat +this “stunt,” as they called it. Another was to put her arms behind +her and with a rush imitate the Winged Victory, a copy of which graced the +library hall. +</p> + +<p> +“You know,” one little rosy-cheeked satellite used to urge on her, +adoringly, “she must have been like you. Her head must have been like +yours. You are lovely when you do it.” +</p> + +<p> +For answer Berenice’s deep, almost black-blue eyes turned on her admirer +with solemn unflattered consideration. She awed always by the something that +she did not say. +</p> + +<p> +The school, for all the noble dames who presided over it—solemn, +inexperienced owl-like conventionalists who insisted on the last tittle and jot +of order and procedure—was a joke to Berenice. She recognized the value +of its social import, but even at fifteen and sixteen she was superior to it. +She was superior to her superiors and to the specimens of +maidenhood—supposed to be perfect socially—who gathered about to +hear her talk, to hear her sing, declaim, or imitate. She was deeply, +dramatically, urgently conscious of the value of her personality in itself, not +as connected with any inherited social standing, but of its innate worth, and +of the artistry and wonder of her body. One of her chief delights was to walk +alone in her room—sometimes at night, the lamp out, the moon perhaps +faintly illuminating her chamber—and to pose and survey her body, and +dance in some naive, graceful, airy Greek way a dance that was singularly free +from sex consciousness—and yet was it? She was conscious of her +body—of every inch of it—under the ivory-white clothes which she +frequently wore. Once she wrote in a secret diary which she +maintained—another art impulse or an affectation, as you will: “My +skin is so wonderful. It tingles so with rich life. I love it and my strong +muscles underneath. I love my hands and my hair and my eyes. My hands are long +and thin and delicate; my eyes are a dark, deep blue; my hair is a brown, rusty +red, thick and sleepy. My long, firm, untired limbs can dance all night. Oh, I +love life! I love life!” +</p> + +<p> +You would not have called Berenice Fleming sensuous—though she +was—because she was self-controlled. Her eyes lied to you. They lied to +all the world. They looked you through and through with a calm savoir faire, a +mocking defiance, which said with a faint curl of the lips, barely suggested to +help them out, “You cannot read me, you cannot read me.” She put +her head to one side, smiled, lied (by implication), assumed that there was +nothing. And there was nothing, as yet. Yet there was something, too—her +inmost convictions, and these she took good care to conceal. The +world—how little it should ever, ever know! How little it ever could know +truly! +</p> + +<p> +The first time Cowperwood encountered this Circe daughter of so unfortunate a +mother was on the occasion of a trip to New York, the second spring following +his introduction to Mrs. Carter in Louisville. Berenice was taking some part in +the closing exercises of the Brewster School, and Mrs. Carter, with Cowperwood +for an escort, decided to go East. Cowperwood having located himself at the +Netherlands, and Mrs. Carter at the much humbler Grenoble, they journeyed +together to visit this paragon whose picture he had had hanging in his rooms in +Chicago for months past. When they were introduced into the somewhat somber +reception parlor of the Brewster School, Berenice came slipping in after a few +moments, a noiseless figure of a girl, tall and slim, and deliciously sinuous. +Cowperwood saw at first glance that she fulfilled all the promise of her +picture, and was delighted. She had, he thought, a strange, shrewd, intelligent +smile, which, however, was girlish and friendly. Without so much as a glance in +his direction she came forward, extending her arms and hands in an inimitable +histrionic manner, and exclaimed, with a practised and yet natural inflection: +“Mother, dear! So here you are really! You know, I’ve been thinking +of you all morning. I wasn’t sure whether you would come to-day, you +change about so. I think I even dreamed of you last night.” +</p> + +<p> +Her skirts, still worn just below the shoe-tops, had the richness of scraping +silk then fashionable. She was also guilty of using a faint perfume of some +kind. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood could see that Mrs. Carter, despite a certain nervousness due to the +girl’s superior individuality and his presence, was very proud of her. +Berenice, he also saw quickly, was measuring him out of the tail of her +eye—a single sweeping glance which she vouchsafed from beneath her long +lashes sufficing; but she gathered quite accurately the totality of +Cowperwood’s age, force, grace, wealth, and worldly ability. Without +hesitation she classed him as a man of power in some field, possibly finance, +one of the numerous able men whom her mother seemed to know. She always +wondered about her mother. His large gray eyes, that searched her with +lightning accuracy, appealed to her as pleasant, able eyes. She knew on the +instant, young as she was, that he liked women, and that probably he would +think her charming; but as for giving him additional attention it was outside +her code. She preferred to be interested in her dear mother exclusively. +</p> + +<p> +“Berenice,” observed Mrs. Carter, airily, “let me introduce +Mr. Cowperwood.” +</p> + +<p> +Berenice turned, and for the fraction of a second leveled a frank and yet +condescending glance from wells of what Cowperwood considered to be indigo +blue. +</p> + +<p> +“Your mother has spoken of you from time to time,” he said, +pleasantly. +</p> + +<p> +She withdrew a cool, thin hand as limp and soft as wax, and turned to her +mother again without comment, and yet without the least embarrassment. +Cowperwood seemed in no way important to her. +</p> + +<p> +“What would you say, dear,” pursued Mrs. Carter, after a brief +exchange of commonplaces, “if I were to spend next winter in New +York?” +</p> + +<p> +“It would be charming if I could live at home. I’m sick of this +silly boarding-school.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Berenice! I thought you liked it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hate it, but only because it’s so dull. The girls here are so +silly.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Carter lifted her eyebrows as much as to say to her escort, “Now +what do you think?” Cowperwood stood solemnly by. It was not for him to +make a suggestion at present. He could see that for some reason—probably +because of her disordered life—Mrs. Carter was playing a game of manners +with her daughter; she maintained always a lofty, romantic air. With Berenice +it was natural—the expression of a vain, self-conscious, superior +disposition. +</p> + +<p> +“A rather charming garden here,” he observed, lifting a curtain and +looking out into a blooming plot. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, the flowers are nice,” commented Berenice. +</p> + +<p> +“Wait; I’ll get some for you. It’s against the rules, but +they can’t do more than send me away, and that’s what I +want.” +</p> + +<p> +“Berenice! Come back here!” +</p> + +<p> +It was Mrs. Carter calling. +</p> + +<p> +The daughter was gone in a fling of graceful lines and flounces. “Now +what do you make of her?” asked Mrs. Carter, turning to her friend. +</p> + +<p> +“Youth, individuality, energy—a hundred things. I see nothing wrong +with her.” +</p> + +<p> +“If I could only see to it that she had her opportunities +unspoiled.” +</p> + +<p> +Already Berenice was returning, a subject for an artist in almost studied +lines. Her arms were full of sweet-peas and roses which she had ruthlessly +gathered. +</p> + +<p> +“You wilful girl!” scolded her mother, indulgently. “I shall +have to go and explain to your superiors. Whatever shall I do with her, Mr. +Cowperwood?” +</p> + +<p> +“Load her with daisy chains and transport her to Cytherea,” +commented Cowperwood, who had once visited this romantic isle, and therefore +knew its significance. +</p> + +<p> +Berenice paused. “What a pretty speech that is!” she exclaimed. +“I have a notion to give you a special flower for that. I will, +too.” She presented him with a rose. +</p> + +<p> +For a girl who had slipped in shy and still, Cowperwood commented, her mood had +certainly changed. Still, this was the privilege of the born actress, to +change. And as he viewed Berenice Fleming now he felt her to be such—a +born actress, lissome, subtle, wise, indifferent, superior, taking the world as +she found it and expecting it to obey—to sit up like a pet dog and be +told to beg. What a charming character! What a pity it should not be allowed to +bloom undisturbed in its make-believe garden! What a pity, indeed! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap42"></a>CHAPTER XLII.<br/> +F. A. Cowperwood, Guardian</h2> + +<p> +It was some time after this first encounter before Cowperwood saw Berenice +again, and then only for a few days in that region of the Pocono Mountains +where Mrs. Carter had her summer home. It was an idyllic spot on a +mountainside, some three miles from Stroudsburg, among a peculiar juxtaposition +of hills which, from the comfortable recesses of a front veranda, had the +appearance, as Mrs. Carter was fond of explaining, of elephants and camels +parading in the distance. The humps of the hills—some of them as high as +eighteen hundred feet—rose stately and green. Below, quite visible for a +mile or more, moved the dusty, white road descending to Stroudsburg. Out of her +Louisville earnings Mrs. Carter had managed to employ, for the several summer +seasons she had been here, a gardener, who kept the sloping front lawn in +seasonable flowers. There was a trig two-wheeled trap with a smart horse and +harness, and both Rolfe and Berenice were possessed of the latest novelty of +the day—low-wheeled bicycles, which had just then superseded the old, +high-wheel variety. For Berenice, also, was a music-rack full of classic music +and song collections, a piano, a shelf of favorite books, painting-materials, +various athletic implements, and several types of Greek dancing-tunics which +she had designed herself, including sandals and fillet for her hair. She was an +idle, reflective, erotic person dreaming strange dreams of a near and yet +far-off social supremacy, at other times busying herself with such social +opportunities as came to her. A more safely calculating and yet wilful girl +than Berenice Fleming would have been hard to find. By some trick of mental +adjustment she had gained a clear prevision of how necessary it was to select +the right socially, and to conceal her true motives and feelings; and yet she +was by no means a snob, mentally, nor utterly calculating. Certain things in +her own and in her mother’s life troubled her—quarrels in her early +days, from her seventh to her eleventh year, between her mother and her +stepfather, Mr. Carter; the latter’s drunkenness verging upon delirium +tremens at times; movings from one place to another—all sorts of sordid +and depressing happenings. Berenice had been an impressionable child. Some +things had gripped her memory mightily—once, for instance, when she had +seen her stepfather, in the presence of her governess, kick a table over, and, +seizing the toppling lamp with demoniac skill, hurl it through a window. She, +herself, had been tossed by him in one of these tantrums, when, in answer to +the cries of terror of those about her, he had shouted: “Let her fall! It +won’t hurt the little devil to break a few bones.” This was her +keenest memory of her stepfather, and it rather softened her judgment of her +mother, made her sympathetic with her when she was inclined to be critical. Of +her own father she only knew that he had divorced her mother—why, she +could not say. She liked her mother on many counts, though she could not feel +that she actually loved her—Mrs. Carter was too fatuous at times, and at +other times too restrained. This house at Pocono, or Forest Edge, as Mrs. +Carter had named it, was conducted after a peculiar fashion. From June to +October only it was open, Mrs. Carter, in the past, having returned to +Louisville at that time, while Berenice and Rolfe went back to their respective +schools. Rolfe was a cheerful, pleasant-mannered youth, well bred, genial, and +courteous, but not very brilliant intellectually. Cowperwood’s judgment +of him the first time he saw him was that under ordinary circumstances he would +make a good confidential clerk, possibly in a bank. Berenice, on the other +hand, the child of the first husband, was a creature of an exotic mind and an +opalescent heart. After his first contact with her in the reception-room of the +Brewster School Cowperwood was deeply conscious of the import of this budding +character. He was by now so familiar with types and kinds of women that an +exceptional type—quite like an exceptional horse to a judge of +horse-flesh—stood out in his mind with singular vividness. Quite as in +some great racing-stable an ambitious horseman might imagine that he detected +in some likely filly the signs and lineaments of the future winner of a Derby, +so in Berenice Fleming, in the quiet precincts of the Brewster School, +Cowperwood previsioned the central figure of a Newport lawn fete or a London +drawing-room. Why? She had the air, the grace, the lineage, the +blood—that was why; and on that score she appealed to him intensely, +quite as no other woman before had ever done. +</p> + +<p> +It was on the lawn of Forest Edge that Cowperwood now saw Berenice. The latter +had had the gardener set up a tall pole, to which was attached a tennis-ball by +a cord, and she and Rolfe were hard at work on a game of tether-ball. +Cowperwood, after a telegram to Mrs. Carter, had been met at the station in +Pocono by her and rapidly driven out to the house. The green hills pleased him, +the up-winding, yellow road, the silver-gray cottage with the brown-shingle +roof in the distance. It was three in the afternoon, and bright for a sinking +sun. +</p> + +<p> +“There they are now,” observed Mrs. Carter, cheerful and smiling, +as they came out from under a low ledge that skirted the road a little way from +the cottage. Berenice, executing a tripping, running step to one side, was +striking the tethered ball with her racquet. “They are hard at it, as +usual. Two such romps!” +</p> + +<p> +She surveyed them with pleased motherly interest, which Cowperwood considered +did her much credit. He was thinking that it would be too bad if her hopes for +her children should not be realized. Yet possibly they might not be. Life was +very grim. How strange, he thought, was this type of woman—at once a +sympathetic, affectionate mother and a panderer to the vices of men. How +strange that she should have these children at all. Berenice had on a white +skirt, white tennis-shoes, a pale-cream silk waist or blouse, which fitted her +very loosely. Because of exercise her color was high—quite pink—and +her dusty, reddish hair was blowy. Though they turned into the hedge gate and +drove to the west entrance, which was at one side of the house, there was no +cessation of the game, not even a glance from Berenice, so busy was she. +</p> + +<p> +He was merely her mother’s friend to her. Cowperwood noted, with singular +vividness of feeling, that the lines of her movements—the fleeting, +momentary positions she assumed—were full of a wondrous natural charm. He +wanted to say so to Mrs. Carter, but restrained himself. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a brisk game,” he commented, with a pleased glance. +“You play, do you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I did. I don’t much any more. Sometimes I try a set with Rolfe +or Bevy; but they both beat me so badly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bevy? Who is Bevy?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, that’s short of Berenice. It’s what Rolfe called her +when he was a baby.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bevy! I think that rather nice.” +</p> + +<p> +“I always like it, too. Somehow it seems to suit her, and yet I +don’t know why.” +</p> + +<p> +Before dinner Berenice made her appearance, freshened by a bath and clad in a +light summer dress that appeared to Cowperwood to be all flounces, and the more +graceful in its lines for the problematic absence of a corset. Her face and +hands, however—a face thin, long, and sweetly hollow, and hands that were +slim and sinewy—gripped and held his fancy. He was reminded in the least +degree of Stephanie; but this girl’s chin was firmer and more delicately, +though more aggressively, rounded. Her eyes, too, were shrewder and less +evasive, though subtle enough. +</p> + +<p> +“So I meet you again,” he observed, with a somewhat aloof air, as +she came out on the porch and sank listlessly into a wicker chair. “The +last time I met you you were hard at work in New York.”<br/> +</p> + +<p> +“Breaking the rules. No, I forget; that was my easiest work. Oh, +Rolfe,” she called over her shoulder, indifferently, “I see your +pocket-knife out on the grass.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood, properly suppressed, waited a brief space. “Who won that +exciting game?” +</p> + +<p> +“I did, of course. I always win at tether-ball.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, do you?” commented Cowperwood. +</p> + +<p> +“I mean with brother, of course. He plays so poorly.” She turned to +the west—the house faced south—and studied the road which came up +from Stroudsburg. “I do believe that’s Harry Kemp,” she +added, quite to herself. “If so, he’ll have my mail, if there is +any.” +</p> + +<p> +She got up again and disappeared into the house, coming out a few moments later +to saunter down to the gate, which was over a hundred feet away. To Cowperwood +she seemed to float, so hale and graceful was she. A smart youth in blue serge +coat, white trousers, and white shoes drove by in a high-seated trap. +</p> + +<p> +“Two letters for you,” he called, in a high, almost falsetto voice. +“I thought you would have eight or nine. Blessed hot, isn’t +it?” He had a smart though somewhat effeminate manner, and Cowperwood at +once wrote him down as an ass. Berenice took the mail with an engaging smile. +She sauntered past him reading, without so much as a glance. Presently he heard +her voice within. +</p> + +<p> +“Mother, the Haggertys have invited me for the last week in August. I +have half a mind to cut Tuxedo and go. I like Bess Haggerty.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you’ll have to decide that, dearest. Are they going to be at +Tarrytown or Loon Lake?” +</p> + +<p> +“Loon Lake, of course,” came Berenice’s voice. +</p> + +<p> +What a world of social doings she was involved in, thought Cowperwood. She had +begun well. The Haggertys were rich coal-mine operators in Pennsylvania. Harris +Haggerty, to whose family she was probably referring, was worth at least six or +eight million. The social world they moved in was high. +</p> + +<p> +They drove after dinner to The Saddler, at Saddler’s Run, where a dance +and “moonlight promenade” was to be given. On the way over, owing +to the remoteness of Berenice, Cowperwood for the first time in his life felt +himself to be getting old. In spite of the vigor of his mind and body, he +realized constantly that he was over fifty-two, while she was only seventeen. +Why should this lure of youth continue to possess him? She wore a white +concoction of lace and silk which showed a pair of smooth young shoulders and a +slender, queenly, inimitably modeled neck. He could tell by the sleek lines of +her arms how strong she was. +</p> + +<p> +“It is perhaps too late,” he said to himself, in comment. “I +am getting old.” +</p> + +<p> +The freshness of the hills in the pale night was sad. +</p> + +<p> +Saddler’s, when they reached there after ten, was crowded with the youth +and beauty of the vicinity. Mrs. Carter, who was prepossessing in a ball +costume of silver and old rose, expected that Cowperwood would dance with her. +And he did, but all the time his eyes were on Berenice, who was caught up by +one youth and another of dapper mien during the progress of the evening and +carried rhythmically by in the mazes of the waltz or schottische. There was a +new dance in vogue that involved a gay, running step—kicking first one +foot and then the other forward, turning and running backward and kicking +again, and then swinging with a smart air, back to back, with one’s +partner. Berenice, in her lithe, rhythmic way, seemed to him the soul of +spirited and gracious ease—unconscious of everybody and everything save +the spirit of the dance itself as a medium of sweet emotion, of some far-off, +dreamlike spirit of gaiety. He wondered. He was deeply impressed. +</p> + +<p> +“Berenice,” observed Mrs. Carter, when in an intermission she came +forward to where Cowperwood and she were sitting in the moonlight discussing +New York and Kentucky social life, “haven’t you saved one dance for +Mr. Cowperwood?” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood, with a momentary feeling of resentment, protested that he did not +care to dance any more. Mrs. Carter, he observed to himself, was a fool. +</p> + +<p> +“I believe,” said her daughter, with a languid air, “that I +am full up. I could break one engagement, though, somewhere.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not for me, though, please,” pleaded Cowperwood. “I +don’t care to dance any more, thank you.” +</p> + +<p> +He almost hated her at the moment for a chilly cat. And yet he did not. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Bevy, how you talk! I think you are acting very badly this +evening.” +</p> + +<p> +“Please, please,” pleaded Cowperwood, quite sharply. “Not any +more. I don’t care to dance any more.” +</p> + +<p> +Bevy looked at him oddly for a moment—a single thoughtful glance. +</p> + +<p> +“But I have a dance, though,” she pleaded, softly. “I was +just teasing. Won’t you dance it with me? +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t refuse, of course,” replied Cowperwood, coldly. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s the next one,” she replied. +</p> + +<p> +They danced, but he scarcely softened to her at first, so angry was he. +Somehow, because of all that had gone before, he felt stiff and ungainly. She +had managed to break in upon his natural savoir faire—this chit of a +girl. But as they went on through a second half the spirit of her dancing soul +caught him, and he felt more at ease, quite rhythmic. She drew close and swept +him into a strange unison with herself. +</p> + +<p> +“You dance beautifully,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I love it,” she replied. She was already of an agreeable height +for him. +</p> + +<p> +It was soon over. “I wish you would take me where the ices are,” +she said to Cowperwood. +</p> + +<p> +He led her, half amused, half disturbed at her attitude toward him. +</p> + +<p> +“You are having a pleasant time teasing me, aren’t you?” he +asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I am only tired,” she replied. “The evening bores me. Really +it does. I wish we were all home.” +</p> + +<p> +“We can go when you say, no doubt.” +</p> + +<p> +As they reached the ices, and she took one from his hand, she surveyed him with +those cool, dull blue eyes of hers—eyes that had the flat quality of +unglazed Dutch tiles. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you would forgive me,” she said. “I was rude. I +couldn’t help it. I am all out of sorts with myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hadn’t felt you were rude,” he observed, lying grandly, +his mood toward her changing entirely. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes I was, and I hope you will forgive me. I sincerely wish you +would.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do with all my heart—the little that there is to forgive.” +</p> + +<p> +He waited to take her back, and yielded her to a youth who was waiting. He +watched her trip away in a dance, and eventually led her mother to the trap. +Berenice was not with them on the home drive; some one else was bringing her. +Cowperwood wondered when she would come, and where was her room, and whether +she was really sorry, and— As he fell asleep Berenice Fleming and her +slate-blue eyes were filling his mind completely. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap43"></a>CHAPTER XLIII.<br/> +The Planet Mars</h2> + +<p> +The banking hostility to Cowperwood, which in its beginning had made necessary +his trip to Kentucky and elsewhere, finally reached a climax. It followed an +attempt on his part to furnish funds for the building of elevated roads. The +hour for this new form of transit convenience had struck. The public demanded +it. Cowperwood saw one elevated road, the South Side Alley Line, being built, +and another, the West Side Metropolitan Line, being proposed, largely, as he +knew, in order to create sentiment for the idea, and so to make his opposition +to a general franchise difficult. He was well aware that if he did not choose +to build them others would. It mattered little that electricity had arrived +finally as a perfected traction factor, and that all his lines would soon have +to be done over to meet that condition, or that it was costing him thousands +and thousands to stay the threatening aspect of things politically. In addition +he must now plunge into this new realm, gaining franchises by the roughest and +subtlest forms of political bribery. The most serious aspect of this was not +political, but rather financial. Elevated roads in Chicago, owing to the +sparseness of the population over large areas, were a serious thing to +contemplate. The mere cost of iron, right of way, rolling-stock, and +power-plants was immense. Being chronically opposed to investing his private +funds where stocks could just as well be unloaded on the public, and the +management and control retained by him, Cowperwood, for the time being, was +puzzled as to where he should get credit for the millions to be laid down in +structural steel, engineering fees, labor, and equipment before ever a dollar +could be taken out in passenger fares. Owing to the advent of the World’s +Fair, the South Side ‘L’—to which, in order to have peace and +quiet, he had finally conceded a franchise—was doing reasonably well. Yet +it was not making any such return on the investment as the New York roads. The +new lines which he was preparing would traverse even less populous sections of +the city, and would in all likelihood yield even a smaller return. Money had to +be forthcoming—something between twelve and fifteen million +dollars—and this on the stocks and bonds of a purely paper corporation +which might not yield paying dividends for years to come. Addison, finding that +the Chicago Trust Company was already heavily loaded, called upon various minor +but prosperous local banks to take over the new securities (each in part, of +course). He was astonished and chagrined to find that one and all uniformly +refused. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you how it is, Judah,” one bank president confided +to him, in great secrecy. “We owe Timothy Arneel at least three hundred +thousand dollars that we only have to pay three per cent. for. It’s a +call-loan. Besides, the Lake National is our main standby when it comes to +quick trades, and he’s in on that. I understand from one or two friends +that he’s at outs with Cowperwood, and we can’t afford to offend +him. I’d like to, but no more for me—not at present, anyhow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Simmons,” replied Addison, “these fellows are simply +cutting off their noses to spite their faces. These stock and bond issues are +perfectly good investments, and no one knows it better than you do. All this +hue and cry in the newspapers against Cowperwood doesn’t amount to +anything. He’s perfectly solvent. Chicago is growing. His lines are +becoming more valuable every year.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know that,” replied Simmons. “But what about this talk of +a rival elevated system? Won’t that injure his lines for the time being, +anyhow, if it comes into the field?” +</p> + +<p> +“If I know anything about Cowperwood,” replied Addison, simply, +“there isn’t going to be any rival elevated road. It’s true +they got the city council to give them a franchise for one line on the South +Side; but that’s out of his territory, anyhow, and that other one to the +Chicago General Company doesn’t amount to anything. It will be years and +years before it can be made to pay a dollar, and when the time comes he will +probably take it over if he wants it. Another election will be held in two +years, and then the city administration may not be so unfavorable. As it is, +they haven’t been able to hurt him through the council as much as they +thought they would.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; but he lost the election.” +</p> + +<p> +“True; but it doesn’t follow he’s going to lose the next one, +or every one.” +</p> + +<p> +“Just the same,” replied Simmons, very secretively, “I +understand there’s a concerted effort on to drive him out. Schryhart, +Hand, Merrill, Arneel—they’re the most powerful men we have. I +understand Hand says that he’ll never get his franchises renewed except +on terms that’ll make his lines unprofitable. There’s going to be +an awful smash here one of these days if that’s true.” Mr. Simmons +looked very wise and solemn. +</p> + +<p> +“Never believe it,” replied Addison, contemptuously. “Hand +isn’t Chicago, neither is Schryhart, nor Arneel. Cowperwood is a brainy +man. He isn’t going to be put under so easily. Did you ever hear what was +the real bottom cause of all this disturbance?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I’ve heard,” replied Simmons. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you believe it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I don’t know. Yes, I suppose I do. Still, I don’t know +that that need have anything to do with it. Money envy is enough to make any +man fight. This man Hand is very powerful.” +</p> + +<p> +Not long after this Cowperwood, strolling into the president’s office of +the Chicago Trust Company, inquired: “Well, Judah, how about those +Northwestern ‘L’ bonds?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s just as I thought, Frank,” replied Addison, softly. +“We’ll have to go outside of Chicago for that money. Hand, Arneel, +and the rest of that crowd have decided to combine against us. That’s +plain. Something has started them off in full cry. I suppose my resignation may +have had something to do with it. Anyhow, every one of the banks in which they +have any hand has uniformly refused to come in. To make sure that I was right I +even called up the little old Third National of Lake View and the Drovers and +Traders on Forty-seventh Street. That’s Charlie Wallin’s bank. When +I was over in the Lake National he used to hang around the back door asking for +anything I could give him that was sound. Now he says his orders are from his +directors not to share in anything we have to offer. It’s the same story +everywhere—they daren’t. I asked Wallin if he knew why the +directors were down on the Chicago Trust or on you, and at first he said he +didn’t. Then he said he’d stop in and lunch with me some day. +They’re the silliest lot of old ostriches I ever heard of. As if refusing +to let us have money on any loan here was going to prevent us from getting it! +They can take their little old one-horse banks and play blockhouses with them +if they want to. I can go to New York and in thirty-six hours raise twenty +million dollars if we need it.” +</p> + +<p> +Addison was a little warm. It was a new experience for him. Cowperwood merely +curled his mustaches and smiled sardonically. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, never mind,” he said. “Will you go down to New York, +or shall I?” +</p> + +<p> +It was decided, after some talk, that Addison should go. When he reached New +York he found, to his surprise, that the local opposition to Cowperwood had, +for some mysterious reason, begun to take root in the East. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you how it is,” observed Joseph Haeckelheimer, to +whom Addison applied—a short, smug, pussy person who was the head of +Haeckelheimer, Gotloeb & Co., international bankers. “We hear odd +things concerning Mr. Cowperwood out in Chicago. Some people say he is +sound—some not. He has some very good franchises covering a large portion +of the city, but they are only twenty-year franchises, and they will all run +out by 1903 at the latest. As I understand it, he has managed to stir up all +the local elements—some very powerful ones, too—and he is certain +to have a hard time to get his franchises renewed. I don’t live in +Chicago, of course. I don’t know much about it, but our Western +correspondent tells me this is so. Mr. Cowperwood is a very able man, as I +understand it, but if all these influential men are opposed to him they can +make him a great deal of trouble. The public is very easily aroused.” +</p> + +<p> +“You do a very able man a great injustice, Mr. Haeckelheimer,” +Addison retorted. “Almost any one who starts out to do things +successfully and intelligently is sure to stir up a great deal of feeling. The +particular men you mention seem to feel that they have a sort of +proprietor’s interest in Chicago. They really think they own it. As a +matter of fact, the city made them; they didn’t make the city.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Haeckelheimer lifted his eyebrows. He laid two fine white hands, plump and +stubby, over the lower buttons of his protuberant waistcoat. “Public +favor is a great factor in all these enterprises,” he almost sighed. +“As you know, part of a man’s resources lies in his ability to +avoid stirring up opposition. It may be that Mr. Cowperwood is strong enough to +overcome all that. I don’t know. I’ve never met him. I’m just +telling you what I hear.” +</p> + +<p> +This offish attitude on the part of Mr. Haeckelheimer was indicative of a new +trend. The man was enormously wealthy. The firm of Haeckelheimer, Gotloeb & +Co. represented a controlling interest in some of the principal railways and +banks in America. Their favor was not to be held in light esteem. +</p> + +<p> +It was plain that these rumors against Cowperwood in New York, unless offset +promptly by favorable events in Chicago, might mean—in the large banking +quarters, anyhow—the refusal of all subsequent Cowperwood issues. It +might even close the doors of minor banks and make private investors nervous. +</p> + +<p> +Addison’s report of all this annoyed Cowperwood no little. It made him +angry. He saw in it the work of Schryhart, Hand, and others who were trying +their best to discredit him. “Let them talk,” he declared, crossly. +“I have the street-railways. They’re not going to rout me out of +here. I can sell stocks and bonds to the public direct if need be! There are +plenty of private people who are glad to invest in these properties.” +</p> + +<p> +At this psychological moment enter, as by the hand of Fate, the planet Mars and +the University. This latter, from having been for years a humble Baptist +college of the cheapest character, had suddenly, through the beneficence of a +great Standard Oil multimillionaire, flared upward into a great university, and +was causing a stir throughout the length and breadth of the educational world. +</p> + +<p> +It was already a most noteworthy spectacle, one of the sights of the city. +Millions were being poured into it; new and beautiful buildings were almost +monthly erected. A brilliant, dynamic man had been called from the East as +president. There were still many things needed—dormitories, laboratories +of one kind and another, a great library; and, last but not least, a giant +telescope—one that would sweep the heavens with a hitherto unparalleled +receptive eye, and wring from it secrets not previously decipherable by the eye +and the mind of man. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood had always been interested in the heavens and in the giant +mathematical and physical methods of interpreting them. It so happened that the +war-like planet, with its sinister aspect, was just at this time to be seen +hanging in the west, a fiery red; and the easily aroused public mind was being +stirred to its shallow depth by reflections and speculations regarding the +famous canals of the luminary. The mere thought of the possibility of a larger +telescope than any now in existence, which might throw additional light on this +evasive mystery, was exciting not only Chicago, but the whole world. Late one +afternoon Cowperwood, looking over some open fields which faced his new +power-house in West Madison Street, observed the planet hanging low and lucent +in the evening sky, a warm, radiant bit of orange in a sea of silver. He paused +and surveyed it. Was it true that there were canals on it, and people? Life was +surely strange. +</p> + +<p> +One day not long after this Alexander Rambaud called him up on the ’phone +and remarked, jocosely: +</p> + +<p> +“I say, Cowperwood, I’ve played a rather shabby trick on you just +now. Doctor Hooper, of the University, was in here a few minutes ago asking me +to be one of ten to guarantee the cost of a telescope lens that he thinks he +needs to run that one-horse school of his out there. I told him I thought you +might possibly be interested. His idea is to find some one who will guarantee +forty thousand dollars, or eight or ten men who will guarantee four or five +thousand each. I thought of you, because I’ve heard you discuss astronomy +from time to time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let him come,” replied Cowperwood, who was never willing to be +behind others in generosity, particularly where his efforts were likely to be +appreciated in significant quarters. +</p> + +<p> +Shortly afterward appeared the doctor himself—short, rotund, rubicund, +displaying behind a pair of clear, thick, gold-rimmed glasses, round, dancing, +incisive eyes. Imaginative grip, buoyant, self-delusive self-respect were +written all over him. The two men eyed each other—one with that +broad-gage examination which sees even universities as futile in the endless +shift of things; the other with that faith in the balance for right which makes +even great personal forces, such as financial magnates, serve an idealistic +end. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s not a very long story I have to tell you, Mr. +Cowperwood,” said the doctor. “Our astronomical work is handicapped +just now by the simple fact that we have no lens at all, no telescope worthy of +the name. I should like to see the University do original work in this field, +and do it in a great way. The only way to do it, in my judgment, is to do it +better than any one else can. Don’t you agree with me?” He showed a +row of shining white teeth. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood smiled urbanely. +</p> + +<p> +“Will a forty-thousand-dollar lens be a better lens than any other +lens?” he inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“Made by Appleman Brothers, of Dorchester, it will,” replied the +college president. “The whole story is here, Mr. Cowperwood. These men +are practical lens-makers. A great lens, in the first place, is a matter of +finding a suitable crystal. Large and flawless crystals are not common, as you +may possibly know. Such a crystal has recently been found, and is now owned by +Mr. Appleman. It takes about four or five years to grind and polish it. Most of +the polishing, as you may or may not know, is done by the hand—smoothing +it with the thumb and forefinger. The time, judgment, and skill of an optical +expert is required. To-day, unfortunately, that is not cheap. The laborer is +worthy of his hire, however, I suppose”—he waved a soft, full, +white hand—“and forty thousand is little enough. It would be a +great honor if the University could have the largest, most serviceable, and +most perfect lens in the world. It would reflect great credit, I take it, on +the men who would make this possible.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood liked the man’s artistically educational air; obviously here +was a personage of ability, brains, emotion, and scientific enthusiasm. It was +splendid to him to see any strong man in earnest, for himself or others. +</p> + +<p> +“And forty thousand will do this?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir. Forty thousand will guarantee us the lens, anyhow.” +</p> + +<p> +“And how about land, buildings, a telescope frame? Have you all those +things prepared for it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not as yet, but, since it takes four years at least to grind the lens, +there will be time enough, when the lens is nearing completion, to look after +the accessories. We have picked our site, however—Lake Geneva—and +we would not refuse either land or accessories if we knew where to get +them.” +</p> + +<p> +Again the even, shining teeth, the keen eyes boring through the glasses. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood saw a great opportunity. He asked what would be the cost of the +entire project. Dr. Hooper presumed that three hundred thousand would do it all +handsomely—lens, telescope, land, machinery, building—a great +monument. +</p> + +<p> +“And how much have you guaranteed on the cost of your lens?” +“Sixteen thousand dollars, so far.” +</p> + +<p> +“To be paid when?” +</p> + +<p> +“In instalments—ten thousand a year for four years. Just enough to +keep the lens-maker busy for the present.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood reflected. Ten thousand a year for four years would be a mere salary +item, and at the end of that time he felt sure that he could supply the +remainder of the money quite easily. He would be so much richer; his plans +would be so much more mature. On such a repute (the ability to give a +three-hundred-thousand-dollar telescope out of hand to be known as the +Cowperwood telescope) he could undoubtedly raise money in London, New York, and +elsewhere for his Chicago enterprise. The whole world would know him in a day. +He paused, his enigmatic eyes revealing nothing of the splendid vision that +danced before them. At last! At last! +</p> + +<p> +“How would it do, Mr. Hooper,” he said, sweetly, “if, instead +of ten men giving you four thousand each, as you plan, one man were to give you +forty thousand in annual instalments of ten thousand each? Could that be +arranged as well?” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Mr. Cowperwood,” exclaimed the doctor, glowing, his eyes +alight, “do I understand that you personally might wish to give the money +for this lens?” +</p> + +<p> +“I might, yes. But I should have to exact one pledge, Mr. Hooper, if I +did any such thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what would that be?” +</p> + +<p> +“The privilege of giving the land and the building—the whole +telescope, in fact. I presume no word of this will be given out unless the +matter is favorably acted upon?” he added, cautiously and diplomatically. +</p> + +<p> +The new president of the university arose and eyed him with a peculiarly +approbative and grateful gaze. He was a busy, overworked man. His task was +large. Any burden taken from his shoulders in this fashion was a great relief. +</p> + +<p> +“My answer to that, Mr. Cowperwood, if I had the authority, would be to +agree now in the name of the University, and thank you. For form’s sake, +I must submit the matter to the trustees of the University, but I have no doubt +as to the outcome. I anticipate nothing but grateful approbation. Let me thank +you again.” +</p> + +<p> +They shook hands warmly, and the solid collegian bustled forth. Cowperwood sank +quietly in his chair. He pressed his fingers together, and for a moment or two +permitted himself to dream. Then he called a stenographer and began a bit of +dictation. He did not care to think even to himself how universally +advantageous all this might yet prove to be. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +The result was that in the course of a few weeks the proffer was formally +accepted by the trustees of the University, and a report of the matter, with +Cowperwood’s formal consent, was given out for publication. The +fortuitous combination of circumstances already described gave the matter a +unique news value. Giant reflectors and refractors had been given and were in +use in other parts of the world, but none so large or so important as this. The +gift was sufficient to set Cowperwood forth in the light of a public benefactor +and patron of science. Not only in Chicago, but in London, Paris, and New York, +wherever, indeed, in the great capitals scientific and intellectual men were +gathered, this significant gift of an apparently fabulously rich American +became the subject of excited discussion. Banking men, among others, took sharp +note of the donor, and when Cowperwood’s emissaries came around later +with a suggestion that the fifty-year franchises about to be voted him for +elevated roads should be made a basis of bond and mortgage loans, they were +courteously received. A man who could give three-hundred-thousand-dollar +telescopes in the hour of his greatest difficulties must be in a rather +satisfactory financial condition. He must have great wealth in reserve. After +some preliminaries, during which Cowperwood paid a flying visit to Threadneedle +Street in London, and to Wall Street in New York, an arrangement was made with +an English-American banking company by which the majority of the bonds for his +proposed roads were taken over by them for sale in Europe and elsewhere, and he +was given ample means wherewith to proceed. Instantly the stocks of his surface +lines bounded in price, and those who had been scheming to bring about +Cowperwood’s downfall gnashed impotent teeth. Even Haeckelheimer & +Co. were interested. +</p> + +<p> +Anson Merrill, who had only a few weeks before given a large field for athletic +purposes to the University, pulled a wry face over this sudden eclipse of his +glory. Hosmer Hand, who had given a chemical laboratory, and Schryhart, who had +presented a dormitory, were depressed to think that a benefaction less costly +than theirs should create, because of the distinction of the idea, so much more +notable comment. It was merely another example of the brilliant fortune which +seemed to pursue the man, the star that set all their plans at defiance. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap44"></a>CHAPTER XLIV.<br/> +A Franchise Obtained</h2> + +<p> +The money requisite for the construction of elevated roads having been thus +pyrotechnically obtained, the acquisition of franchises remained no easy +matter. It involved, among other problems, the taming of Chaffee Thayer Sluss, +who, quite unconscious of the evidence stored up against him, had begun to +fulminate the moment it was suggested in various secret political quarters that +a new ordinance was about to be introduced, and that Cowperwood was to be the +beneficiary. “Don’t you let them do that, Mr. Sluss,” +observed Mr. Hand, who for purposes of conference had courteously but firmly +bidden his hireling, the mayor, to lunch. “Don’t you let them pass +that if you can help it.” (As chairman or president of the city council +Mr. Sluss held considerable manipulative power over the machinery of +procedure.) “Raise such a row that they won’t try to pass it over +your head. Your political future really depends on it—your standing with +the people of Chicago. The newspapers and the respectable financial and social +elements will fully support you in this. Otherwise they will wholly desert you. +Things have come to a handsome pass when men sworn and elected to perform given +services turn on their backers and betray them in this way!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Hand was very wroth. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Sluss, immaculate in black broadcloth and white linen, was very sure that +he would fulfil to the letter all of Mr. Hand’s suggestions. The proposed +ordinance should be denounced by him; its legislative progress heartily opposed +in council. +</p> + +<p> +“They shall get no quarter from me!” he declared, emphatically. +“I know what the scheme is. They know that I know it.” +</p> + +<p> +He looked at Mr. Hand quite as one advocate of righteousness should look at +another, and the rich promoter went away satisfied that the reins of government +were in safe hands. Immediately afterward Mr. Sluss gave out an interview in +which he served warning on all aldermen and councilmen that no such ordinance +as the one in question would ever be signed by him as mayor. +</p> + +<p> +At half past ten on the same morning on which the interview appeared—the +hour at which Mr. Sluss usually reached his office—his private telephone +bell rang, and an assistant inquired if he would be willing to speak with Mr. +Frank A. Cowperwood. Mr. Sluss, somehow anticipating fresh laurels of victory, +gratified by the front-page display given his announcement in the morning +papers, and swelling internally with civic pride, announced, solemnly: +“Yes; connect me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Sluss,” began Cowperwood, at the other end, “this is +Frank A. Cowperwood.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. What can I do for you, Mr. Cowperwood?” +</p> + +<p> +“I see by the morning papers that you state that you will have nothing to +do with any proposed ordinance which looks to giving me a franchise for any +elevated road on the North or West Side?” +</p> + +<p> +“That is quite true,” replied Mr. Sluss, loftily. “I will +not.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you think it is rather premature, Mr. Sluss, to denounce +something which has only a rumored existence?” (Cowperwood, smiling +sweetly to himself, was quite like a cat playing with an unsuspicious mouse.) +“I should like very much to talk this whole matter over with you +personally before you take an irrevocable attitude. It is just possible that +after you have heard my side you may not be so completely opposed to me. From +time to time I have sent to you several of my personal friends, but apparently +you do not care to receive them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite true,” replied Mr. Sluss, loftily; “but you must +remember that I am a very busy man, Mr. Cowperwood, and, besides, I do not see +how I can serve any of your purposes. You are working for a set of conditions +to which I am morally and temperamentally opposed. I am working for another. I +do not see that we have any common ground on which to meet. In fact, I do not +see how I can be of any service to you whatsoever.” +</p> + +<p> +“Just a moment, please, Mr. Mayor,” replied Cowperwood, still very +sweetly, and fearing that Sluss might choose to hang up the receiver, so +superior was his tone. “There may be some common ground of which you do +not know. Wouldn’t you like to come to lunch at my residence or receive +me at yours? Or let me come to your office and talk this matter over. I believe +you will find it the part of wisdom as well as of courtesy to do this.” +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot possibly lunch with you to-day,” replied Sluss, +“and I cannot see you, either. There are a number of things pressing for +my attention. I must say also that I cannot hold any back-room conferences with +you or your emissaries. If you come you must submit to the presence of +others.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, Mr. Sluss,” replied Cowperwood, cheerfully. “I +will not come to your office. But unless you come to mine before five +o’clock this afternoon you will face by noon to-morrow a suit for breach +of promise, and your letters to Mrs. Brandon will be given to the public. I +wish to remind you that an election is coming on, and that Chicago favors a +mayor who is privately moral as well as publicly so. Good morning.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Cowperwood hung up his telephone receiver with a click, and Mr. Sluss +sensibly and visibly stiffened and paled. Mrs. Brandon! The charming, lovable, +discreet Mrs. Brandon who had so ungenerously left him! Why should she be +thinking of suing him for breach of promise, and how did his letter to her come +to be in Cowperwood’s hands? Good heavens—those mushy letters! His +wife! His children! His church and the owlish pastor thereof! Chicago! And its +conventional, moral, religious atmosphere! Come to think of it, Mrs. Brandon +had scarcely if ever written him a note of any kind. He did not even know her +history. +</p> + +<p> +At the thought of Mrs. Sluss—her hard, cold, blue eyes—Mr. Sluss +arose, tall and distrait, and ran his hand through his hair. He walked to the +window, snapping his thumb and middle finger and looking eagerly at the floor. +He thought of the telephone switchboard just outside his private office, and +wondered whether his secretary, a handsome young Presbyterian girl, had been +listening, as usual. Oh, this sad, sad world! If the North Side ever learned of +this—Hand, the newspapers, young MacDonald—would they protect him? +They would not. Would they run him for mayor again? Never! Could the public be +induced to vote for him with all the churches fulminating against private +immorality, hypocrites, and whited sepulchers? Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! And he was +so very, very much respected and looked up to—that was the worst of it +all. This terrible demon Cowperwood had descended on him, and he had thought +himself so secure. He had not even been civil to Cowperwood. What if the latter +chose to avenge the discourtesy? +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Sluss went back to his chair, but he could not sit in it. He went for his +coat, took it down, hung it up again, took it down, announced over the +’phone that he could not see any one for several hours, and went out by a +private door. Wearily he walked along North Clark Street, looking at the +hurly-burly of traffic, looking at the dirty, crowded river, looking at the sky +and smoke and gray buildings, and wondering what he should do. The world was so +hard at times; it was so cruel. His wife, his family, his political career. He +could not conscientiously sign any ordinances for Mr. Cowperwood—that +would be immoral, dishonest, a scandal to the city. Mr. Cowperwood was a +notorious traitor to the public welfare. At the same time he could not very +well refuse, for here was Mrs. Brandon, the charming and unscrupulous creature, +playing into the hands of Cowperwood. If he could only meet her, beg of her, +plead; but where was she? He had not seen her for months and months. Could he +go to Hand and confess all? But Hand was a hard, cold, moral man also. Oh, +Lord! Oh, Lord! He wondered and thought, and sighed and pondered—all +without avail. +</p> + +<p> +Pity the poor earthling caught in the toils of the moral law. In another +country, perhaps, in another day, another age, such a situation would have been +capable of a solution, one not utterly destructive to Mr. Sluss, and not +entirely favorable to a man like Cowperwood. But here in the United States, +here in Chicago, the ethical verities would all, as he knew, be lined up +against him. What Lake View would think, what his pastor would think, what Hand +and all his moral associates would think—ah, these were the terrible, the +incontrovertible consequences of his lapse from virtue. +</p> + +<p> +At four o’clock, after Mr. Sluss had wandered for hours in the snow and +cold, belaboring himself for a fool and a knave, and while Cowperwood was +sitting at his desk signing papers, contemplating a glowing fire, and wondering +whether the mayor would deem it advisable to put in an appearance, his office +door opened and one of his trim stenographers entered announcing Mr. Chaffee +Thayer Sluss. Enter Mayor Sluss, sad, heavy, subdued, shrunken, a very +different gentleman from the one who had talked so cavalierly over the wires +some five and a half hours before. Gray weather, severe cold, and much +contemplation of seemingly irreconcilable facts had reduced his spirits +greatly. He was a little pale and a little restless. Mental distress has a +reducing, congealing effect, and Mayor Sluss seemed somewhat less than his +usual self in height, weight, and thickness. Cowperwood had seen him more than +once on various political platforms, but he had never met him. When the +troubled mayor entered he arose courteously and waved him to a chair. +</p> + +<p> +“Sit down, Mr. Sluss,” he said, genially. “It’s a +disagreeable day out, isn’t it? I suppose you have come in regard to the +matter we were discussing this morning?” +</p> + +<p> +Nor was this cordiality wholly assumed. One of the primal instincts of +Cowperwood’s nature—for all his chicane and subtlety—was to +take no rough advantage of a beaten enemy. In the hour of victory he was always +courteous, bland, gentle, and even sympathetic; he was so to-day, and quite +honestly, too. +</p> + +<p> +Mayor Sluss put down the high sugar-loaf hat he wore and said, grandiosely, as +was his manner even in the direst extremity: “Well, you see, I am here, +Mr. Cowperwood. What is it you wish me to do, exactly?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing unreasonable, I assure you, Mr. Sluss,” replied +Cowperwood. “Your manner to me this morning was a little brusque, and, as +I have always wanted to have a sensible private talk with you, I took this way +of getting it. I should like you to dismiss from your mind at once the thought +that I am going to take an unfair advantage of you in any way. I have no +present intention of publishing your correspondence with Mrs. Brandon.” +(As he said this he took from his drawer a bundle of letters which Mayor Sluss +recognized at once as the enthusiastic missives which he had sometime before +penned to the fair Claudia. Mr. Sluss groaned as he beheld this incriminating +evidence.) “I am not trying,” continued Cowperwood, “to wreck +your career, nor to make you do anything which you do not feel that you can +conscientiously undertake. The letters that I have here, let me say, have come +to me quite by accident. I did not seek them. But, since I do have them, I +thought I might as well mention them as a basis for a possible talk and +compromise between us.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood did not smile. He merely looked thoughtfully at Sluss; then, by way +of testifying to the truthfulness of what he had been saying, thumped the +letters up and down, just to show that they were real. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Mr. Sluss, heavily, “I see.” +</p> + +<p> +He studied the bundle—a small, solid affair—while Cowperwood looked +discreetly elsewhere. He contemplated his own shoes, the floor. He rubbed his +hands and then his knees. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood saw how completely he had collapsed. It was ridiculous, pitiable. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, Mr. Sluss,” said Cowperwood, amiably, “cheer up. +Things are not nearly as desperate as you think. I give you my word right now +that nothing which you yourself, on mature thought, could say was unfair will +be done. You are the mayor of Chicago. I am a citizen. I merely wish fair play +from you. I merely ask you to give me your word of honor that from now on you +will take no part in this fight which is one of pure spite against me. If you +cannot conscientiously aid me in what I consider to be a perfectly legitimate +demand for additional franchises, you will, at least, not go out of your way to +publicly attack me. I will put these letters in my safe, and there they will +stay until the next campaign is over, when I will take them out and destroy +them. I have no personal feeling against you—none in the world. I do not +ask you to sign any ordinance which the council may pass giving me +elevated-road rights. What I do wish you to do at this time is to refrain from +stirring up public sentiment against me, especially if the council should see +fit to pass an ordinance over your veto. Is that satisfactory?” +</p> + +<p> +“But my friends? The public? The Republican party? Don’t you see it +is expected of me that I should wage some form of campaign against you?” +queried Sluss, nervously. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I don’t,” replied Cowperwood, succinctly, “and, +anyhow, there are ways and ways of waging a public campaign. Go through the +motions, if you wish, but don’t put too much heart in it. And, anyhow, +see some one of my lawyers from time to time when they call on you. Judge +Dickensheets is an able and fair man. So is General Van Sickle. Why not confer +with them occasionally?—not publicly, of course, but in some less +conspicuous way. You will find both of them most helpful.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood smiled encouragingly, quite beneficently, and Chaffee Thayer Sluss, +his political hopes gone glimmering, sat and mused for a few moments in a sad +and helpless quandary. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” he said, at last, rubbing his hands feverishly. +“It is what I might have expected. I should have known. There is no other +way, but—” Hardly able to repress the hot tears now burning beneath +his eyelids, the Hon. Mr. Sluss picked up his hat and left the room. Needless +to add that his preachings against Cowperwood were permanently silenced. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap45"></a>CHAPTER XLV.<br/> +Changing Horizons</h2> + +<p> +The effect of all this was to arouse in Cowperwood the keenest feelings of +superiority he had ever yet enjoyed. Hitherto he had fancied that his enemies +might worst him, but at last his path seemed clear. He was now worth, all in +all, the round sum of twenty million dollars. His art-collection had become the +most important in the West—perhaps in the nation, public collections +excluded. He began to envision himself as a national figure, possibly even an +international one. And yet he was coming to feel that, no matter how complete +his financial victory might ultimately be, the chances were that he and Aileen +would never be socially accepted here in Chicago. He had done too many +boisterous things—alienated too many people. He was as determined as ever +to retain a firm grip on the Chicago street-railway situation. But he was +disturbed for a second time in his life by the thought that, owing to the +complexities of his own temperament, he had married unhappily and would find +the situation difficult of adjustment. Aileen, whatever might be said of her +deficiencies, was by no means as tractable or acquiescent as his first wife. +And, besides, he felt that he owed her a better turn. By no means did he +actually dislike her as yet; though she was no longer soothing, stimulating, or +suggestive to him as she had formerly been. Her woes, because of him, were too +many; her attitude toward him too censorious. He was perfectly willing to +sympathize with her, to regret his own change of feeling, but what would you? +He could not control his own temperament any more than Aileen could control +hers. +</p> + +<p> +The worst of this situation was that it was now becoming complicated on +Cowperwood’s part with the most disturbing thoughts concerning Berenice +Fleming. Ever since the days when he had first met her mother he had been +coming more and more to feel for the young girl a soul-stirring +passion—and that without a single look exchanged or a single word spoken. +There is a static something which is beauty, and this may be clothed in the +habiliments of a ragged philosopher or in the silks and satins of pampered +coquetry. It was a suggestion of this beauty which is above sex and above age +and above wealth that shone in the blowing hair and night-blue eyes of Berenice +Fleming. His visit to the Carter family at Pocono had been a disappointment to +him, because of the apparent hopelessness of arousing Berenice’s +interest, and since that time, and during their casual encounters, she had +remained politely indifferent. Nevertheless, he remained true to his +persistence in the pursuit of any game he had fixed upon. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Carter, whose relations with Cowperwood had in the past been not wholly +platonic, nevertheless attributed much of his interest in her to her children +and their vital chance. Berenice and Rolfe themselves knew nothing concerning +the nature of their mother’s arrangements with Cowperwood. True to his +promise of protectorship and assistance, he had established her in a New York +apartment adjacent to her daughter’s school, and where he fancied that he +himself might spend many happy hours were Berenice but near. Proximity to +Berenice! The desire to arouse her interest and command her favor! Cowperwood +would scarcely have cared to admit to himself how great a part this played in a +thought which had recently been creeping into his mind. It was that of erecting +a splendid house in New York. +</p> + +<p> +By degrees this idea of building a New York house had grown upon him. His +Chicago mansion was a costly sepulcher in which Aileen sat brooding over the +woes which had befallen her. Moreover, aside from the social defeat which it +represented, it was becoming merely as a structure, but poorly typical of the +splendor and ability of his imaginations. This second dwelling, if he ever +achieved it, should be resplendent, a monument to himself. In his speculative +wanderings abroad he had seen many such great palaces, designed with the utmost +care, which had housed the taste and culture of generations of men. His +art-collection, in which he took an immense pride, had been growing, until it +was the basis if not the completed substance for a very splendid memorial. +Already in it were gathered paintings of all the important schools; to say +nothing of collections of jade, illumined missals, porcelains, rugs, draperies, +mirror frames, and a beginning at rare originals of sculpture. The beauty of +these strange things, the patient laborings of inspired souls of various times +and places, moved him, on occasion, to a gentle awe. Of all individuals he +respected, indeed revered, the sincere artist. Existence was a mystery, but +these souls who set themselves to quiet tasks of beauty had caught something of +which he was dimly conscious. Life had touched them with a vision, their hearts +and souls were attuned to sweet harmonies of which the common world knew +nothing. Sometimes, when he was weary after a strenuous day, he would +enter—late in the night—his now silent gallery, and turning on the +lights so that the whole sweet room stood revealed, he would seat himself +before some treasure, reflecting on the nature, the mood, the time, and the man +that had produced it. Sometimes it would be one of Rembrandt’s melancholy +heads—the sad “Portrait of a Rabbi”—or the sweet +introspection of a Rousseau stream. A solemn Dutch housewife, rendered with the +bold fidelity and resonant enameled surfaces of a Hals or the cold elegance of +an Ingres, commanded his utmost enthusiasm. So he would sit and wonder at the +vision and skill of the original dreamer, exclaiming at times: “A marvel! +A marvel!” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +At the same time, so far as Aileen was concerned things were obviously shaping +up for additional changes. She was in that peculiar state which has befallen +many a woman—trying to substitute a lesser ideal for a greater, and +finding that the effort is useless or nearly so. In regard to her affair with +Lynde, aside from the temporary relief and diversion it had afforded her, she +was beginning to feel that she had made a serious mistake. Lynde was +delightful, after his fashion. He could amuse her with a different type of +experience from any that Cowperwood had to relate. Once they were intimate he +had, with an easy, genial air, confessed to all sorts of liaisons in Europe and +America. He was utterly pagan—a faun—and at the same time he was +truly of the smart world. His open contempt of all but one or two of the people +in Chicago whom Aileen had secretly admired and wished to associate with, and +his easy references to figures of importance in the East and in Paris and +London, raised him amazingly in her estimation; it made her feel, sad to +relate, that she had by no means lowered herself in succumbing so readily to +his forceful charms. +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless, because he was what he was—genial, complimentary, +affectionate, but a playboy, merely, and a soldier of fortune, with no desire +to make over her life for her on any new basis—she was now grieving over +the futility of this romance which had got her nowhere, and which, in all +probability, had alienated Cowperwood for good. He was still outwardly genial +and friendly, but their relationship was now colored by a sense of mistake and +uncertainty which existed on both sides, but which, in Aileen’s case, +amounted to a subtle species of soul-torture. Hitherto she had been the +aggrieved one, the one whose loyalty had never been in question, and whose +persistent affection and faith had been greatly sinned against. Now all this +was changed. The manner in which he had sinned against her was plain enough, +but the way in which, out of pique, she had forsaken him was in the other +balance. Say what one will, the loyalty of woman, whether a condition in nature +or an evolved accident of sociology, persists as a dominating thought in at +least a section of the race; and women themselves, be it said, are the ones who +most loudly and openly subscribe to it. Cowperwood himself was fully aware that +Aileen had deserted him, not because she loved him less or Lynde more, but +because she was hurt—and deeply so. Aileen knew that he knew this. From +one point of view it enraged her and made her defiant; from another it grieved +her to think she had uselessly sinned against his faith in her. Now he had +ample excuse to do anything he chose. Her best claim on him—her +wounds—she had thrown away as one throws away a weapon. Her pride would +not let her talk to him about this, and at the same time she could not endure +the easy, tolerant manner with which he took it. His smiles, his forgiveness, +his sometimes pleasant jesting were all a horrible offense. +</p> + +<p> +To complete her mental quandary, she was already beginning to quarrel with +Lynde over this matter of her unbreakable regard for Cowperwood. With the +sufficiency of a man of the world Lynde intended that she should succumb to him +completely and forget her wonderful husband. When with him she was apparently +charmed and interested, yielding herself freely, but this was more out of pique +at Cowperwood’s neglect than from any genuine passion for Lynde. In spite +of her pretensions of anger, her sneers, and criticisms whenever +Cowperwood’s name came up, she was, nevertheless, hopelessly fond of him +and identified with him spiritually, and it was not long before Lynde began to +suspect this. Such a discovery is a sad one for any master of women to make. It +jolted his pride severely. +</p> + +<p> +“You care for him still, don’t you?” he asked, with a wry +smile, upon one occasion. They were sitting at dinner in a private room at +Kinsley’s, and Aileen, whose color was high, and who was becomingly +garbed in metallic-green silk, was looking especially handsome. Lynde had been +proposing that she should make special arrangements to depart with him for a +three-months’ stay in Europe, but she would have nothing to do with the +project. She did not dare. Such a move would make Cowperwood feel that she was +alienating herself forever; it would give him an excellent excuse to leave her. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it isn’t that,” she had declared, in reply to +Lynde’s query. “I just don’t want to go. I can’t. +I’m not prepared. It’s nothing but a notion of yours, anyhow. +You’re tired of Chicago because it’s getting near spring. You go +and I’ll be here when you come back, or I may decide to come over +later.” She smiled. +</p> + +<p> +Lynde pulled a dark face. +</p> + +<p> +“Hell!” he said. “I know how it is with you. You still stick +to him, even when he treats you like a dog. You pretend not to love him when as +a matter of fact you’re mad about him. I’ve seen it all along. You +don’t really care anything about me. You can’t. You’re too +crazy about him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, shut up!” replied Aileen, irritated greatly for the moment by +this onslaught. “You talk like a fool. I’m not anything of the +sort. I admire him. How could any one help it?” (At this time, of course, +Cowperwood’s name was filling the city.) “He’s a very +wonderful man. He was never brutal to me. He’s a full-sized +man—I’ll say that for him.” +</p> + +<p> +By now Aileen had become sufficiently familiar with Lynde to criticize him in +her own mind, and even outwardly by innuendo, for being a loafer and idler who +had never created in any way the money he was so freely spending. She had +little power to psychologize concerning social conditions, but the stalwart +constructive persistence of Cowperwood along commercial lines coupled with the +current American contempt of leisure reflected somewhat unfavorably upon Lynde, +she thought. +</p> + +<p> +Lynde’s face clouded still more at this outburst. “You go to the +devil,” he retorted. “I don’t get you at all. Sometimes you +talk as though you were fond of me. At other times you’re all wrapped up +in him. Now you either care for me or you don’t. Which is it? If +you’re so crazy about him that you can’t leave home for a month or +so you certainly can’t care much about me.” +</p> + +<p> +Aileen, however, because of her long experience with Cowperwood, was more than +a match for Lynde. At the same time she was afraid to let go of him for fear +that she should have no one to care for her. She liked him. He was a happy +resource in her misery, at least for the moment. Yet the knowledge that +Cowperwood looked upon this affair as a heavy blemish on her pristine +solidarity cooled her. At the thought of him and of her whole tarnished and +troubled career she was very unhappy. +</p> + +<p> +“Hell!” Lynde had repeated, irritably, “stay if you want to. +I’ll not be trying to over-persuade you—depend on that.” +</p> + +<p> +They quarreled still further over this matter, and, though they eventually made +up, both sensed the drift toward an ultimately unsatisfactory conclusion. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +It was one morning not long after this that Cowperwood, feeling in a genial +mood over his affairs, came into Aileen’s room, as he still did on +occasions, to finish dressing and pass the time of day. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” he observed, gaily, as he stood before the mirror adjusting +his collar and tie, “how are you and Lynde getting along these +days—nicely?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you go to the devil!” replied Aileen, flaring up and +struggling with her divided feelings, which pained her constantly. “If it +hadn’t been for you there wouldn’t be any chance for your smarty +‘how-am-I-getting-alongs.’ I am getting along all +right—fine—regardless of anything you may think. He’s as good +a man as you are any day, and better. I like him. At least he’s fond of +me, and that’s more than you are. Why should you care what I do? You +don’t, so why talk about it? I want you to let me alone.” +</p> + +<p> +“Aileen, Aileen, how you carry on! Don’t flare up so. I meant +nothing by it. I’m sorry as much for myself as for you. I’ve told +you I’m not jealous. You think I’m critical. I’m not anything +of the kind. I know how you feel. That’s all very good.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes, yes,” she replied. “Well, you can keep your feelings +to yourself. Go to the devil! Go to the devil, I tell you!” Her eyes +blazed. +</p> + +<p> +He stood now, fully dressed, in the center of the rug before her, and Aileen +looked at him, keen, valiant, handsome—her old Frank. Once again she +regretted her nominal faithlessness, and raged at him in her heart for his +indifference. “You dog,” she was about to add, “you have no +heart!” but she changed her mind. Her throat tightened and her eyes +filled. She wanted to run to him and say: “Oh, Frank, don’t you +understand how it all is, how it all came about? Won’t you love me +again—can’t you?” But she restrained herself. It seemed to +her that he might understand—that he would, in fact—but that he +would never again be faithful, anyhow. And she would so gladly have discarded +Lynde and any and all men if he would only have said the word, would only have +really and sincerely wished her to do so. +</p> + +<p> +It was one day not long after their morning quarrel in her bedroom that +Cowperwood broached the matter of living in New York to Aileen, pointing out +that thereby his art-collection, which was growing constantly, might be more +suitably housed, and that it would give her a second opportunity to enter +social life. +</p> + +<p> +“So that you can get rid of me out here,” commented Aileen, little +knowing of Berenice Fleming. +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all,” replied Cowperwood, sweetly. “You see how +things are. There’s no chance of our getting into Chicago society. +There’s too much financial opposition against me here. If we had a big +house in New York, such as I would build, it would be an introduction in +itself. After all, these Chicagoans aren’t even a snapper on the real +society whip. It’s the Easterners who set the pace, and the New-Yorkers +most of all. If you want to say the word, I can sell this place and we can live +down there, part of the time, anyhow. I could spend as much of my time with you +there as I have been doing here—perhaps more.” +</p> + +<p> +Because of her soul of vanity Aileen’s mind ran forward in spite of +herself to the wider opportunities which his words suggested. This house had +become a nightmare to her—a place of neglect and bad memories. Here she +had fought with Rita Sohlberg; here she had seen society come for a very little +while only to disappear; here she had waited this long time for the renewal of +Cowperwood’s love, which was now obviously never to be restored in its +original glamour. As he spoke she looked at him quizzically, almost sadly in +her great doubt. At the same time she could not help reflecting that in New +York where money counted for so much, and with Cowperwood’s great and +growing wealth and prestige behind her, she might hope to find herself socially +at last. “Nothing venture, nothing have” had always been her motto, +nailed to her mast, though her equipment for the life she now craved had never +been more than the veriest make-believe—painted wood and tinsel. Vain, +radiant, hopeful Aileen! Yet how was she to know? +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” she observed, finally. “Do as you like. I can +live down there as well as I can here, I presume—alone.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood knew the nature of her longings. He knew what was running in her +mind, and how futile were her dreams. Life had taught him how fortuitous must +be the circumstances which could enable a woman of Aileen’s handicaps and +defects to enter that cold upper world. Yet for all the courage of him, for the +very life of him, he could not tell her. He could not forget that once, behind +the grim bars in the penitentiary for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania, he +had cried on her shoulder. He could not be an ingrate and wound her with his +inmost thoughts any more than he could deceive himself. A New York mansion and +the dreams of social supremacy which she might there entertain would soothe her +ruffled vanity and assuage her disappointed heart; and at the same time he +would be nearer Berenice Fleming. Say what one will of these ferret windings of +the human mind, they are, nevertheless, true and characteristic of the average +human being, and Cowperwood was no exception. He saw it all, he calculated on +it—he calculated on the simple humanity of Aileen. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap46"></a>CHAPTER XLVI.<br/> +Depths and Heights</h2> + +<p> +The complications which had followed his various sentimental affairs left +Cowperwood in a quandary at times as to whether there could be any peace or +satisfaction outside of monogamy, after all. Although Mrs. Hand had gone to +Europe at the crisis of her affairs, she had returned to seek him out. Cecily +Haguenin found many opportunities of writing him letters and assuring him of +her undying affection. Florence Cochrane persisted in seeing or attempting to +see him even after his interest in her began to wane. For another thing Aileen, +owing to the complication and general degeneracy of her affairs, had recently +begun to drink. Owing to the failure of her affair with Lynde—for in +spite of her yielding she had never had any real heart interest in it—and +to the cavalier attitude with which Cowperwood took her disloyalty, she had +reached that state of speculative doldrums where the human animal turns upon +itself in bitter self-analysis; the end with the more sensitive or the less +durable is dissipation or even death. Woe to him who places his faith in +illusion—the only reality—and woe to him who does not. In one way +lies disillusion with its pain, in the other way regret. +</p> + +<p> +After Lynde’s departure for Europe, whither she had refused to follow +him, Aileen took up with a secondary personage by the name of Watson Skeet, a +sculptor. Unlike most artists, he was the solitary heir of the president of an +immense furniture-manufacturing company in which he refused to take any +interest. He had studied abroad, but had returned to Chicago with a view to +propagating art in the West. A large, blond, soft-fleshed man, he had a kind of +archaic naturalness and simplicity which appealed to Aileen. They had met at +the Rhees Griers’. Feeling herself neglected after Lynde’s +departure, and dreading loneliness above all things, Aileen became intimate +with Skeet, but to no intense mental satisfaction. That driving standard +within—that obsessing ideal which requires that all things be measured by +it—was still dominant. Who has not experienced the chilling memory of the +better thing? How it creeps over the spirit of one’s current dreams! Like +the specter at the banquet it stands, its substanceless eyes viewing with a sad +philosophy the makeshift feast. The what-might-have-been of her life with +Cowperwood walked side by side with her wherever she went. Once occasionally +indulging in cigarettes, she now smoked almost constantly. Once barely sipping +at wines, cocktails, brandy-and-soda, she now took to the latter, or, rather, +to a new whisky-and-soda combination known as “highball” with a +kind of vehemence which had little to do with a taste for the thing itself. +True, drinking is, after all, a state of mind, and not an appetite. She had +found on a number of occasions when she had been quarreling with Lynde or was +mentally depressed that in partaking of these drinks a sort of warm, +speculative indifference seized upon her. She was no longer so sad. She might +cry, but it was in a soft, rainy, relieving way. Her sorrows were as strange, +enticing figures in dreams. They moved about and around her, not as things +actually identical with her, but as ills which she could view at a distance. +Sometimes both she and they (for she saw herself also as in a kind of mirage or +inverted vision) seemed beings of another state, troubled, but not bitterly +painful. The old nepenthe of the bottle had seized upon her. After a few +accidental lapses, in which she found it acted as a solace or sedative, the +highball visioned itself to her as a resource. Why should she not drink if it +relieved her, as it actually did, of physical and mental pain? There were +apparently no bad after-effects. The whisky involved was diluted to an almost +watery state. It was her custom now when at home alone to go to the +butler’s pantry where the liquors were stored and prepare a drink for +herself, or to order a tray with a siphon and bottle placed in her room. +Cowperwood, noticing the persistence of its presence there and the fact that +she drank heavily at table, commented upon it. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re not taking too much of that, are you, Aileen?” he +questioned one evening, watching her drink down a tumbler of whisky and water +as she sat contemplating a pattern of needlework with which the table was +ornamented. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly I’m not,” she replied, irritably, a little flushed +and thick of tongue. “Why do you ask?” She herself had been +wondering whether in the course of time it might not have a depreciating effect +on her complexion. This was the only thing that still concerned her—her +beauty. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I see you have that bottle in your room all the time. I was +wondering if you might not be forgetting how much you are using it.” +</p> + +<p> +Because she was so sensitive he was trying to be tactful. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” she answered, crossly, “what if I am? It +wouldn’t make any particular difference if I did. I might as well drink +as do some other things that are done.” +</p> + +<p> +It was a kind of satisfaction to her to bait him in this way. His inquiry, +being a proof of continued interest on his part, was of some value. At least he +was not entirely indifferent to her. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you wouldn’t talk that way, Aileen,” he replied. +“I have no objection to your drinking some. I don’t suppose it +makes any difference to you now whether I object or not. But you are too +good-looking, too well set up physically, to begin that. You don’t need +it, and it’s such a short road to hell. Your state isn’t so bad. +Good heavens! many another woman has been in your position. I’m not going +to leave you unless you want to leave me. I’ve told you that over and +over. I’m just sorry people change—we all do. I suppose I’ve +changed some, but that’s no reason for your letting yourself go to +pieces. I wish you wouldn’t be desperate about this business. It may come +out better than you think in the long run.” +</p> + +<p> +He was merely talking to console her. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! oh! oh!” Aileen suddenly began to rock and cry in a foolish +drunken way, as though her heart would break, and Cowperwood got up. He was +horrified after a fashion. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, don’t come near me!” Aileen suddenly exclaimed, sobering +in an equally strange way. “I know why you come. I know how much you care +about me or my looks. Don’t you worry whether I drink or not. I’ll +drink if I please, or do anything else if I choose. If it helps me over my +difficulties, that’s my business, not yours,” and in defiance she +prepared another glass and drank it. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood shook his head, looking at her steadily and sorrowfully. +“It’s too bad, Aileen,” he said. “I don’t know +what to do about you exactly. You oughtn’t to go on this way. Whisky +won’t get you anywhere. It will simply ruin your looks and make you +miserable in the bargain.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, to hell with my looks!” she snapped. “A lot of good +they’ve done me.” And, feeling contentious and sad, she got up and +left the table. Cowperwood followed her after a time, only to see her dabbing +at her eyes and nose with powder. A half-filled glass of whisky and water was +on the dressing-table beside her. It gave him a strange feeling of +responsibility and helplessness. +</p> + +<p> +Mingled with his anxiety as to Aileen were thoughts of the alternate rise and +fall of his hopes in connection with Berenice. She was such a superior girl, +developing so definitely as an individual. To his satisfaction she had, on a +few recent occasions when he had seen her, unbent sufficiently to talk to him +in a friendly and even intimate way, for she was by no means hoity-toity, but a +thinking, reasoning being of the profoundest intellectual, or, rather, the +highest artistic tendencies. She was so care-free, living in a high and +solitary world, at times apparently enwrapt in thoughts serene, at other times +sharing vividly in the current interests of the social world of which she was a +part, and which she dignified as much as it dignified her. +</p> + +<p> +One Sunday morning at Pocono, in late June weather, when he had come East to +rest for a few days, and all was still and airy on the high ground which the +Carter cottage occupied, Berenice came out on the veranda where Cowperwood was +sitting, reading a fiscal report of one of his companies and meditating on his +affairs. By now they had become somewhat more sympatica than formerly, and +Berenice had an easy, genial way in his presence. She liked him, rather. With +an indescribable smile which wrinkled her nose and eyes, and played about the +corners of her mouth, she said: “Now I am going to catch a bird.” +</p> + +<p> +“A what?” asked Cowperwood, looking up and pretending he had not +heard, though he had. He was all eyes for any movement of hers. She was dressed +in a flouncy morning gown eminently suitable for the world in which she was +moving. +</p> + +<p> +“A bird,” she replied, with an airy toss of her head. “This +is June-time, and the sparrows are teaching their young to fly.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood, previously engrossed in financial speculations, was translated, as +by the wave of a fairy wand, into another realm where birds and fledglings and +grass and the light winds of heaven were more important than brick and stone +and stocks and bonds. He got up and followed her flowing steps across the grass +to where, near a clump of alder bushes, she had seen a mother sparrow enticing +a fledgling to take wing. From her room upstairs, she had been watching this +bit of outdoor sociology. It suddenly came to Cowperwood, with great force, how +comparatively unimportant in the great drift of life were his own affairs when +about him was operative all this splendid will to existence, as sensed by her. +He saw her stretch out her hands downward, and run in an airy, graceful way, +stooping here and there, while before her fluttered a baby sparrow, until +suddenly she dived quickly and then, turning, her face agleam, cried: +“See, I have him! He wants to fight, too! Oh, you little dear!” +</p> + +<p> +She was holding “him,” as she chose to characterize it, in the +hollow of her hand, the head between her thumb and forefinger, with the +forefinger of her free hand petting it the while she laughed and kissed it. It +was not so much bird-love as the artistry of life and of herself that was +moving her. Hearing the parent bird chirping distractedly from a nearby limb, +she turned and called: “Don’t make such a row! I +sha’n’t keep him long.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood laughed—trig in the morning sun. “You can scarcely blame +her,” he commented. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, she knows well enough I wouldn’t hurt him,” Berenice +replied, spiritedly, as though it were literally true. +</p> + +<p> +“Does she, indeed?” inquired Cowperwood. “Why do you say +that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because it’s true. Don’t you think they know when their +children are really in danger?” +</p> + +<p> +“But why should they?” persisted Cowperwood, charmed and interested +by the involute character of her logic. She was quite deceptive to him. He +could not be sure what she thought. +</p> + +<p> +She merely fixed him a moment with her cool, slate-blue eyes. “Do you +think the senses of the world are only five?” she asked, in the most +charming and non-reproachful way. “Indeed, they know well enough. She +knows.” She turned and waved a graceful hand in the direction of the +tree, where peace now reigned. The chirping had ceased. “She knows I am +not a cat.” +</p> + +<p> +Again that enticing, mocking smile that wrinkled her nose, her eye-corners, her +mouth. The word “cat” had a sharp, sweet sound in her mouth. It +seemed to be bitten off closely with force and airy spirit. Cowperwood surveyed +her as he would have surveyed the ablest person he knew. Here was a woman, he +saw, who could and would command the utmost reaches of his soul in every +direction. If he interested her at all, he would need them all. The eyes of her +were at once so elusive, so direct, so friendly, so cool and keen. “You +will have to be interesting, indeed, to interest me,” they seemed to say; +and yet they were by no means averse, apparently, to a hearty camaraderie. That +nose-wrinkling smile said as much. Here was by no means a Stephanie Platow, nor +yet a Rita Sohlberg. He could not assume her as he had Ella Hubby, or Florence +Cochrane, or Cecily Haguenin. Here was an iron individuality with a soul for +romance and art and philosophy and life. He could not take her as he had those +others. And yet Berenice was really beginning to think more than a little about +Cowperwood. He must be an extraordinary man; her mother said so, and the +newspapers were always mentioning his name and noting his movements. +</p> + +<p> +A little later, at Southampton, whither she and her mother had gone, they met +again. Together with a young man by the name of Greanelle, Cowperwood and +Berenice had gone into the sea to bathe. It was a wonderful afternoon. +</p> + +<p> +To the east and south and west spread the sea, a crinkling floor of blue, and +to their left, as they faced it, was a lovely outward-curving shore of tawny +sand. Studying Berenice in blue-silk bathing costume and shoes, Cowperwood had +been stung by the wonder of passing life—how youth comes in, ever fresh +and fresh, and age goes out. Here he was, long crowded years of conflict and +experience behind him, and yet this twenty-year-old girl, with her incisive +mind and keen tastes, was apparently as wise in matters of general import as +himself. He could find no flaw in her armor in those matters which they could +discuss. Her knowledge and comments were so ripe and sane, despite a tendency +to pose a little, which was quite within her rights. Because Greanelle had +bored her a little she had shunted him off and was amusing herself talking to +Cowperwood, who fascinated her by his compact individuality. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know,” she confided to him, on this occasion, “I get +so very tired of young men sometimes. They can be so inane. I do declare, they +are nothing more than shoes and ties and socks and canes strung together in +some unimaginable way. Vaughn Greanelle is for all the world like a +perambulating manikin to-day. He is just an English suit with a cane attached +walking about.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, bless my soul,” commented Cowperwood, “what an +indictment!” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s true,” she replied. “He knows nothing at all +except polo, and the latest swimming-stroke, and where everybody is, and who is +going to marry who. Isn’t it dull?” +</p> + +<p> +She tossed her head back and breathed as though to exhale the fumes of the dull +and the inane from her inmost being. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you tell him that?” inquired Cowperwood, curiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly I did.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t wonder he looks so solemn,” he said, turning and +looking back at Greanelle and Mrs. Carter; they were sitting side by side in +sand-chairs, the former beating the sand with his toes. “You’re a +curious girl, Berenice,” he went on, familiarly. “You are so direct +and vital at times. +</p> + +<p> +“Not any more than you are, from all I can hear,” she replied, +fixing him with those steady eyes. “Anyhow, why should I be bored? He is +so dull. He follows me around out here all the time, and I don’t want +him.” +</p> + +<p> +She tossed her head and began to run up the beach to where bathers were fewer +and fewer, looking back at Cowperwood as if to say, “Why don’t you +follow?” He developed a burst of enthusiasm and ran quite briskly, +overtaking her near some shallows where, because of a sandbar offshore, the +waters were thin and bright. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, look!” exclaimed Berenice, when he came up. “See, the +fish! O-oh!” +</p> + +<p> +She dashed in to where a few feet offshore a small school of minnows as large +as sardines were playing, silvery in the sun. She ran as she had for the bird, +doing her best to frighten them into a neighboring pocket or pool farther up on +the shore. Cowperwood, as gay as a boy of ten, joined in the chase. He raced +after them briskly, losing one school, but pocketing another a little farther +on and calling to her to come. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” exclaimed Berenice at one point. “Here they are now. +Come quick! Drive them in here!” +</p> + +<p> +Her hair was blowy, her face a keen pink, her eyes an electric blue by +contrast. She was bending low over the water—Cowperwood also—their +hands outstretched, the fish, some five in all, nervously dancing before them +in their efforts to escape. All at once, having forced them into a corner, they +dived; Berenice actually caught one. Cowperwood missed by a fraction, but drove +the fish she did catch into her hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” she exclaimed, jumping up, “how wonderful! It’s +alive. I caught it.” +</p> + +<p> +She danced up and down, and Cowperwood, standing before her, was sobered by her +charm. He felt an impulse to speak to her of his affection, to tell her how +delicious she was to him. +</p> + +<p> +“You,” he said, pausing over the word and giving it special +emphasis—“you are the only thing here that is wonderful to +me.” +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him a moment, the live fish in her extended hands, her eyes +keying to the situation. For the least fraction of a moment she was uncertain, +as he could see, how to take this. Many men had been approximative before. It +was common to have compliments paid to her. But this was different. She said +nothing, but fixed him with a look which said quite plainly, “You had +better not say anything more just now, I think.” Then, seeing that he +understood, that his manner softened, and that he was troubled, she crinkled +her nose gaily and added: “It’s like fairyland. I feel as though I +had caught it out of another world.” Cowperwood understood. The direct +approach was not for use in her case; and yet there was something, a +camaraderie, a sympathy which he felt and which she felt. A girls’ +school, conventions, the need of socially placing herself, her conservative +friends, and their viewpoint—all were working here. If he were only +single now, she told herself, she would be willing to listen to him in a very +different spirit, for he was charming. But this way— And he, for his +part, concluded that here was one woman whom he would gladly marry if she would +have him. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap47"></a>CHAPTER XLVII.<br/> +American Match</h2> + +<p> +Following Cowperwood’s coup in securing cash by means of his seeming gift +of three hundred thousand dollars for a telescope his enemies rested for a +time, but only because of a lack of ideas wherewith to destroy him. Public +sentiment—created by the newspapers—was still against him. Yet his +franchises had still from eight to ten years to run, and meanwhile he might +make himself unassailably powerful. For the present he was busy, surrounded by +his engineers and managers and legal advisers, constructing his several +elevated lines at a whirlwind rate. At the same time, through Videra, Kaffrath, +and Addison, he was effecting a scheme of loaning money on call to the local +Chicago banks—the very banks which were most opposed to him—so that +in a crisis he could retaliate. By manipulating the vast quantity of stocks and +bonds of which he was now the master he was making money hand over fist, his +one rule being that six per cent. was enough to pay any holder who had merely +purchased his stock as an outsider. It was most profitable to himself. When his +stocks earned more than that he issued new ones, selling them on ’change +and pocketing the difference. Out of the cash-drawers of his various companies +he took immense sums, temporary loans, as it were, which later he had charged +by his humble servitors to “construction,” “equipment,” +or “operation.” He was like a canny wolf prowling in a forest of +trees of his own creation. +</p> + +<p> +The weak note in this whole project of elevated lines was that for some time it +was destined to be unprofitable. Its very competition tended to weaken the +value of his surface-line companies. His holdings in these as well as in +elevated-road shares were immense. If anything happened to cause them to fall +in price immense numbers of these same stocks held by others would be thrown on +the market, thus still further depreciating their value and compelling him to +come into the market and buy. With the most painstaking care he began at once +to pile up a reserve in government bonds for emergency purposes, which he +decided should be not less than eight or nine million dollars, for he feared +financial storms as well as financial reprisal, and where so much was at stake +he did not propose to be caught napping. +</p> + +<p> +At the time that Cowperwood first entered on elevated-road construction there +was no evidence that any severe depression in the American money-market was +imminent. But it was not long before a new difficulty began to appear. It was +now the day of the trust in all its watery magnificence. Coal, iron, steel, +oil, machinery, and a score of other commercial necessities had already been +“trustified,” and others, such as leather, shoes, cordage, and the +like, were, almost hourly, being brought under the control of shrewd and +ruthless men. Already in Chicago Schryhart, Hand, Arneel, Merrill, and a score +of others were seeing their way to amazing profits by underwriting these +ventures which required ready cash, and to which lesser magnates, content with +a portion of the leavings of Dives’s table, were glad to bring to their +attention. On the other hand, in the nation at large there was growing up a +feeling that at the top there were a set of giants—Titans—who, +without heart or soul, and without any understanding of or sympathy with the +condition of the rank and file, were setting forth to enchain and enslave them. +The vast mass, writhing in ignorance and poverty, finally turned with pathetic +fury to the cure-all of a political leader in the West. This latter prophet, +seeing gold becoming scarcer and scarcer and the cash and credits of the land +falling into the hands of a few who were manipulating them for their own +benefit, had decided that what was needed was a greater volume of currency, so +that credits would be easier and money cheaper to come by in the matter of +interest. Silver, of which there was a superabundance in the mines, was to be +coined at the ratio of sixteen dollars of silver for every one of gold in +circulation, and the parity of the two metals maintained by fiat of government. +Never again should the few be able to make a weapon of the people’s +medium of exchange in order to bring about their undoing. There was to be ample +money, far beyond the control of central banks and the men in power over them. +It was a splendid dream worthy of a charitable heart, but because of it a +disturbing war for political control of the government was shortly threatened +and soon began. The money element, sensing the danger of change involved in the +theories of the new political leader, began to fight him and the element in the +Democratic party which he represented. The rank and file of both +parties—the more or less hungry and thirsty who lie ever at the bottom on +both sides—hailed him as a heaven-sent deliverer, a new Moses come to +lead them out of the wilderness of poverty and distress. Woe to the political +leader who preaches a new doctrine of deliverance, and who, out of tenderness +of heart, offers a panacea for human ills. His truly shall be a crown of +thorns. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood, no less than other men of wealth, was opposed to what he deemed a +crack-brained idea—that of maintaining a parity between gold and silver +by law. Confiscation was his word for it—the confiscation of the wealth +of the few for the benefit of the many. Most of all was he opposed to it +because he feared that this unrest, which was obviously growing, foreshadowed a +class war in which investors would run to cover and money be locked in +strong-boxes. At once he began to shorten sail, to invest only in the soundest +securities, and to convert all his weaker ones into cash. +</p> + +<p> +To meet current emergencies, however, he was compelled to borrow heavily here +and there, and in doing so he was quick to note that those banks representing +his enemies in Chicago and elsewhere were willing to accept his various stocks +as collateral, providing he would accept loans subject to call. He did so +gladly, at the same time suspecting Hand, Schryhart, Arneel, and Merrill of +some scheme to wreck him, providing they could get him where the calling of his +loans suddenly and in concert would financially embarrass him. “I think I +know what that crew are up to,” he once observed to Addison, at this +period. “Well, they will have to rise very early in the morning if they +catch me napping.” +</p> + +<p> +The thing that he suspected was really true. Schryhart, Hand, and Arneel, +watching him through their agents and brokers, had soon discovered—in the +very earliest phases of the silver agitation and before the real storm +broke—that he was borrowing in New York, in London, in certain quarters +of Chicago, and elsewhere. “It looks to me,” said Schryhart, one +day, to his friend Arneel, “as if our friend has gotten in a little too +deep. He has overreached himself. These elevated-road schemes of his have eaten +up too much capital. There is another election coming on next fall, and he +knows we are going to fight tooth and nail. He needs money to electrify his +surface lines. If we could trace out exactly where he stands, and where he has +borrowed, we might know what to do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Unless I am greatly mistaken,” replied Arneel, “he is in a +tight place or is rapidly getting there. This silver agitation is beginning to +weaken stocks and tighten money. I suggest that our banks here loan him all the +money he wants on call. When the time comes, if he isn’t ready, we can +shut him up tighter than a drum. If we can pick up any other loans he’s +made anywhere else, well and good.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Arneel said this without a shadow of bitterness or humor. In some tight +hour, perhaps, now fast approaching, Mr. Cowperwood would be promised +salvation—“saved” on condition that he should leave Chicago +forever. There were those who would take over his property in the interest of +the city and upright government and administer it accordingly. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Unfortunately, at this very time Messrs. Hand, Schryhart, and Arneel were +themselves concerned in a little venture to which the threatened silver +agitation could bode nothing but ill. This concerned so simple a thing as +matches, a commodity which at this time, along with many others, had been +trustified and was yielding a fine profit. “American Match” was a +stock which was already listed on every exchange and which was selling steadily +around one hundred and twenty. +</p> + +<p> +The geniuses who had first planned a combination of all match concerns and a +monopoly of the trade in America were two men, Messrs. Hull and +Stackpole—bankers and brokers, primarily. Mr. Phineas Hull was a small, +ferret-like, calculating man with a sparse growth of dusty-brown hair and an +eyelid, the right one, which was partially paralyzed and drooped heavily, +giving him a characterful and yet at times a sinister expression. +</p> + +<p> +His partner, Mr. Benoni Stackpole, had been once a stage-driver in Arkansas, +and later a horse-trader. He was a man of great force and +calculation—large, oleaginous, politic, and courageous. Without the +ultimate brain capacity of such men as Arneel, Hand, and Merrill, he was, +nevertheless, resourceful and able. He had started somewhat late in the race +for wealth, but now, with all his strength, he was endeavoring to bring to +fruition this plan which, with the aid of Hull, he had formulated. Inspired by +the thought of great wealth, they had first secured control of the stock of one +match company, and had then put themselves in a position to bargain with the +owners of others. The patents and processes controlled by one company and +another had been combined, and the field had been broadened as much as +possible. +</p> + +<p> +But to do all this a great deal of money had been required, much more than was +in possession of either Hull or Stackpole. Both of them being Western men, they +looked first to Western capital. Hand, Schryhart, Arneel, and Merrill were in +turn appealed to, and great blocks of the new stock were sold to them at inside +figures. By the means thus afforded the combination proceeded apace. Patents +for exclusive processes were taken over from all sides, and the idea of +invading Europe and eventually controlling the market of the world had its +inception. At the same time it occurred to each and all of their lordly patrons +that it would be a splendid thing if the stock they had purchased at +forty-five, and which was now selling in open market at one hundred and twenty, +should go to three hundred, where, if these monopolistic dreams were true, it +properly belonged. A little more of this stock—the destiny of which at +this time seemed sure and splendid—would not be amiss. And so there began +a quiet campaign on the part of each capitalist to gather enough of it to +realize a true fortune on the rise. +</p> + +<p> +A game of this kind is never played with the remainder of the financial +community entirely unaware of what is on foot. In the inner circles of +brokerage life rumors were soon abroad that a tremendous boom was in store for +American Match. Cowperwood heard of it through Addison, always at the center of +financial rumor, and the two of them bought heavily, though not so heavily but +that they could clear out at any time with at least a slight margin in their +favor. During a period of eight months the stock slowly moved upward, finally +crossing the two-hundred mark and reaching two-twenty, at which figure both +Addison and Cowperwood sold, realizing nearly a million between them on their +investment. +</p> + +<p> +In the mean time the foreshadowed political storm was brewing. At first a cloud +no larger than a man’s hand, it matured swiftly in the late months of +1895, and by the spring of 1896 it had become portentous and was ready to +burst. With the climacteric nomination of the “Apostle of Free +Silver” for President of the United States, which followed in July, a +chill settled down over the conservative and financial elements of the country. +What Cowperwood had wisely proceeded to do months before, others less +far-seeing, from Maine to California and from the Gulf to Canada, began to do +now. Bank-deposits were in part withdrawn; feeble or uncertain securities were +thrown upon the market. All at once Schryhart, Arneel, Hand, and Merrill +realized that they were in more or less of a trap in regard to their large +holdings in American Match. Having gathered vast quantities of this stock, +which had been issued in blocks of millions, it was now necessary to sustain +the market or sell at a loss. Since money was needed by many holders, and this +stock was selling at two-twenty, telegraphic orders began to pour in from all +parts of the country to sell on the Chicago Exchange, where the deal was being +engineered and where the market obviously existed. All of the instigators of +the deal conferred, and decided to sustain the market. Messrs. Hull and +Stackpole, being the nominal heads of the trust, were delegated to buy, they in +turn calling on the principal investors to take their share, pro rata. Hand, +Schryhart, Arneel, and Merrill, weighted with this inpouring flood of stock, +which they had to take at two-twenty, hurried to their favorite banks, +hypothecating vast quantities at one-fifty and over, and using the money so +obtained to take care of the additional shares which they were compelled to +buy. +</p> + +<p> +At last, however, their favorite banks were full to overflowing and at the +danger-point. They could take no more. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, no!” Hand declared to Phineas Hull over the ’phone. +“I can’t risk another dollar in this venture, and I won’t! +It’s a perfect proposition. I realize all its merits just as well as you +do. But enough is enough. I tell you a financial slump is coming. That’s +the reason all this stock is coming out now. I am willing to protect my +interests in this thing up to a certain point. As I told you, I agree not to +throw a single share on the market of all that I now have. But more than that I +cannot do. The other gentlemen in this agreement will have to protect +themselves as best they can. I have other things to look out for that are just +as important to me, and more so, than American Match.” +</p> + +<p> +It was the same with Mr. Schryhart, who, stroking a crisp, black mustache, was +wondering whether he had not better throw over what holdings he had and clear +out; however, he feared the rage of Hand and Arneel for breaking the market and +thus bringing on a local panic. It was risky business. Arneel and Merrill +finally agreed to hold firm to what they had; but, as they told Mr. Hull, +nothing could induce them to “protect” another share, come what +might. +</p> + +<p> +In this crisis naturally Messrs. Hull and Stackpole—estimable gentlemen +both—were greatly depressed. By no means so wealthy as their lofty +patrons, their private fortunes were in much greater jeopardy. They were eager +to make any port in so black a storm. Witness, then, the arrival of Benoni +Stackpole at the office of Frank Algernon Cowperwood. He was at the end of his +tether, and Cowperwood was the only really rich man in the city not yet +involved in this speculation. In the beginning he had heard both Hand and +Schryhart say that they did not care to become involved if Cowperwood was in +any way, shape, or manner to be included, but that had been over a year ago, +and Schryhart and Hand were now, as it were, leaving both him and his partner +to their fates. They could have no objection to his dealing with Cowperwood in +this crisis if he could make sure that the magnate would not sell him out. Mr. +Stackpole was six feet one in his socks and weighed two hundred and thirty +pounds. Clad in a brown linen suit and straw hat (for it was late July), he +carried a palm-leaf fan as well as his troublesome stocks in a small yellow +leather bag. He was wet with perspiration and in a gloomy state of mind. +Failure was staring him in the face—giant failure. If American Match fell +below two hundred he would have to close his doors as banker and broker and, in +view of what he was carrying, he and Hull would fail for approximately twenty +million dollars. Messrs. Hand, Schryhart, Arneel, and Merrill would lose in the +neighborhood of six or eight millions between them. The local banks would +suffer in proportion, though not nearly so severely, for, loaning at one-fifty, +they would only sacrifice the difference between that and the lowest point to +which the stock might fall. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood eyed the new-comer, when he entered, with an equivocal eye, for he +knew well now what was coming. Only a few days before he had predicted an +eventual smash to Addison. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Cowperwood,” began Stackpole, “in this bag I have +fifteen thousand shares of American Match, par value one million five hundred +thousand dollars, market value three million three hundred thousand at this +moment, and worth every cent of three hundred dollars a share and more. I +don’t know how closely you have been following the developments of +American Match. We own all the patents on labor-saving machines and, +what’s more, we’re just about to close contracts with Italy and +France to lease our machines and processes to them for pretty nearly one +million dollars a year each. We’re dickering with Austria and England, +and of course we’ll take up other countries later. The American Match +Company will yet make matches for the whole world, whether I’m connected +with it or not. This silver agitation has caught us right in mid-ocean, and +we’re having a little trouble weathering the storm. I’m a perfectly +frank man when it comes to close business relations of this kind, and I’m +going to tell you just how things stand. If we can scull over this rough place +that has come up on account of the silver agitation our stock will go to three +hundred before the first of the year. Now, if you want to take it you can have +it outright at one hundred and fifty dollars—that is, providing +you’ll agree not to throw any of it back on the market before next +December; or, if you won’t promise that” (he paused to see if by +any chance he could read Cowperwood’s inscrutable face) “I want you +to loan me one hundred and fifty dollars a share on these for thirty days at +least at ten or fifteen, or whatever rate you care to fix.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood interlocked his fingers and twiddled his thumbs as he contemplated +this latest evidence of earthly difficulty and uncertainty. Time and chance +certainly happened to all men, and here was one opportunity of paying out those +who had been nagging him. To take this stock at one-fifty on loan and peddle it +out swiftly and fully at two-twenty or less would bring American Match +crumbling about their ears. When it was selling at one-fifty or less he could +buy it back, pocket his profit, complete his deal with Mr. Stackpole, pocket +his interest, and smile like the well-fed cat in the fable. It was as simple as +twiddling his thumbs, which he was now doing. +</p> + +<p> +“Who has been backing this stock here in Chicago besides yourself and Mr. +Hull?” he asked, pleasantly. “I think that I already know, but I +should like to be certain if you have no objection.” +</p> + +<p> +“None in the least, none in the least,” replied Mr. Stackpole, +accommodatingly. “Mr. Hand, Mr. Schryhart, Mr. Arneel, and Mr. +Merrill.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is what I thought,” commented Cowperwood, easily. “They +can’t take this up for you? Is that it? Saturated?” +</p> + +<p> +“Saturated,” agreed Mr. Stackpole, dully. “But there’s +one thing I’d have to stipulate in accepting a loan on these. Not a share +must be thrown on the market, or, at least, not before I have failed to respond +to your call. I have understood that there is a little feeling between you and +Mr. Hand and the other gentlemen I have mentioned. But, as I say—and +I’m talking perfectly frankly now—I’m in a corner, and +it’s any port in a storm. If you want to help me I’ll make the best +terms I can, and I won’t forget the favor.” +</p> + +<p> +He opened the bag and began to take out the securities—long +greenish-yellow bundles, tightly gripped in the center by thick elastic bands. +They were in bundles of one thousand shares each. Since Stackpole half +proffered them to him, Cowperwood took them in one hand and lightly weighed +them up and down. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry, Mr. Stackpole,” he said, sympathetically, after a +moment of apparent reflection, “but I cannot possibly help you in this +matter. I’m too involved in other things myself, and I do not often +indulge in stock-peculations of any kind. I have no particular malice toward +any one of the gentlemen you mention. I do not trouble to dislike all who +dislike me. I might, of course, if I chose, take these stocks and pay them out +and throw them on the market to-morrow, but I have no desire to do anything of +the sort. I only wish I could help you, and if I thought I could carry them +safely for three or four months I would. As it is—” He lifted his +eyebrows sympathetically. “Have you tried all the bankers in town?” +</p> + +<p> +“Practically every one.” +</p> + +<p> +“And they can’t help you?” +</p> + +<p> +“They are carrying all they can stand now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Too bad. I’m sorry, very. By the way, do you happen, by any +chance, to know Mr. Millard Bailey or Mr. Edwin Kaffrath?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I don’t,” replied Stackpole, hopefully. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, now, there are two men who are much richer than is generally +supposed. They often have very large sums at their disposal. You might look +them up on a chance. Then there’s my friend Videra. I don’t know +how he is fixed at present. You can always find him at the Twelfth Ward Bank. +He might be inclined to take a good portion of that—I don’t know. +He’s much better off than most people seem to think. I wonder you +haven’t been directed to some one of these men before.” (As a +matter of fact, no one of the individuals in question would have been +interested to take a dollar of this loan except on Cowperwood’s order, +but Stackpole had no reason for knowing this. They were not prominently +identified with the magnate.) +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you very much. I will,” observed Stackpole, restoring his +undesired stocks to his bag. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood, with an admirable show of courtesy, called a stenographer, and +pretended to secure for his guest the home addresses of these gentlemen. He +then bade Mr. Stackpole an encouraging farewell. The distrait promoter at once +decided to try not only Bailey and Kaffrath, but Videra; but even as he drove +toward the office of the first-mentioned Cowperwood was personally busy +reaching him by telephone. +</p> + +<p> +“I say, Bailey,” he called, when he had secured the wealthy +lumberman on the wire, “Benoni Stackpole, of Hull & Stackpole, was +here to see me just now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“He has with him fifteen thousand shares of American Match—par +value one hundred, market value to-day two-twenty.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“He is trying to hypothecate the lot or any part of it at +one-fifty.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“You know what the trouble with American Match is, don’t +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. I only know it’s being driven up to where it is now by a bull +campaign.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, listen to me. It’s going to break. American Match is going +to bust.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I want you to loan this man five hundred thousand dollars at +one-twenty or less and then recommend that he go to Edwin Kaffrath or Anton +Videra for the balance.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, Frank, I haven’t any five hundred thousand to spare. You say +American Match is going to bust.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know you haven’t, but draw the check on the Chicago Trust, and +Addison will honor it. Send the stock to me and forget all about it. I will do +the rest. But under no circumstances mention my name, and don’t appear +too eager. Not more than one-twenty at the outside, do you hear? and less if +you can get it. You recognize my voice, do you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perfectly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Drive over afterward if you have time and let me know what +happens.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good,” commented Mr. Bailey, in a businesslike way. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood next called for Mr. Kaffrath. Conversing to similar effect with that +individual and with Videra, before three-quarters of an hour Cowperwood had +arranged completely for Mr. Stackpole’s tour. He was to have his total +loan at one-twenty or less. Checks were to be forthcoming at once. Different +banks were to be drawn on—banks other than the Chicago Trust Company. +Cowperwood would see, in some roundabout way, that these checks were promptly +honored, whether the cash was there or not. In each case the hypothecated +stocks were to be sent to him. Then, having seen to the perfecting of this +little programme, and that the banks to be drawn upon in this connection +understood perfectly that the checks in question were guaranteed by him or +others, he sat down to await the arrival of his henchmen and the turning of the +stock into his private safe. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap48"></a>CHAPTER XLVIII.<br/> +Panic</h2> + +<p> +On August 4, 1896, the city of Chicago, and for that matter the entire +financial world, was startled and amazed by the collapse of American Match, one +of the strongest of market securities, and the coincident failure of Messrs. +Hull and Stackpole, its ostensible promoters, for twenty millions. As early as +eleven o’clock of the preceding day the banking and brokerage world of +Chicago, trading in this stock, was fully aware that something untoward was on +foot in connection with it. Owing to the high price at which the stock was +“protected,” and the need of money to liquidate, blocks of this +stock from all parts of the country were being rushed to the market with the +hope of realizing before the ultimate break. About the stock-exchange, which +frowned like a gray fortress at the foot of La Salle Street, all was +excitement—as though a giant anthill had been ruthlessly disturbed. +Clerks and messengers hurried to and fro in confused and apparently aimless +directions. Brokers whose supply of American Match had been apparently +exhausted on the previous day now appeared on ’change bright and early, +and at the clang of the gong began to offer the stock in sizable lots of from +two hundred to five hundred shares. The agents of Hull & Stackpole were in +the market, of course, in the front rank of the scrambling, yelling throng, +taking up whatever stock appeared at the price they were hoping to maintain. +The two promoters were in touch by ’phone and wire not only with those +various important personages whom they had induced to enter upon this bull +campaign, but with their various clerks and agents on ’change. Naturally, +under the circumstances both were in a gloomy frame of mind. This game was no +longer moving in those large, easy sweeps which characterize the more favorable +aspects of high finance. Sad to relate, as in all the troubled flumes of life +where vast currents are compressed in narrow, tortuous spaces, these two men +were now concerned chiefly with the momentary care of small but none the less +heartbreaking burdens. Where to find fifty thousand to take care of this or +that burden of stock which was momentarily falling upon them? They were as two +men called upon, with their limited hands and strength, to seal up the +ever-increasing crevices of a dike beyond which raged a mountainous and +destructive sea. +</p> + +<p> +At eleven o’clock Mr. Phineas Hull rose from the chair which sat before +his solid mahogany desk, and confronted his partner. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you, Ben,” he said, “I’m afraid we +can’t make this. We’ve hypothecated so much of this stock around +town that we can’t possibly tell who’s doing what. I know as well +as I’m standing on this floor that some one, I can’t say which one, +is selling us out. You don’t suppose it could be Cowperwood or any of +those people he sent to us, do you?” +</p> + +<p> +Stackpole, worn by his experiences of the past few weeks, was inclined to be +irritable. +</p> + +<p> +“How should I know, Phineas?” he inquired, scowling in troubled +thought. “I don’t think so. I didn’t notice any signs that +they were interested in stock-gambling. Anyhow, we had to have the money in +some form. Any one of the whole crowd is apt to get frightened now at any +moment and throw the whole thing over. We’re in a tight place, +that’s plain.” +</p> + +<p> +For the fortieth time he plucked at a too-tight collar and pulled up his +shirt-sleeves, for it was stifling, and he was coatless and waistcoatless. Just +then Mr. Hull’s telephone bell rang—the one connecting with the +firm’s private office on ’change, and the latter jumped to seize +the receiver. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” he inquired, irritably. +</p> + +<p> +“Two thousand shares of American offered at two-twenty! Shall I take +them?” +</p> + +<p> +The man who was ’phoning was in sight of another man who stood at the +railing of the brokers’ gallery overlooking “the pit,” or +central room of the stock-exchange, and who instantly transferred any sign he +might receive to the man on the floor. So Mr. Hull’s “yea” or +“nay” would be almost instantly transmuted into a cash transaction +on ’change. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you think of that?” asked Hull of Stackpole, putting his +hand over the receiver’s mouth, his right eyelid drooping heavier than +ever. “Two thousand more to take up! Where d’you suppose they are +coming from? Tch!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, the bottom’s out, that’s all,” replied +Stackpole, heavily and gutturally. “We can’t do what we can’t +do. I say this, though: support it at two-twenty until three o’clock. +Then we’ll figure up where we stand and what we owe. And meanwhile +I’ll see what I can do. If the banks won’t help us and Arneel and +that crowd want to get from under, we’ll fail, that’s all; but not +before I’ve had one more try, by Jericho! They may not help us, +but—” +</p> + +<p> +Actually Mr. Stackpole did not see what was to be done unless Messrs. Hand, +Schryhart, Merrill, and Arneel were willing to risk much more money, but it +grieved and angered him to think he and Hull should be thus left to sink +without a sigh. He had tried Kaffrath, Videra, and Bailey, but they were +adamant. Thus cogitating, Stackpole put on his wide-brimmed straw hat and went +out. It was nearly ninety-six in the shade. The granite and asphalt pavements +of the down-town district reflected a dry, Turkish-bath-room heat. There was no +air to speak of. The sky was a burning, milky blue, with the sun gleaming +feverishly upon the upper walls of the tall buildings. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Hand, in his seventh-story suite of offices in the Rookery Building, was +suffering from the heat, but much more from mental perturbation. Though not a +stingy or penurious man, it was still true that of all earthly things he +suffered most from a financial loss. How often had he seen chance or +miscalculation sweep apparently strong and valiant men into the limbo of the +useless and forgotten! Since the alienation of his wife’s affections by +Cowperwood, he had scarcely any interest in the world outside his large +financial holdings, which included profitable investments in a half-hundred +companies. But they must pay, pay, pay heavily in interest—all of +them—and the thought that one of them might become a failure or a drain +on his resources was enough to give him an almost physical sensation of +dissatisfaction and unrest, a sort of spiritual and mental nausea which would +cling to him for days and days or until he had surmounted the difficulty. Mr. +Hand had no least corner in his heart for failure. +</p> + +<p> +As a matter of fact, the situation in regard to American Match had reached such +proportions as to be almost numbing. Aside from the fifteen thousand shares +which Messrs. Hull and Stackpole had originally set aside for themselves, Hand, +Arneel, Schryhart, and Merrill had purchased five thousand shares each at +forty, but had since been compelled to sustain the market to the extent of over +five thousand shares more each, at prices ranging from one-twenty to +two-twenty, the largest blocks of shares having been bought at the latter +figure. Actually Hand was caught for nearly one million five hundred thousand +dollars, and his soul was as gray as a bat’s wing. At fifty-seven years +of age men who are used only to the most successful financial calculations and +the credit that goes with unerring judgment dread to be made a mark by chance +or fate. It opens the way for comment on their possibly failing vitality or +judgment. And so Mr. Hand sat on this hot August afternoon, ensconced in a +large carved mahogany chair in the inner recesses of his inner offices, and +brooded. Only this morning, in the face of a falling market, he would have sold +out openly had he not been deterred by telephone messages from Arneel and +Schryhart suggesting the advisability of a pool conference before any action +was taken. Come what might on the morrow, he was determined to quit unless he +saw some clear way out—to be shut of the whole thing unless the ingenuity +of Stackpole and Hull should discover a way of sustaining the market without +his aid. While he was meditating on how this was to be done Mr. Stackpole +appeared, pale, gloomy, wet with perspiration. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Mr. Hand,” he exclaimed, wearily, “I’ve done all +I can. Hull and I have kept the market fairly stable so far. You saw what +happened between ten and eleven this morning. The jig’s up. We’ve +borrowed our last dollar and hypothecated our last share. My personal fortune +has gone into the balance, and so has Hull’s. Some one of the outside +stockholders, or all of them, are cutting the ground from under us. Fourteen +thousand shares since ten o’clock this morning! That tells the story. It +can’t be done just now—not unless you gentlemen are prepared to go +much further than you have yet gone. If we could organize a pool to take care +of fifteen thousand more shares—” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Stackpole paused, for Mr. Hand was holding up a fat, pink digit. +</p> + +<p> +“No more of that,” he was saying, solemnly. “It can’t +be done. I, for one, won’t sink another dollar in this proposition at +this time. I’d rather throw what I have on the market and take what I can +get. I am sure the others feel the same way.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Hand, to play safe, had hypothecated nearly all his shares with various +banks in order to release his money for other purposes, and he knew he would +not dare to throw over all his holdings, just as he knew he would have to make +good at the figure at which they had been margined. But it was a fine threat to +make. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Stackpole stared ox-like at Mr. Hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” he said, “I might as well go back, then, and +post a notice on our front door. We bought fourteen thousand shares and held +the market where it is, but we haven’t a dollar to pay for them with. +Unless the banks or some one will take them over for us we’re +gone—we’re bankrupt.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Hand, who knew that if Mr. Stackpole carried out this decision it meant the +loss of his one million five hundred thousand, halted mentally. “Have you +been to all the banks?” he asked. “What does Lawrence, of the +Prairie National, have to say?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s the same with all of them,” replied Stackpole, now +quite desperate, “as it is with you. They have all they can +carry—every one. It’s this damned silver +agitation—that’s it, and nothing else. There’s nothing the +matter with this stock. It will right itself in a few months. It’s sure +to.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will it?” commented Mr. Hand, sourly. “That depends on what +happens next November.” (He was referring to the coming national +election.) +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I know,” sighed Mr. Stackpole, seeing that it was a +condition, and not a theory, that confronted him. Then, suddenly clenching his +right hand, he exclaimed, “Damn that upstart!” (He was thinking of +the “Apostle of Free Silver.”) “He’s the cause of all +this. Well, if there’s nothing to be done I might as well be going. +There’s all those shares we bought to-day which we ought to be able to +hypothecate with somebody. It would be something if we could get even a hundred +and twenty on them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very true,” replied Hand. “I wish it could be done. I, +personally, cannot sink any more money. But why don’t you go and see +Schryhart and Arneel? I’ve been talking to them, and they seem to be in a +position similar to my own; but if they are willing to confer, I am. I +don’t see what’s to be done, but it may be that all of us together +might arrange some way of heading off the slaughter of the stock to-morrow. I +don’t know. If only we don’t have to suffer too great a +decline.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Hand was thinking that Messrs. Hull and Stackpole might be forced to part +with all their remaining holdings at fifty cents on the dollar or less. Then if +it could possibly be taken and carried by the united banks for them (Schryhart, +himself, Arneel) and sold at a profit later, he and his associates might recoup +some of their losses. The local banks at the behest of the big quadrumvirate +might be coerced into straining their resources still further. But how was this +to be done? How, indeed? +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +It was Schryhart who, in pumping and digging at Stackpole when he finally +arrived there, managed to extract from him the truth in regard to his visit to +Cowperwood. As a matter of fact, Schryhart himself had been guilty this very +day of having thrown two thousand shares of American Match on the market +unknown to his confreres. Naturally, he was eager to learn whether Stackpole or +any one else had the least suspicion that he was involved. As a consequence he +questioned Stackpole closely, and the latter, being anxious as to the outcome +of his own interests, was not unwilling to make a clean breast. He had the +justification in his own mind that the quadrumvirate had been ready to desert +him anyhow. +</p> + +<p> +“Why did you go to him?” exclaimed Schryhart, professing to be +greatly astonished and annoyed, as, indeed, in one sense he was. “I +thought we had a distinct understanding in the beginning that under no +circumstances was he to be included in any portion of this. You might as well +go to the devil himself for assistance as go there.” At the same time he +was thinking “How fortunate!” Here was not only a loophole for +himself in connection with his own subtle side-plays, but also, if the +quadrumvirate desired, an excuse for deserting the troublesome fortunes of Hull +& Stackpole. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, the truth is,” replied Stackpole, somewhat sheepishly and +yet defiantly, “last Thursday I had fifteen thousand shares on which I +had to raise money. Neither you nor any of the others wanted any more. The +banks wouldn’t take them. I called up Rambaud on a chance, and he +suggested Cowperwood.” +</p> + +<p> +As has been related, Stackpole had really gone to Cowperwood direct, but a lie +under the circumstances seemed rather essential. +</p> + +<p> +“Rambaud!” sneered Schryhart. “Cowperwood’s +man—he and all the others. You couldn’t have gone to a worse crowd +if you had tried. So that’s where this stock is coming from, beyond a +doubt. That fellow or his friends are selling us out. You might have known +he’d do it. He hates us. So you’re through, are you?—not +another single trick to turn?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not one,” replied Stackpole, solemnly. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that’s too bad. You have acted most unwisely in going to +Cowperwood; but we shall have to see what can be done.” +</p> + +<p> +Schryhart’s idea, like that of Hand, was to cause Hull & Stackpole to +relinquish all their holdings for nothing to the banks in order that, under +pressure, the latter might carry the stocks he and the others had hypothecated +with them until such a time as the company might be organized at a profit. At +the same time he was intensely resentful against Cowperwood for having by any +fluke of circumstance reaped so large a profit as he must have done. Plainly, +the present crisis had something to do with him. Schryhart was quick to call up +Hand and Arneel, after Stackpole had gone, suggesting a conference, and +together, an hour later, at Arneel’s office, they foregathered along with +Merrill to discuss this new and very interesting development. As a matter of +fact, during the course of the afternoon all of these gentlemen had been +growing more and more uneasy. Not that between them they were not eminently +capable of taking care of their own losses, but the sympathetic effect of such +a failure as this (twenty million dollars), to say nothing of its reaction upon +the honor of themselves and the city as a financial center, was a most +unsatisfactory if not disastrous thing to contemplate, and now this matter of +Cowperwood’s having gained handsomely by it all was added to their +misery. Both Hand and Arneel growled in opposition when they heard, and Merrill +meditated, as he usually did, on the wonder of Cowperwood’s subtlety. He +could not help liking him. +</p> + +<p> +There is a sort of municipal pride latent in the bosoms of most members of a +really thriving community which often comes to the surface under the most +trying circumstances. These four men were by no means an exception to this +rule. Messrs. Schryhart, Hand, Arneel, and Merrill were concerned as to the +good name of Chicago and their united standing in the eyes of Eastern +financiers. It was a sad blow to them to think that the one great enterprise +they had recently engineered—a foil to some of the immense affairs which +had recently had their genesis in New York and elsewhere—should have come +to so untimely an end. Chicago finance really should not be put to shame in +this fashion if it could be avoided. So that when Mr. Schryhart arrived, quite +warm and disturbed, and related in detail what he had just learned, his friends +listened to him with eager and wary ears. +</p> + +<p> +It was now between five and six o’clock in the afternoon and still +blazing outside, though the walls of the buildings on the opposite side of the +street were a cool gray, picked out with pools of black shadow. A +newsboy’s strident voice was heard here and there calling an extra, +mingled with the sound of homing feet and street-cars—Cowperwood’s +street-cars. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you what it is,” said Schryhart, finally. +“It seems to me we have stood just about enough of this man’s +beggarly interference. I’ll admit that neither Hull nor Stackpole had any +right to go to him. They laid themselves and us open to just such a trick as +has been worked in this case.” Mr. Schryhart was righteously incisive, +cold, immaculate, waspish. “At the same time,” he continued, +“any other moneyed man of equal standing with ourselves would have had +the courtesy to confer with us and give us, or at least our banks, an +opportunity for taking over these securities. He would have come to our aid for +Chicago’s sake. He had no occasion for throwing these stocks on the +market, considering the state of things. He knows very well what the effect of +their failure will be. The whole city is involved, but it’s little he +cares. Mr. Stackpole tells me that he had an express understanding with him, +or, rather, with the men who it is plain have been representing him, that not a +single share of this stock was to be thrown on the market. As it is, I venture +to say not a single share of it is to be found anywhere in any of their safes. +I can sympathize to a certain extent with poor Stackpole. His position, of +course, was very trying. But there is no excuse—none in the +world—for such a stroke of trickery on Cowperwood’s part. +It’s just as we’ve known all along—the man is nothing but a +wrecker. We certainly ought to find some method of ending his career here if +possible.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Schryhart kicked out his well-rounded legs, adjusted his soft-roll collar, +and smoothed his short, crisp, wiry, now blackish-gray mustache. His black eyes +flashed an undying hate. +</p> + +<p> +At this point Mr. Arneel, with a cogency of reasoning which did not at the +moment appear on the surface, inquired: “Do any of you happen to know +anything in particular about the state of Mr. Cowperwood’s finances at +present? Of course we know of the Lake Street ‘L’ and the +Northwestern. I hear he’s building a house in New York, and I presume +that’s drawing on him somewhat. I know he has four hundred thousand +dollars in loans from the Chicago Central; but what else has he?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, there’s the two hundred thousand he owes the Prairie +National,” piped up Schrybart, promptly. “From time to time +I’ve heard of several other sums that escape my mind just now.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Merrill, a diplomatic mouse of a man—gray, Parisian, +dandified—was twisting in his large chair, surveying the others with +shrewd though somewhat propitiatory eyes. In spite of his old grudge against +Cowperwood because of the latter’s refusal to favor him in the matter of +running street-car lines past his store, he had always been interested in the +man as a spectacle. He really disliked the thought of plotting to injure +Cowperwood. Just the same, he felt it incumbent to play his part in such a +council as this. “My financial agent, Mr. Hill, loaned him several +hundred thousand not long ago,” he volunteered, a little doubtfully. +“I presume he has many other outstanding obligations.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Hand stirred irritably. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, he’s owing the Third National and the Lake City as much if +not more,” he commented. “I know where there are five hundred +thousand dollars of his loans that haven’t been mentioned here. Colonel +Ballinger has two hundred thousand. He must owe Anthony Ewer all of that. He +owes the Drovers and Traders all of one hundred and fifty thousand.” +</p> + +<p> +On the basis of these suggestions Arneel made a mental calculation, and found +that Cowperwood was indebted apparently to the tune of about three million +dollars on call, if not more. +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t all the facts,” he said, at last, slowly and +distinctly. “If we could talk with some of the presidents of our banks +to-night, we should probably find that there are other items of which we do not +know. I do not like to be severe on any one, but our own situation is serious. +Unless something is done to-night Hull & Stackpole will certainly fail in +the morning. We are, of course, obligated to the various banks for our loans, +and we are in honor bound to do all we can for them. The good name of Chicago +and its rank as a banking center is to a certain extent involved. As I have +already told Mr. Stackpole and Mr. Hull, I personally have gone as far as I can +in this matter. I suppose it is the same with each of you. The only other +resources we have under the circumstances are the banks, and they, as I +understand it, are pretty much involved with stock on hypothecation. I know at +least that this is true of the Lake City and the Douglas Trust.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s true of nearly all of them,” said Hand. Both Schryhart +and Merrill nodded assent. +</p> + +<p> +“We are not obligated to Mr. Cowperwood for anything so far as I +know,” continued Mr. Arneel, after a slight but somewhat portentous +pause. “As Mr. Schryhart has suggested here to-day, he seems to have a +tendency to interfere and disturb on every occasion. Apparently he stands +obligated to the various banks in the sums we have mentioned. Why +shouldn’t his loans be called? It would help strengthen the local banks, +and possibly permit them to aid in meeting this situation for us. While he +might be in a position to retaliate, I doubt it.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Arneel had no personal opposition to Cowperwood—none, at least, of a +deep-seated character. At the same time Hand, Merrill, and Schryhart were his +friends. In him, they felt, centered the financial leadership of the city. The +rise of Cowperwood, his Napoleonic airs, threatened this. As Mr. Arneel talked +he never raised his eyes from the desk where he was sitting. He merely drummed +solemnly on the surface with his fingers. The others contemplated him a little +tensely, catching quite clearly the drift of his proposal. +</p> + +<p> +“An excellent idea—excellent!” exclaimed Schryhart. “I +will join in any programme that looks to the elimination of this man. The +present situation may be just what is needed to accomplish this. Anyhow, it may +help to solve our difficulty. If so, it will certainly be a case of good coming +out of evil.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see no reason why these loans should not be called,” Hand +commented. “I’m willing to meet the situation on that basis.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I have no particular objection,” said Merrill. “I think, +however, it would be only fair to give as much notice as possible of any +decision we may reach,” he added. +</p> + +<p> +“Why not send for the various bankers now,” suggested Schryhart, +“and find out exactly where he stands, and how much it will take to carry +Hull & Stackpole? Then we can inform Mr. Cowperwood of what we propose to +do.” +</p> + +<p> +To this proposition Mr. Hand nodded an assent, at the same time consulting a +large, heavily engraved gold watch of the most ponderous and inartistic design. +“I think,” he said, “that we have found the solution to this +situation at last. I suggest that we get Candish and Kramer, of the +stock-exchange” (he was referring to the president and secretary, +respectively, of that organization), “and Simmons, of the Douglas Trust. +We should soon be able to tell what we can do.” +</p> + +<p> +The library of Mr. Arneel’s home was fixed upon as the most suitable +rendezvous. Telephones were forthwith set ringing and messengers and telegrams +despatched in order that the subsidiary financial luminaries and the watch-dogs +of the various local treasuries might come and, as it were, put their seal on +this secret decision, which it was obviously presumed no minor official or +luminary would have the temerity to gainsay. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap49"></a>CHAPTER XLIX.<br/> +Mount Olympus</h2> + +<p> +By eight o’clock, at which hour the conference was set, the principal +financial personages of Chicago were truly in a great turmoil. Messrs. Hand, +Schryhart, Merrill, and Arneel were personally interested! What would you? As +early as seven-thirty there was a pattering of horses’ hoofs and a jingle +of harness, as splendid open carriages were drawn up in front of various +exclusive mansions and a bank president, or a director at least, issued forth +at the call of one of the big quadrumvirate to journey to the home of Mr. +Arneel. Such interesting figures as Samuel Blackman, once president of the old +Chicago Gas Company, and now a director of the Prairie National; Hudson Baker, +once president of the West Chicago Gas Company, and now a director of the +Chicago Central National; Ormonde Ricketts, publisher of the Chronicle and +director of the Third National; Norrie Simms, president of the Douglas Trust +Company; Walter Rysam Cotton, once an active wholesale coffee-broker, but now a +director principally of various institutions, were all en route. It was a +procession of solemn, superior, thoughtful gentlemen, and all desirous of +giving the right appearance and of making the correct impression. For, be it +known, of all men none are so proud or vainglorious over the minor trappings of +materialism as those who have but newly achieved them. It is so essential +apparently to fulfil in manner and air, if not in fact, the principle of +“presence” which befits the role of conservator of society and +leader of wealth. Every one of those named and many more—to the number of +thirty—rode thus loftily forth in the hot, dry evening air and were soon +at the door of the large and comfortable home of Mr. Timothy Arneel. +</p> + +<p> +That important personage was not as yet present to receive his guests, and +neither were Messrs. Schryhart, Hand, nor Merrill. It would not be fitting for +such eminent potentates to receive their underlings in person on such an +occasion. At the hour appointed these four were still in their respective +offices, perfecting separately the details of the plan upon which they had +agreed and which, with a show of informality and of momentary inspiration, they +would later present. For the time being their guests had to make the best of +their absence. Drinks and liquors were served, but these were of small comfort. +A rack provided for straw hats was for some reason not used, every one +preferring to retain his own head-gear. Against the background of wood +panneling and the chairs covered with summer linen the company presented a +galleryesque variety and interest. Messrs. Hull and Stackpole, the corpses or +victims over which this serious gathering were about to sit in state, were not +actually present within the room, though they were within call in another part +of the house, where, if necessary, they could be reached and their advice or +explanations heard. This presumably brilliant assemblage of the financial +weight and intelligence of the city appeared as solemn as owls under the +pressure of a rumored impending financial crisis. Before Arneel’s +appearance there was a perfect buzz of minor financial gossip, such as: +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t say?” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it as serious as that?” +</p> + +<p> +“I knew things were pretty shaky, but I was by no means certain how +shaky.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fortunately, we are not carrying much of that stock.” (This from +one of the few really happy bankers.) +</p> + +<p> +“This is a rather serious occasion, isn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t tell me!” +</p> + +<p> +“Dear, dear!” +</p> + +<p> +Never a word in criticism from any source of either Hand or Schryhart or Arneel +or Merrill, though the fact that they were back of the pool was well known. +Somehow they were looked upon as benefactors who were calling this conference +with a view of saving others from disaster rather than for the purpose of +assisting themselves. Such phrases as, “Oh, Mr. Hand! Marvelous man! +Marvelous!” or, “Mr. Schryhart—very able—very able +indeed!” or, “You may depend on it these men are not going to allow +anything serious to overtake the affairs of the city at this time,” were +heard on every hand. The fact that immense quantities of cash or paper were +involved in behalf of one or other of these four was secretly admitted by one +banker to another. No rumor that Cowperwood or his friends had been profiting +or were in any way involved had come to any one present—not as yet. +</p> + +<p> +At eight-thirty exactly Mr. Arneel first ambled in quite informally, Hand, +Schryhart, and Merrill appearing separately very shortly after. Rubbing their +hands and mopping their faces with their handkerchiefs, they looked about them, +making an attempt to appear as nonchalant and cheerful as possible under such +trying circumstances. There were many old acquaintances and friends to greet, +inquiries to be made as to the health of wives and children. Mr. Arneel, clad +in yellowish linen, with a white silk shirt of lavender stripe, and carrying a +palm-leaf fan, seemed quite refreshed; his fine expanse of neck and bosom +looked most paternal, and even Abrahamesque. His round, glistening pate exuded +beads of moisture. Mr. Schryhart, on the contrary, for all the heat, appeared +quite hard and solid, as though he might be carved out of some dark wood. Mr. +Hand, much of Mr. Arneel’s type, but more solid and apparently more +vigorous, had donned for the occasion a blue serge coat with trousers of an +almost gaudy, bright stripe. His ruddy, archaic face was at once encouraging +and serious, as though he were saying, “My dear children, this is very +trying, but we will do the best we can.” Mr. Merrill was as cool and +ornate and lazy as it was possible for a great merchant to be. To one person +and another he extended a cool, soft hand, nodding and smiling half the time in +silence. To Mr. Arneel as the foremost citizen and the one of largest wealth +fell the duty (by all agreed as most appropriate) of assuming the +chair—which in this case was an especially large one at the head of the +table. +</p> + +<p> +There was a slight stir as he finally, at the suggestion of Schryhart, went +forward and sat down. The other great men found seats. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, gentlemen,” began Mr. Arneel, dryly (he had a low, husky +voice), “I’ll be as brief as I can. This is a very unusual occasion +which brings us together. I suppose you all know how it is with Mr. Hull and +Mr. Stackpole. American Match is likely to come down with a crash in the +morning if something very radical isn’t done to-night. It is at the +suggestion of a number of men and banks that this meeting is called.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Arneel had an informal, tete-a-tete way of speaking as if he were sitting +on a chaise-longue with one other person. +</p> + +<p> +“The failure,” he went on, firmly, “if it comes, as I hope it +won’t, will make a lot of trouble for a number of banks and private +individuals which we would like to avoid, I am sure. The principal creditors of +American Match are our local banks and some private individuals who have loaned +money on the stock. I have a list of them here, along with the amounts for +which they are responsible. It is in the neighborhood of ten millions of +dollars.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Arneel, with the unconscious arrogance of wealth and power, did not trouble +to explain how he got the list, neither did he show the slightest perturbation. +He merely fished down in one pocket in a heavy way and produced it, spreading +it out on the table before him. The company wondered whose names and what +amounts were down, and whether it was his intention to read it. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” resumed Mr. Arneel, seriously, “I want to say here +that Mr. Stackpole, Mr. Merrill, Mr. Hand, and myself have been to a certain +extent investors in this stock, and up to this afternoon we felt it to be our +duty, not so much to ourselves as to the various banks which have accepted this +stock as collateral and to the city at large, to sustain it as much as +possible. We believed in Mr. Hull and Mr. Stackpole. We might have gone still +further if there had been any hope that a number of others could carry the +stock without seriously injuring themselves; but in view of recent developments +we know that this can’t be done. For some time Mr. Hull and Mr. Stackpole +and the various bank officers have had reason to think that some one has been +cutting the ground from under them, and now they know it. It is because of +this, and because only concerted action on the part of banks and individuals +can save the financial credit of the city at this time, that this meeting is +called. Stocks are going to continue to be thrown on the market. It is possible +that Hull & Stackpole may have to liquidate in some way. One thing is +certain: unless a large sum of money is gathered to meet the claim against them +in the morning, they will fail. The trouble is due indirectly, of course, to +this silver agitation; but it is due a great deal more, we believe, to a piece +of local sharp dealing which has just come to light, and which has really been +the cause of putting the financial community in the tight place where it stands +to-night. I might as well speak plainly as to this matter. It is the work of +one man—Mr. Cowperwood. American Match might have pulled through and the +city been have spared the danger which now confronts it if Mr. Hull and Mr. +Stackpole had not made the mistake of going to this man.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Arneel paused, and Mr. Norrie Simms, more excitable than most by +temperament, chose to exclaim, bitterly: “The wrecker!” A stir of +interest passed over the others accompanied by murmurs of disapproval. +</p> + +<p> +“The moment he got the stock in his hands as collateral,” continued +Mr. Arneel, solemnly, “and in the face of an agreement not to throw a +share on the market, he has been unloading steadily. That is what has been +happening yesterday and to-day. Over fifteen thousand shares of this stock, +which cannot very well be traced to outside sources, have been thrown on the +market, and we have every reason to believe that all of it comes from the same +place. The result is that American Match, and Mr. Hull and Mr. Stackpole, are +on the verge of collapse.” +</p> + +<p> +“The scoundrel!” repeated Mr. Norrie Simms, bitterly, almost rising +to his feet. The Douglas Trust Company was heavily interested in American +Match. +</p> + +<p> +“What an outrage!” commented Mr. Lawrence, of the Prairie National, +which stood to lose at least three hundred thousand dollars in shrinkage of +values on hypothecated stock alone. To this bank that Cowperwood owed at least +three hundred thousand dollars on call. +</p> + +<p> +“Depend on it to find his devil’s hoof in it somewhere,” +observed Jordan Jules, who had never been able to make any satisfactory +progress in his fight on Cowperwood in connection with the city council and the +development of the Chicago General Company. The Chicago Central, of which he +was now a director, was one of the banks from which Cowperwood had judiciously +borrowed. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a pity he should be allowed to go on bedeviling the town in +this fashion,” observed Mr. Sunderland Sledd to his neighbor, Mr. Duane +Kingsland, who was a director in a bank controlled by Mr. Hand. +</p> + +<p> +The latter, as well as Schryhart, observed with satisfaction the effect of Mr. +Arneel’s words on the company. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Arneel now again fished in his pocket laboriously, and drew forth a second +slip of paper which he spread out before him. “This is a time when +frankness must prevail,” he went on, solemnly, “if anything is to +be done, and I am in hopes that we can do something. I have here a memorandum +of some of the loans which the local banks have made to Mr. Cowperwood and +which are still standing on their books. I want to know if there are any +further loans of which any of you happen to know and which you are willing to +mention at this time.” +</p> + +<p> +He looked solemnly around. +</p> + +<p> +Immediately several loans were mentioned by Mr. Cotton and Mr. Osgood which had +not been heard of previously. The company was now very well aware, in a general +way, of what was coming. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, gentlemen,” continued Mr. Arneel, “I have, previous to +this meeting, consulted with a number of our leading men. They agree with me +that, since so many banks are in need of funds to carry this situation, and +since there is no particular obligation on anybody’s part to look after +the interests of Mr. Cowperwood, it might be just as well if these loans of +his, which are outstanding, were called and the money used to aid the banks and +the men who have been behind Mr. Hull and Mr. Stackpole. I have no personal +feeling against Mr. Cowperwood—that is, he has never done me any direct +injury—but naturally I cannot approve of the course he has seen fit to +take in this case. Now, if there isn’t money available from some source +to enable you gentlemen to turn around, there will be a number of other +failures. Runs may be started on a half-dozen banks. Time is the essence of a +situation like this, and we haven’t any time.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Arneel paused and looked around. A slight buzz of conversation sprang up, +mostly bitter and destructive criticism of Cowperwood. +</p> + +<p> +“It would be only just if he could be made to pay for this,” +commented Mr. Blackman to Mr. Sledd. “He has been allowed to play fast +and loose long enough. It is time some one called a halt on him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it looks to me as though it would be done tonight,” Mr. +Sledd returned. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile Mr. Schryhart was again rising to his feet. “I think,” he +was saying, “if there is no objection on any one’s part, Mr. +Arneel, as chairman, might call for a formal expression of opinion from the +different gentlemen present which will be on record as the sense of this +meeting.” +</p> + +<p> +At this point Mr. Kingsland, a tall, whiskered gentleman, arose to inquire +exactly how it came that Cowperwood had secured these stocks, and whether those +present were absolutely sure that the stock has been coming from him or from +his friends. “I would not like to think we were doing any man an +injustice,” he concluded. +</p> + +<p> +In reply to this Mr. Schryhart called in Mr. Stackpole to corroborate him. Some +of the stocks had been positively identified. Stackpole related the full story, +which somehow seemed to electrify the company, so intense was the feeling +against Cowperwood. +</p> + +<p> +“It is amazing that men should be permitted to do things like this and +still hold up their heads in the business world,” said one, Mr. Vasto, +president of the Third National, to his neighbor. +</p> + +<p> +“I should think there would be no difficulty in securing united action in +a case of this kind,” said Mr. Lawrence, president of the Prairie +National, who was very much beholden to Hand for past and present favors. +</p> + +<p> +“Here is a case,” put in Schryhart, who was merely waiting for an +opportunity to explain further, “in which an unexpected political +situation develops an unexpected crisis, and this man uses it for his personal +aggrandizement and to the detriment of every other person. The welfare of the +city is nothing to him. The stability of the very banks he borrows from is +nothing. He is a pariah, and if this opportunity to show him what we think of +him and his methods is not used we will be doing less than our duty to the city +and to one another.” +</p> + +<p> +“Gentlemen,” said Mr. Arneel, finally, after Cowperwood’s +different loans had been carefully tabulated, “don’t you think it +would be wise to send for Mr. Cowperwood and state to him directly the decision +we have reached and the reasons for it? I presume all of us would agree that he +should be notified.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think he should be notified,” said Mr. Merrill, who saw behind +this smooth talk the iron club that was being brandished. +</p> + +<p> +Both Hand and Schryhart looked at each other and Arneel while they politely +waited for some one else to make a suggestion. When no one ventured, Hand, who +was hoping this would prove a ripping blow to Cowperwood, remarked, viciously: +</p> + +<p> +“He might as well be told—if we can reach him. It’s +sufficient notice, in my judgment. He might as well understand that this is the +united action of the leading financial forces of the city.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite so,” added Mr. Schryhart. “It is time he understood, I +think, what the moneyed men of this community think of him and his crooked +ways.” +</p> + +<p> +A murmur of approval ran around the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” said Mr. Arneel. “Anson, you know him better +than some of the rest of us. Perhaps you had better see if you can get him on +the telephone and ask him to call. Tell him that we are here in executive +session.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think he might take it more seriously if you spoke to him, +Timothy,” replied Merrill. +</p> + +<p> +Arneel, being always a man of action, arose and left the room, seeking a +telephone which was located in a small workroom or office den on the same +floor, where he could talk without fear of being overheard. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Sitting in his library on this particular evening, and studying the details of +half a dozen art-catalogues which had accumulated during the week, Cowperwood +was decidedly conscious of the probable collapse of American Match on the +morrow. Through his brokers and agents he was well aware that a conference was +on at this hour at the house of Arneel. More than once during the day he had +seen bankers and brokers who were anxious about possible shrinkage in +connection with various hypothecated securities, and to-night his valet had +called him to the ’phone half a dozen times to talk with Addison, with +Kaffrath, with a broker by the name of Prosser who had succeeded Laughlin in +active control of his private speculations, and also, be it said, with several +of the banks whose presidents were at this particular conference. If Cowperwood +was hated, mistrusted, or feared by the overlords of these institutions, such +was by no means the case with the underlings, some of whom, through being +merely civil, were hopeful of securing material benefits from him at some +future time. With a feeling of amused satisfaction he was meditating upon how +heavily and neatly he had countered on his enemies. Whereas they were +speculating as to how to offset their heavy losses on the morrow, he was +congratulating himself on corresponding gains. When all his deals should be +closed up he would clear within the neighborhood of a million dollars. He did +not feel that he had worked Messrs. Hull and Stackpole any great injustice. +They were at their wit’s end. If he had not seized this opportunity to +undercut them Schryhart or Arneel would have done so, anyhow. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Mingled with thoughts of a forthcoming financial triumph were others of +Berenice Fleming. There are such things as figments of the brain, even in the +heads of colossi. He thought of Berenice early and late; he even dreamed of +her. He laughed at himself at times for thus being taken in the toils of a mere +girl—the strands of her ruddy hair—but working in Chicago these +days he was always conscious of her, of what she was doing, of where she was +going in the East, of how happy he would be if they were only together, happily +mated. +</p> + +<p> +It had so happened, unfortunately, that in the course of this summer’s +stay at Narragansett Berenice, among other diversions, had assumed a certain +interest in one Lieutenant Lawrence Braxmar, U.S.N., whom she found loitering +there, and who was then connected with the naval station at Portsmouth, New +Hampshire. Cowperwood, coming East at this time for a few days’ stay in +order to catch another glimpse of his ideal, had been keenly disturbed by the +sight of Braxmar and by what his presence might signify. Up to this time he had +not given much thought to younger men in connection with her. Engrossed in her +personality, he could think of nothing as being able to stand long between him +and the fulfilment of his dreams. Berenice must be his. That radiant spirit, +enwrapt in so fair an outward seeming, must come to see and rejoice in him. Yet +she was so young and airy in her mood that he sometimes wondered. How was he to +draw near? What say exactly? What do? Berenice was in no way hypnotized by +either his wealth or fame. She was accustomed (she little knew to what extent +by his courtesy) to a world more resplendent in its social security than his +own. Surveying Braxmar keenly upon their first meeting, Cowperwood had liked +his face and intelligence, had judged him to be able, but had wondered +instantly how he could get rid of him. Viewing Berenice and the Lieutenant as +they strolled off together along a summery seaside veranda, he had been for +once lonely, and had sighed. These uncertain phases of affection could become +very trying at times. He wished he were young again, single. +</p> + +<p> +To-night, therefore, this thought was haunting him like a gloomy undertone, +when at half past eleven the telephone rang once more, and he heard a low, even +voice which said: +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Cowperwood? This is Mr. Arneel.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“A number of the principal financial men of the city are gathered here at +my house this evening. The question of ways and means of preventing a panic +to-morrow is up for discussion. As you probably know, Hull & Stackpole are +in trouble. Unless something is done for them tonight they will certainly fail +to-morrow for twenty million dollars. It isn’t so much their failure that +we are considering as it is the effect on stocks in general, and on the banks. +As I understand it, a number of your loans are involved. The gentlemen here +have suggested that I call you up and ask you to come here, if you will, to +help us decide what ought to be done. Something very drastic will have to be +decided on before morning.” +</p> + +<p> +During this speech Cowperwood’s brain had been reciprocating like a +well-oiled machine. +</p> + +<p> +“My loans?” he inquired, suavely. “What have they to do with +the situation? I don’t owe Hull & Stackpole anything.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very true. But a number of the banks are carrying securities for you. +The idea is that a number of these will have to be called—the majority of +them—unless some other way can be devised to-night. We thought you might +possibly wish to come and talk it over, and that you might be able to suggest +some other way out.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see,” replied Cowperwood, caustically. “The idea is to +sacrifice me in order to save Hull & Stackpole. Is that it?” +</p> + +<p> +His eyes, quite as though Arneel were before him, emitted malicious sparks. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, not precisely that,” replied Arneel, conservatively; +“but something will have to be done. Don’t you think you had better +come over?” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good. I’ll come,” was the cheerful reply. “It +isn’t anything that can be discussed over the ’phone, +anyhow.” +</p> + +<p> +He hung up the receiver and called for his runabout. On the way over he thanked +the prevision which had caused him, in anticipation of some such attack as +this, to set aside in the safety vaults of the Chicago Trust Company several +millions in low-interest-bearing government bonds. Now, if worst came to worst, +these could be drawn on and hypothecated. These men should see at last how +powerful he was and how secure. +</p> + +<p> +As he entered the home of Arneel he was a picturesque and truly representative +figure of his day. In a light summer suit of cream and gray twill, with a straw +hat ornamented by a blue-and-white band, and wearing yellow quarter-shoes of +the softest leather, he appeared a very model of trig, well-groomed +self-sufficiency. As he was ushered into the room he gazed about him in a +brave, leonine way. +</p> + +<p> +“A fine night for a conference, gentlemen,” he said, walking toward +a chair indicated by Mr. Arneel. “I must say I never saw so many straw +hats at a funeral before. I understand that my obsequies are contemplated. What +can I do?” +</p> + +<p> +He beamed in a genial, sufficient way, which in any one else would have brought +a smile to the faces of the company. In him it was an implication of basic +power which secretly enraged and envenomed nearly all those present. They +merely stirred in a nervous and wholly antagonistic way. A number of those who +knew him personally nodded—Merrill, Lawrence, Simms; but there was no +friendly light in their eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, gentlemen?” he inquired, after a moment or two of ominous +silence, observing Hand’s averted face and Schryhart’s eyes, which +were lifted ceilingward. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Cowperwood,” began Mr. Arneel, quietly, in no way disturbed by +Cowperwood’s jaunty air, “as I told you over the ’phone, this +meeting is called to avert, if possible, what is likely to be a very serious +panic in the morning. Hull & Stackpole are on the verge of failure. The +outstanding loans are considerable—in the neighborhood of seven or eight +million here in Chicago. On the other hand, there are assets in the shape of +American Match stocks and other properties sufficient to carry them for a while +longer if the banks can only continue their loans. As you know, we are all +facing a falling market, and the banks are short of ready money. Something has +to be done. We have canvassed the situation here to-night as thoroughly as +possible, and the general conclusion is that your loans are among the most +available assets which can be reached quickly. Mr. Schryhart, Mr. Merrill, Mr. +Hand, and myself have done all we can thus far to avert a calamity, but we find +that some one with whom Hull & Stackpole have been hypothecating stocks has +been feeding them out in order to break the market. We shall know how to avoid +that in the future” (and he looked hard at Cowperwood), “but the +thing at present is immediate cash, and your loans are the largest and the most +available. Do you think you can find the means to pay them back in the +morning?” +</p> + +<p> +Arneel blinked his keen, blue eyes solemnly, while the rest, like a pack of +genial but hungry wolves, sat and surveyed this apparently whole but now +condemned scapegoat and victim. Cowperwood, who was keenly alive to the spirit +of the company, looked blandly and fearlessly around. On his knee he held his +blue—banded straw hat neatly balanced on one edge. His full mustache +curled upward in a jaunty, arrogant way. +</p> + +<p> +“I can meet my loans,” he replied, easily. “But I would not +advise you or any of the gentlemen present to call them.” His voice, for +all its lightness, had an ominous ring. +</p> + +<p> +“Why not?” inquired Hand, grimly and heavily, turning squarely +about and facing him. “It doesn’t appear that you have extended any +particular courtesy to Hull or Stackpole.” His face was red and scowling. +</p> + +<p> +“Because,” replied Cowperwood, smiling, and ignoring the reference +to his trick, “I know why this meeting was called. I know that these +gentlemen here, who are not saying a word, are mere catspaws and rubber stamps +for you and Mr. Schryhart and Mr. Arneel and Mr. Merrill. I know how you four +gentlemen have been gambling in this stock, and what your probable losses are, +and that it is to save yourselves from further loss that you have decided to +make me the scapegoat. I want to tell you here”—and he got up, so +that in his full stature he loomed over the room—“you can’t +do it. You can’t make me your catspaw to pull your chestnuts out of the +fire, and no rubber-stamp conference can make any such attempt successful. If +you want to know what to do, I’ll tell you—close the Chicago Stock +Exchange to-morrow morning and keep it closed. Then let Hull & Stackpole +fail, or if not you four put up the money to carry them. If you can’t, +let your banks do it. If you open the day by calling a single one of my loans +before I am ready to pay it, I’ll gut every bank from here to the river. +You’ll have panic, all the panic you want. Good evening, +gentlemen.” +</p> + +<p> +He drew out his watch, glanced at it, and quickly walked to the door, putting +on his hat as he went. As he bustled jauntily down the wide interior staircase, +preceded by a footman to open the door, a murmur of dissatisfaction arose in +the room he had just left. +</p> + +<p> +“The wrecker!” re-exclaimed Norrie Simms, angrily, astounded at +this demonstration of defiance. +</p> + +<p> +“The scoundrel!” declared Mr. Blackman. “Where does he get +the wealth to talk like that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Gentlemen,” said Mr. Arneel, stung to the quick by this amazing +effrontery, and yet made cautious by the blazing wrath of Cowperwood, “it +is useless to debate this question in anger. Mr. Cowperwood evidently refers to +loans which can be controlled in his favor, and of which I for one know +nothing. I do not see what can be done until we do know. Perhaps some of you +can tell us what they are.” +</p> + +<p> +But no one could, and after due calculation advice was borrowed of caution. The +loans of Frank Algernon Cowperwood were not called. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap50"></a>CHAPTER L.<br/> +A New York Mansion</h2> + +<p> +The failure of American Match the next morning was one of those events that +stirred the city and the nation and lingered in the minds of men for years. At +the last moment it was decided that in lieu of calling Cowperwood’s loans +Hull & Stackpole had best be sacrificed, the stock-exchange closed, and all +trading ended. This protected stocks from at least a quotable decline and left +the banks free for several days (ten all told) in which to repair their +disrupted finances and buttress themselves against the eventual facts. +Naturally, the minor speculators throughout the city—those who had +expected to make a fortune out of this crash—raged and complained, but, +being faced by an adamantine exchange directorate, a subservient press, and the +alliance between the big bankers and the heavy quadrumvirate, there was nothing +to be done. The respective bank presidents talked solemnly of “a mere +temporary flurry,” Hand, Schryhart, Merrill, and Arneel went still +further into their pockets to protect their interests, and Cowperwood, +triumphant, was roundly denounced by the smaller fry as a +“bucaneer,” a “pirate,” a +“wolf”—indeed, any opprobrious term that came into their +minds. The larger men faced squarely the fact that here was an enemy worthy of +their steel. Would he master them? Was he already the dominant money power in +Chicago? Could he thus flaunt their helplessness and his superiority in their +eyes and before their underlings and go unwhipped? +</p> + +<p> +“I must give in!” Hosmer Hand had declared to Arneel and Schryhart, +at the close of the Arneel house conference and as they stood in consultation +after the others had departed. “We seem to be beaten to-night, but I, for +one, am not through yet. He has won to-night, but he won’t win always. +This is a fight to a finish between me and him. The rest of you can stay in or +drop out, just as you wish.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hear, hear!” exclaimed Schryhart, laying a fervently sympathetic +hand on his shoulder. “Every dollar that I have is at your service, +Hosmer. This fellow can’t win eventually. I’m with you to the +end.” +</p> + +<p> +Arneel, walking with Merrill and the others to the door, was silent and dour. +He had been cavalierly affronted by a man who, but a few short years before, he +would have considered a mere underling. Here was Cowperwood bearding the lion +in his den, dictating terms to the principal financial figures of the city, +standing up trig and resolute, smiling in their faces and telling them in so +many words to go to the devil. Mr. Arneel glowered under lowering brows, but +what could he do? “We must see,” he said to the others, “what +time will bring. Just now there is nothing much to do. This crisis has been too +sudden. You say you are not through with him, Hosmer, and neither am I. But we +must wait. We shall have to break him politically in this city, and I am +confident that in the end we can do it.” The others were grateful for his +courage even though to-morrow he and they must part with millions to protect +themselves and the banks. For the first time Merrill concluded that he would +have to fight Cowperwood openly from now on, though even yet he admired his +courage. “But he is too defiant, too cavalier! A very lion of a +man,” he said to himself. “A man with the heart of a Numidian +lion.” +</p> + +<p> +It was true. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +From this day on for a little while, and because there was no immediate +political contest in sight, there was comparative peace in Chicago, although it +more resembled an armed camp operating under the terms of some agreed +neutrality than it did anything else. Schryhart, Hand, Arneel, and Merrill were +quietly watchful. Cowperwood’s chief concern was lest his enemies might +succeed in their project of worsting him politically in one or all three of the +succeeding elections which were due to occur every two years between now and +1903, at which time his franchises would have to be renewed. As in the past +they had made it necessary for him to work against them through bribery and +perjury, so in ensuing struggles they might render it more and more difficult +for him or his agents to suborn the men elected to office. The subservient and +venal councilmen whom he now controlled might be replaced by men who, if no +more honest, would be more loyal to the enemy, thus blocking the extension of +his franchises. Yet upon a renewal period of at least twenty and preferably +fifty years depended the fulfilment of all the colossal things he had +begun—his art-collection, his new mansion, his growing prestige as a +financier, his rehabilitation socially, and the celebration of his triumph by a +union, morganatic or otherwise, with some one who would be worthy to share his +throne. +</p> + +<p> +It is curious how that first and most potent tendency of the human mind, +ambition, becomes finally dominating. Here was Cowperwood at fifty-seven, rich +beyond the wildest dream of the average man, celebrated in a local and in some +respects in a national way, who was nevertheless feeling that by no means had +his true aims been achieved. He was not yet all-powerful as were divers Eastern +magnates, or even these four or five magnificently moneyed men here in Chicago +who, by plodding thought and labor in many dreary fields such as Cowperwood +himself frequently scorned, had reaped tremendous and uncontended profits. How +was it, he asked himself, that his path had almost constantly been strewn with +stormy opposition and threatened calamity? Was it due to his private +immorality? Other men were immoral; the mass, despite religious dogma and +fol-de-rol theory imposed from the top, was generally so. Was it not rather due +to his inability to control without dominating personally—without +standing out fully and clearly in the sight of all men? Sometimes he thought +so. The humdrum conventional world could not brook his daring, his insouciance, +his constant desire to call a spade a spade. His genial sufficiency was a taunt +and a mockery to many. The hard implication of his eye was dreaded by the +weaker as fire is feared by a burnt child. Dissembling enough, he was not +sufficiently oily and make-believe. +</p> + +<p> +Well, come what might, he did not need to be or mean to be so, and there the +game must lie; but he had not by any means attained the height of his ambition. +He was not yet looked upon as a money prince. He could not rank as yet with the +magnates of the East—the serried Sequoias of Wall Street. Until he could +stand with these men, until he could have a magnificent mansion, acknowledged +as such by all, until he could have a world-famous gallery, Berenice, +millions—what did it avail? +</p> + +<p> +The character of Cowperwood’s New York house, which proved one of the +central achievements of his later years, was one of those flowerings—out +of disposition which eventuate in the case of men quite as in that of plants. +After the passing of the years neither a modified Gothic (such as his +Philadelphia house had been), nor a conventionalized Norman-French, after the +style of his Michigan Avenue home, seemed suitable to him. Only the Italian +palaces of medieval or Renaissance origin which he had seen abroad now appealed +to him as examples of what a stately residence should be. He was really seeking +something which should not only reflect his private tastes as to a home, but +should have the more enduring qualities of a palace or even a museum, which +might stand as a monument to his memory. After much searching Cowperwood had +found an architect in New York who suited him entirely—one Raymond Pyne, +rake, raconteur, man-about-town—who was still first and foremost an +artist, with an eye for the exceptional and the perfect. These two spent days +and days together meditating on the details of this home museum. An immense +gallery was to occupy the west wing of the house and be devoted to pictures; a +second gallery should occupy the south wing and be given over to sculpture and +large whorls of art; and these two wings were to swing as an L around the house +proper, the latter standing in the angle between them. The whole structure was +to be of a rich brownstone, heavily carved. For its interior decoration the +richest woods, silks, tapestries, glass, and marbles were canvassed. The main +rooms were to surround a great central court with a colonnade of pink-veined +alabaster, and in the center there would be an electrically lighted fountain of +alabaster and silver. Occupying the east wall a series of hanging baskets of +orchids, or of other fresh flowers, were to give a splendid glow of color, a +morning-sun effect, to this richly artificial realm. One chamber—a lounge +on the second floor—was to be entirely lined with thin-cut transparent +marble of a peach-blow hue, the lighting coming only through these walls and +from without. Here in a perpetual atmosphere of sunrise were to be racks for +exotic birds, a trellis of vines, stone benches, a central pool of glistening +water, and an echo of music. Pyne assured him that after his death this room +would make an excellent chamber in which to exhibit porcelains, jades, ivories, +and other small objects of value. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood was now actually transferring his possessions to New York, and had +persuaded Aileen to accompany him. Fine compound of tact and chicane that he +was, he had the effrontery to assure her that they could here create a happier +social life. His present plan was to pretend a marital contentment which had no +basis solely in order to make this transition period as undisturbed as +possible. Subsequently he might get a divorce, or he might make an arrangement +whereby his life would be rendered happy outside the social pale. +</p> + +<p> +Of all this Berenice Fleming knew nothing at all. At the same time the building +of this splendid mansion eventually awakened her to an understanding of the +spirit of art that occupied the center of Cowperwood’s iron personality +and caused her to take a real interest in him. Before this she had looked on +him as a kind of Western interloper coming East and taking advantage of her +mother’s good nature to scrape a little social courtesy. Now, however, +all that Mrs. Carter had been telling her of his personality and achievements +was becoming crystallized into a glittering chain of facts. This house, the +papers were fond of repeating, would be a jewel of rare workmanship. Obviously +the Cowperwoods were going to try to enter society. “What a pity it +is,” Mrs. Carter once said to Berenice, “that he couldn’t +have gotten a divorce from his wife before he began all this. I am so afraid +they will never be received. He would be if he only had the right woman; but +she—” Mrs. Carter, who had once seen Aileen in Chicago, shook her +head doubtfully. “She is not the type,” was her comment. “She +has neither the air nor the understanding.” +</p> + +<p> +“If he is so unhappy with her,” observed Berenice, thoughtfully, +“why doesn’t he leave her? She can be happy without him. It is so +silly—this cat-and-dog existence. Still I suppose she values the position +he gives her,” she added, “since she isn’t so interesting +herself.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose,” said Mrs. Carter, “that he married her twenty +years ago, when he was a very different man from what he is to-day. She is not +exactly coarse, but not clever enough. She cannot do what he would like to see +done. I hate to see mismatings of this kind, and yet they are so common. I do +hope, Bevy, that when you marry it will be some one with whom you can get +along, though I do believe I would rather see you unhappy than poor.” +</p> + +<p> +This was delivered as an early breakfast peroration in Central Park South, with +the morning sun glittering on one of the nearest park lakes. Bevy, in +spring-green and old-gold, was studying the social notes in one of the morning +papers. +</p> + +<p> +“I think I should prefer to be unhappy with wealth than to be without +it,” she said, idly, without looking up. +</p> + +<p> +Her mother surveyed her admiringly, conscious of her imperious mood. What was +to become of her? Would she marry well? Would she marry in time? Thus far no +breath of the wretched days in Louisville had affected Berenice. Most of those +with whom Mrs. Carter had found herself compelled to deal would be kind enough +to keep her secret. But there were others. How near she had been to drifting on +the rocks when Cowperwood had appeared! +</p> + +<p> +“After all,” observed Berenice, thoughtfully, “Mr. Cowperwood +isn’t a mere money-grabber, is he? So many of these Western moneyed men +are so dull.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear,” exclaimed Mrs. Carter, who by now had become a confirmed +satellite of her secret protector, “you don’t understand him at +all. He is a very astonishing man, I tell you. The world is certain to hear a +lot more of Frank Cowperwood before he dies. You can say what you please, but +some one has to make the money in the first place. It’s little enough +that good breeding does for you in poverty. I know, because I’ve seen +plenty of our friends come down.” +</p> + +<p> +In the new house, on a scaffold one day, a famous sculptor and his assistants +were at work on a Greek frieze which represented dancing nymphs linked together +by looped wreaths. Berenice and her mother happened to be passing. They stopped +to look, and Cowperwood joined them. He waved his hand at the figures of the +frieze, and said to Berenice, with his old, gay air, “If they had copied +you they would have done better.” +</p> + +<p> +“How charming of you!” she replied, with her cool, strange, blue +eyes fixed on him. “They are beautiful.” In spite of her earlier +prejudices she knew now that he and she had one god in common—Art; and +that his mind was fixed on things beautiful as on a shrine. +</p> + +<p> +He merely looked at her. +</p> + +<p> +“This house can be little more than a museum to me,” he remarked, +simply, when her mother was out of hearing; “but I shall build it as +perfectly as I can. Perhaps others may enjoy it if I do not.” +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him musingly, understandingly, and he smiled. She realized, of +course, that he was trying to convey to her that he was lonely. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap51"></a>CHAPTER LI.<br/> +The Revival of Hattie Starr</h2> + +<p> +Engrossed in the pleasures and entertainments which Cowperwood’s money +was providing, Berenice had until recently given very little thought to her +future. Cowperwood had been most liberal. “She is young,” he once +said to Mrs. Carter, with an air of disinterested liberality, when they were +talking about Berenice and her future. “She is an exquisite. Let her have +her day. If she marries well she can pay you back, or me. But give her all she +needs now.” And he signed checks with the air of a gardener who is +growing a wondrous orchid. +</p> + +<p> +The truth was that Mrs. Carter had become so fond of Berenice as an object of +beauty, a prospective grande dame, that she would have sold her soul to see her +well placed; and as the money to provide the dresses, setting, equipage had to +come from somewhere, she had placed her spirit in subjection to Cowperwood and +pretended not to see the compromising position in which she was placing all +that was near and dear to her. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you’re so good,” she more than once said to him a mist +of gratitude commingled with joy in her eyes. “I would never have +believed it of any one. But Bevy—” +</p> + +<p> +“An esthete is an esthete,” Cowperwood replied. “They are +rare enough. I like to see a spirit as fine as hers move untroubled. She will +make her way.” +</p> + +<p> +Seeing Lieutenant Braxmar in the foreground of Berenice’s affairs, Mrs. +Carter was foolish enough to harp on the matter in a friendly, ingratiating +way. Braxmar was really interesting after his fashion. He was young, tall, +muscular, and handsome, a graceful dancer; but, better yet, he represented in +his moods lineage, social position, a number of the things which engaged +Berenice most. He was intelligent, serious, with a kind of social grace which +was gay, courteous, wistful. Berenice met him first at a local dance, where a +new step was being practised—“dancing in the barn,” as it was +called—and so airily did he tread it with her in his handsome uniform +that she was half smitten for the moment. +</p> + +<p> +“You dance delightfully,” she said. “Is this a part of your +life on the ocean wave?” +</p> + +<p> +“Deep-sea-going dancing,” he replied, with a heavenly smile. +“All battles are accompanied by balls, don’t you know?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, what a wretched jest!” she replied. “It’s +unbelievably bad.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not for me. I can make much worse ones.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not for me,” she replied, “I can’t stand them.” +And they went prancing on. Afterward he came and sat by her; they walked in the +moonlight, he told her of naval life, his Southern home and connections. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Carter, seeing him with Berenice, and having been introduced, observed the +next morning, “I like your Lieutenant, Bevy. I know some of his relatives +well. They come from the Carolinas. He’s sure to come into money. The +whole family is wealthy. Do you think he might be interested in you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, possibly—yes, I presume so,” replied Berenice, airily, +for she did not take too kindly to this evidence of parental interest. She +preferred to see life drift on in some nebulous way at present, and this was +bringing matters too close to home. “Still, he has so much machinery on +his mind I doubt whether he could take any serious interest in a woman. He is +almost more of a battle-ship than he is a man.” +</p> + +<p> +She made a mouth, and Mrs. Carter commented gaily: “You rogue! All the +men take an interest in you. You don’t think you could care for him, +then, at all?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, mother, what a question! Why do you ask? Is it so essential that I +should?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, not that exactly,” replied Mrs. Carter, sweetly, bracing +herself for a word which she felt incumbent upon her; “but think of his +position. He comes of such a good family, and he must be heir to a considerable +fortune in his own right. Oh, Bevy, I don’t want to hurry or spoil your +life in any way, but do keep in mind the future. With your tastes and instincts +money is so essential, and unless you marry it I don’t know where you are +to get it. Your father was so thoughtless, and Rolfe’s was even +worse.” +</p> + +<p> +She sighed. +</p> + +<p> +Berenice, for almost the first time in her life, took solemn heed of this +thought. She pondered whether she could endure Braxmar as a life partner, +follow him around the world, perhaps retransferring her abode to the South; but +she could not make up her mind. This suggestion on the part of her mother +rather poisoned the cup for her. To tell the truth, in this hour of doubt her +thoughts turned vaguely to Cowperwood as one who represented in his avid way +more of the things she truly desired. She remembered his wealth, his plaint +that his new house could be only a museum, the manner in which he approached +her with looks and voiceless suggestions. But he was old and married—out +of the question, therefore—and Braxmar was young and charming. To think +her mother should have been so tactless as to suggest the necessity for +consideration in his case! It almost spoiled him for her. And was their +financial state, then, as uncertain as her mother indicated? +</p> + +<p> +In this crisis some of her previous social experiences became significant. For +instance, only a few weeks previous to her meeting with Braxmar she had been +visiting at the country estate of the Corscaden Batjers, at Redding Hills, Long +Island, and had been sitting with her hostess in the morning room of Hillcrest, +which commanded a lovely though distant view of Long Island Sound. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Fredericka Batjer was a chestnut blonde, fair, cool, quiescent—a +type out of Dutch art. Clad in a morning gown of gray and silver, her hair +piled in a Psyche knot, she had in her lap on this occasion a Java basket +filled with some attempt at Norwegian needlework. +</p> + +<p> +“Bevy,” she said, “you remember Kilmer Duelma, don’t +you? Wasn’t he at the Haggertys’ last summer when you were +there?” +</p> + +<p> +Berenice, who was seated at a small Chippendale writing-desk penning letters, +glanced up, her mind visioning for the moment the youth in question. Kilmer +Duelma—tall, stocky, swaggering, his clothes the loose, nonchalant +perfection of the season, his walk ambling, studied, lackadaisical, aimless, +his color high, his cheeks full, his eyes a little vacuous, his mind +acquiescing in a sort of genial, inconsequential way to every query and thought +that was put to him. The younger of the two sons of Auguste Duelma, banker, +promoter, multimillionaire, he would come into a fortune estimated roughly at +between six and eight millions. At the Haggertys’ the year before he had +hung about her in an aimless fashion. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Batjer studied Berenice curiously for a moment, then returned to her +needlework. “I’ve asked him down over this week-end,” she +suggested. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” queried Berenice, sweetly. “Are there others?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course,” assented Mrs. Batjer, remotely. “Kilmer +doesn’t interest you, I presume.” +</p> + +<p> +Berenice smiled enigmatically. +</p> + +<p> +“You remember Clarissa Faulkner, don’t you, Bevy?” pursued +Mrs. Batjer. “She married Romulus Garrison.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perfectly. Where is she now?” +</p> + +<p> +“They have leased the Chateau Brieul at Ars for the winter. Romulus is a +fool, but Clarissa is so clever. You know she writes that she is holding a +veritable court there this season. Half the smart set of Paris and London are +dropping in. It is so charming for her to be able to do those things now. Poor +dear! At one time I was quite troubled over her.” +</p> + +<p> +Without giving any outward sign Berenice did not fail to gather the full import +of the analogy. It was all true. One must begin early to take thought of +one’s life. She suffered a disturbing sense of duty. Kilmer Duelma +arrived at noon Friday with six types of bags, a special valet, and a +preposterous enthusiasm for polo and hunting (diseases lately acquired from a +hunting set in the Berkshires). A cleverly contrived compliment supposed to +have emanated from Miss Fleming and conveyed to him with tact by Mrs. Batjer +brought him ambling into Berenice’s presence suggesting a Sunday drive to +Saddle Rock. +</p> + +<p> +“Haw! haw! You know, I’m delighted to see you again. Haw! haw! +It’s been an age since I’ve seen the Haggertys. We missed you after +you left. Haw! haw! I did, you know. Since I saw you I have taken up +polo—three ponies with me all the time now—haw! haw!—a +regular stable nearly.” +</p> + +<p> +Berenice strove valiantly to retain a serene interest. Duty was in her mind, +the Chateau Brieul, the winter court of Clarissa Garrison, some first +premonitions of the flight of time. Yet the drive was a bore, conversation a +burden, the struggle to respond titanic, impossible. When Monday came she fled, +leaving three days between that and a week-end at Morristown. Mrs. +Batjer—who read straws most capably—sighed. Her own Corscaden was +not much beyond his money, but life must be lived and the ambitious must +inherit wealth or gather it wisely. Some impossible scheming silly would soon +collect Duelma, and then— She considered Berenice a little difficult. +</p> + +<p> +Berenice could not help piecing together the memory of this incident with her +mother’s recent appeal in behalf of Lieutenant Braxmar. A great, cloying, +disturbing, disintegrating factor in her life was revealed by the dawning +discovery that she and her mother were without much money, that aside from her +lineage she was in a certain sense an interloper in society. There were never +rumors of great wealth in connection with her—no flattering whispers or +public notices regarding her station as an heiress. All the smug minor manikins +of the social world were on the qui vive for some cotton-headed doll of a girl +with an endless bank-account. By nature sybaritic, an intense lover of art +fabrics, of stately functions, of power and success in every form, she had been +dreaming all this while of a great soul-freedom and art-freedom under some such +circumstances as the greatest individual wealth of the day, and only that, +could provide. Simultaneously she had vaguely cherished the idea that if she +ever found some one who was truly fond of her, and whom she could love or even +admire intensely—some one who needed her in a deep, sincere way—she +would give herself freely and gladly. Yet who could it be? She had been charmed +by Braxmar, but her keen, analytic intelligence required some one harder, more +vivid, more ruthless, some one who would appeal to her as an immense force. Yet +she must be conservative, she must play what cards she had to win. +</p> + +<p> +During his summer visit at Narragansett Cowperwood had not been long disturbed +by the presence of Braxmar, for, having received special orders, the latter was +compelled to hurry away to Hampton Roads. But the following November, forsaking +temporarily his difficult affairs in Chicago for New York and the Carter +apartment in Central Park South, Cowperwood again encountered the Lieutenant, +who arrived one evening brilliantly arrayed in full official regalia in order +to escort Berenice to a ball. A high military cap surmounting his handsome +face, his epaulets gleaming in gold, the lapels of his cape thrown back to +reveal a handsome red silken lining, his sword clanking by his side, he seemed +a veritable singing flame of youth. Cowperwood, caught in the drift of +circumstance—age, unsuitableness, the flaring counter-attractions of +romance and vigor—fairly writhed in pain. +</p> + +<p> +Berenice was so beautiful in a storm of diaphanous clinging garments. He stared +at them from an adjacent room, where he pretended to be reading, and sighed. +Alas, how was his cunning and foresight—even his—to overcome the +drift of life itself? How was he to make himself appealing to youth? Braxmar +had the years, the color, the bearing. Berenice seemed to-night, as she +prepared to leave, to be fairly seething with youth, hope, gaiety. He arose +after a few moments and, giving business as an excuse, hurried away. But it was +only to sit in his own rooms in a neighboring hotel and meditate. The logic of +the ordinary man under such circumstances, compounded of the age-old notions of +chivalry, self-sacrifice, duty to higher impulses, and the like, would have +been to step aside in favor of youth, to give convention its day, and retire in +favor of morality and virtue. Cowperwood saw things in no such moralistic or +altruistic light. “I satisfy myself,” had ever been his motto, and +under that, however much he might sympathize with Berenice in love or with love +itself, he was not content to withdraw until he was sure that the end of hope +for him had really come. There had been moments between him and +Berenice—little approximations toward intimacy—which had led him to +believe that by no means was she seriously opposed to him. At the same time +this business of the Lieutenant, so Mrs. Carter confided to him a little later, +was not to be regarded lightly. While Berenice might not care so much, +obviously Braxmar did. +</p> + +<p> +“Ever since he has been away he has been storming her with +letters,” she remarked to Cowperwood, one afternoon. “I don’t +think he is the kind that can be made to take no for an answer. +</p> + +<p> +“A very successful kind,” commented Cowperwood, dryly. Mrs. Carter +was eager for advice in the matter. Braxmar was a man of parts. She knew his +connections. He would inherit at least six hundred thousand dollars at his +father’s death, if not more. What about her Louisville record? Supposing +that should come out later? Would it not be wise for Berenice to marry, and +have the danger over with? +</p> + +<p> +“It is a problem, isn’t it?” observed Cowperwood, calmly. +“Are you sure she’s in love?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I wouldn’t say that, but such things so easily turn into love. +I have never believed that Berenice could be swept off her feet by any +one—she is so thoughtful—but she knows she has her own way to make +in the world, and Mr. Braxmar is certainly eligible. I know his cousins, the +Clifford Porters, very well.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood knitted his brows. He was sick to his soul with this worry over +Berenice. He felt that he must have her, even at the cost of inflicting upon +her a serious social injury. Better that she should surmount it with him than +escape it with another. It so happened, however, that the final grim necessity +of acting on any such idea was spared him. +</p> + +<p> +Imagine a dining-room in one of the principal hotels of New York, the hour +midnight, after an evening at the opera, to which Cowperwood, as host, had +invited Berenice, Lieutenant Braxmar, and Mrs. Carter. He was now playing the +role of disinterested host and avuncular mentor. +</p> + +<p> +His attitude toward Berenice, meditating, as he was, a course which should be +destructive to Braxmar, was gentle, courteous, serenely thoughtful. Like a true +Mephistopheles he was waiting, surveying Mrs. Carter and Berenice, who were +seated in front chairs clad in such exotic draperies as opera-goers +affect—Mrs. Carter in pale-lemon silk and diamonds; Berenice in purple +and old-rose, with a jeweled comb in her hair. The Lieutenant in his dazzling +uniform smiled and talked blandly, complimented the singers, whispered pleasant +nothings to Berenice, descanted at odd moments to Cowperwood on naval +personages who happened to be present. Coming out of the opera and driving +through blowy, windy streets to the Waldorf, they took the table reserved for +them, and Cowperwood, after consulting with regard to the dishes and ordering +the wine, went back reminiscently to the music, which had been “La +Boheme.” The death of Mimi and the grief of Rodolph, as voiced by the +splendid melodies of Puccini, interested him. +</p> + +<p> +“That makeshift studio world may have no connection with the genuine +professional artist, but it’s very representative of life,” he +remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know, I’m sure,” said Braxmar, seriously. +</p> + +<p> +“All I know of Bohemia is what I have read in books—Trilby, for +instance, and—” He could think of no other, and stopped. “I +suppose it is that way in Paris.” +</p> + +<p> +He looked at Berenice for confirmation and to win a smile. Owing to her mobile +and sympathetic disposition, she had during the opera been swept from period to +period by surges of beauty too gay or pathetic for words, but clearly +comprehended of the spirit. Once when she had been lost in dreamy +contemplation, her hands folded on her knees, her eyes fixed on the stage, both +Braxmar and Cowperwood had studied her parted lips and fine profile with common +impulses of emotion and enthusiasm. Realizing after the mood was gone that they +had been watching her, Berenice had continued the pose for a moment, then had +waked as from a dream with a sigh. This incident now came back to her as well +as her feeling in regard to the opera generally. +</p> + +<p> +“It is very beautiful,” she said; “I do not know what to say. +People are like that, of course. It is so much better than just dull comfort. +Life is really finest when it’s tragic, anyhow.” +</p> + +<p> +She looked at Cowperwood, who was studying her; then at Braxmar, who saw +himself for the moment on the captain’s bridge of a battle-ship +commanding in time of action. To Cowperwood came back many of his principal +moments of difficulty. Surely his life had been sufficiently dramatic to +satisfy her. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think I care so much for it,” interposed Mrs. +Carter. “One gets tired of sad happenings. We have enough drama in real +life.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood and Braxmar smiled faintly. Berenice looked contemplatively away. +The crush of diners, the clink of china and glass, the bustling to and fro of +waiters, and the strumming of the orchestra diverted her somewhat, as did the +nods and smiles of some entering guests who recognized Braxmar and herself, but +not Cowperwood. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly from a neighboring door, opening from the men’s cafe and grill, +there appeared the semi-intoxicated figure of an ostensibly swagger society +man, his clothing somewhat awry, an opera-coat hanging loosely from one +shoulder, a crush-opera-hat dangling in one hand, his eyes a little bloodshot, +his under lip protruding slightly and defiantly, and his whole visage +proclaiming that devil-may-care, superior, and malicious aspect which the +drunken rake does not so much assume as achieve. He looked sullenly, +uncertainly about; then, perceiving Cowperwood and his party, made his way +thither in the half-determined, half-inconsequential fashion of one not quite +sound after his cups. When he was directly opposite Cowperwood’s +table—the cynosure of a number of eyes—he suddenly paused as if in +recognition, and, coming over, laid a genial and yet condescending hand on Mrs. +Carter’s bare shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, hello, Hattie!” he called, leeringly and jeeringly. +“What are you doing down here in New York? You haven’t given up +your business in Louisville, have you, eh, old sport? Say, lemme tell you +something. I haven’t had a single decent girl since you left—not +one. If you open a house down here, let me know, will you?” +</p> + +<p> +He bent over her smirkingly and patronizingly the while he made as if to +rummage in his white waistcoat pocket for a card. At the same moment Cowperwood +and Braxmar, realizing quite clearly the import of his words, were on their +feet. While Mrs. Carter was pulling and struggling back from the stranger, +Braxmar’s hand (he being the nearest) was on him, and the head waiter and +two assistants had appeared. +</p> + +<p> +“What is the trouble here? What has he done?” they demanded. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile the intruder, leering contentiously at them all, was exclaiming in +very audible tones: “Take your hands off. Who are you? What the devil +have you got to do with this? Don’t you think I know what I’m +about? She knows me—don’t you, Hattie? That’s Hattie Starr, +of Louisville—ask her! She kept one of the swellest ever run in +Louisville. What do you people want to be so upset about? I know what I’m +doing. She knows me.” +</p> + +<p> +He not only protested, but contested, and with some vehemence. Cowperwood, +Braxmar, and the waiters forming a cordon, he was shoved and hustled out into +the lobby and the outer entranceway, and an officer was called. +</p> + +<p> +“This man should be arrested,” Cowperwood protested, vigorously, +when the latter appeared. “He has grossly insulted lady guests of mine. +He is drunk and disorderly, and I wish to make that charge. Here is my card. +Will you let me know where to come?” He handed it over, while Braxmar, +scrutinizing the stranger with military care, added: “I should like to +thrash you within an inch of your life. If you weren’t drunk I would. If +you are a gentleman and have a card I want you to give it to me. I want to talk +to you later.” He leaned over and presented a cold, hard face to that of +Mr. Beales Chadsey, of Louisville, Kentucky. +</p> + +<p> +“Tha’s all right, Captain,” leered Chadsey, mockingly. +“I got a card. No harm done. Here you are. You c’n see me any time +you want—Hotel Buckingham, Fifth Avenue and Fiftieth Street. I got a +right to speak to anybody I please, where I please, when I please. See?” +</p> + +<p> +He fumbled and protested while the officer stood by read to take him in charge. +Not finding a card, he added: “Tha’s all right. Write it down. +Beales Chadsey, Hotel Buckingham, or Louisville, Kentucky. See me any time you +want to. Tha’s Hattie Starr. She knows me. I couldn’t make a +mistake about her—not once in a million. Many’s the night I spent +in her house.” +</p> + +<p> +Braxmar was quite ready to lunge at him had not the officer intervened. +</p> + +<p> +Back in the dining-room Berenice and her mother were sitting, the latter quite +flustered, pale, distrait, horribly taken aback—by far too much +distressed for any convincing measure of deception. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, the very idea!” she was saying. “That dreadful man! How +terrible! I never saw him before in my life.” +</p> + +<p> +Berenice, disturbed and nonplussed, was thinking of the familiar and lecherous +leer with which the stranger had addressed her mother—the horror, the +shame of it. Could even a drunken man, if utterly mistaken, be so defiant, so +persistent, so willing to explain? What shameful things had she been hearing? +</p> + +<p> +“Come, mother,” she said, gently, and with dignity; “never +mind, it is all right. We can go home at once. You will feel better when you +are out of here.” +</p> + +<p> +She called a waiter and asked him to say to the gentlemen that they had gone to +the women’s dressing-room. She pushed an intervening chair out of the way +and gave her mother her arm. +</p> + +<p> +“To think I should be so insulted,” Mrs. Carter mumbled on, +“here in a great hotel, in the presence of Lieutenant Braxmar and Mr. +Cowperwood! This is too dreadful. Well, I never.” +</p> + +<p> +She half whimpered as she walked; and Berenice, surveying the room with +dignity, a lofty superiority in her face, led solemnly forth, a strange, +lacerating pain about her heart. What was at the bottom of these shameful +statements? Why should this drunken roisterer have selected her mother, of all +other women in the dining-room, for the object of these outrageous remarks? Why +should her mother be stricken, so utterly collapsed, if there were not some +truth in what he had said? It was very strange, very sad, very grim, very +horrible. What would that gossiping, scandal-loving world of which she knew so +much say to a scene like this? For the first time in her life the import and +horror of social ostracism flashed upon her. +</p> + +<p> +The following morning, owing to a visit paid to the Jefferson Market Police +Court by Lieutenant Braxmar, where he proposed, if satisfaction were not +immediately guaranteed, to empty cold lead into Mr. Beales Chadsey’s +stomach, the following letter on Buckingham stationery was written and sent to +Mrs. Ira George Carter—36 Central Park South: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +DEAR MADAM:<br/> +    Last evening, owing to a drunken debauch, for which I have no satisfactory +or suitable explanation to make, I was the unfortunate occasion of an outrage +upon your feelings and those of your daughter and friends, for which I wish +most humbly to apologize. I cannot tell you how sincerely I regret whatever I +said or did, which I cannot now clearly recall. My mental attitude when +drinking is both contentious and malicious, and while in this mood and state I +was the author of statements which I know to be wholly unfounded. In my drunken +stupor I mistook you for a certain notorious woman of Louisville—why, I +have not the slightest idea. For this wholly shameful and outrageous conduct I +sincerely ask your pardon—beg your forgiveness. I do not know what amends +I can make, but anything you may wish to suggest I shall gladly do. In the mean +while I hope you will accept this letter in the spirit in which it is written +and as a slight attempt at recompense which I know can never fully be made. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +Very sincerely,                    <br/> +BEALES CHADSEY. +</p> + +<p> +At the same time Lieutenant Braxmar was fully aware before this letter was +written or sent that the charges implied against Mrs. Carter were only too well +founded. Beales Chadsey had said drunk what twenty men in all sobriety and even +the police at Louisville would corroborate. Chadsey had insisted on making this +clear to Braxmar before writing the letter. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap52"></a>CHAPTER LII.<br/> +Behind the Arras</h2> + +<p> +Berenice, perusing the apology from Beales Chadsey, which her mother—very +much fagged and weary—handed her the next morning, thought that it read +like the overnight gallantry of some one who was seeking to make amends without +changing his point of view. Mrs. Carter was too obviously self-conscious. She +protested too much. Berenice knew that she could find out for herself if she +chose, but would she choose? The thought sickened her, and yet who was she to +judge too severely? +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood came in bright and early to put as good a face on the matter as he +could. He explained how he and Braxmar had gone to the police station to make a +charge; how Chadsey, sobered by arrest, had abandoned his bravado and humbly +apologized. When viewing the letter handed him by Mrs. Carter he exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes. He was very glad to promise to write that if we would let him +off. Braxmar seemed to think it was necessary that he should. I wanted the +judge to impose a fine and let it go at that. He was drunk, and that’s +all there was to it.” +</p> + +<p> +He assumed a very unknowing air when in the presence of Berenice and her +mother, but when alone with the latter his manner changed completely. +</p> + +<p> +“Brazen it out,” he commanded. “It doesn’t amount to +anything. Braxmar doesn’t believe that this man really knows anything. +This letter is enough to convince Berenice. Put a good face on it; more depends +on your manner than on anything else. You’re much too upset. That +won’t do at all; you’ll tell the whole story that way.” +</p> + +<p> +At the same time he privately regarded this incident as a fine windfall of +chance—in all likelihood the one thing which would serve to scare the +Lieutenant away. Outwardly, however, he demanded effrontery, assumption; and +Mrs. Carter was somewhat cheered, but when she was alone she cried. Berenice, +coming upon her accidentally and finding her eyes wet, exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, mother, please don’t be foolish. How can you act this way? We +had better go up in the country and rest a little while if you are so +unstrung.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Carter protested that it was merely nervous reaction, but to Berenice it +seemed that where there was so much smoke there must be some fire. +</p> + +<p> +Her manner in the aftermath toward Braxmar was gracious, but remote. He called +the next day to say how sorry he was, and to ask her to a new diversion. She +was sweet, but distant. In so far as she was concerned it was plain that the +Beales Chadsey incident was closed, but she did not accept his invitation. +</p> + +<p> +“Mother and I are planning to go to the country for a few days,” +she observed, genially. “I can’t say just when we shall return, but +if you are still here we shall meet, no doubt. You must be sure and come to see +us.” She turned to an east court-window, where the morning sun was +gleaming on some flowers in a window-box, and began to pinch off a dead leaf +here and there. +</p> + +<p> +Braxmar, full of the tradition of American romance, captivated by her vibrant +charm, her poise and superiority under the circumstances, her obvious readiness +to dismiss him, was overcome, as the human mind frequently is, by a riddle of +the spirit, a chemical reaction as mysterious to its victim as to one who is +its witness. Stepping forward with a motion that was at once gallant, reverent, +eager, unconscious, he exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“Berenice! Miss Fleming! Please don’t send me away like this. +Don’t leave me. It isn’t anything I have done, is it? I am mad +about you. I can’t bear to think that anything that has happened could +make any difference between you and me. I haven’t had the courage to tell +you before, but I want to tell you now. I have been in love with you from the +very first night I saw you. You are such a wonderful girl! I don’t feel +that I deserve you, but I love you. I love you with all the honor and force in +me. I admire and respect you. Whatever may or may not be true, it is all one +and the same to me. Be my wife, will you? Marry me, please! Oh, I’m not +fit to be the lacer of your shoes, but I have position and I’ll make a +name for myself, I hope. Oh, Berenice!” He extended his arms in a +dramatic fashion, not outward, but downward, stiff and straight, and declared: +“I don’t know what I shall do without you. Is there no hope for me +at all?” +</p> + +<p> +An artist in all the graces of sex—histrionic, plastic, +many-faceted—Berenice debated for the fraction of a minute what she +should do and say. She did not love the Lieutenant as he loved her by any +means, and somehow this discovery concerning her mother shamed her pride, +suggesting an obligation to save herself in one form or another, which she +resented bitterly. She was sorry for his tactless proposal at this time, +although she knew well enough the innocence and virtue of the emotion from +which it sprung. +</p> + +<p> +“Really, Mr. Braxmar,” she replied, turning on him with solemn +eyes, “you mustn’t ask me to decide that now. I know how you feel. +I’m afraid, though, that I may have been a little misleading in my +manner. I didn’t mean to be. I’m quite sure you’d better +forget your interest in me for the present anyhow. I could only make up my mind +in one way if you should insist. I should have to ask you to forget me +entirely. I wonder if you can see how I feel—how it hurts me to say +this?” +</p> + +<p> +She paused, perfectly poised, yet quite moved really, as charming a figure as +one would have wished to see—part Greek, part +Oriental—contemplative, calculating. +</p> + +<p> +In that moment, for the first time, Braxmar realized that he was talking to +some one whom he could not comprehend really. She was strangely self-contained, +enigmatic, more beautiful perhaps because more remote than he had ever seen her +before. In a strange flash this young American saw the isles of Greece, +Cytherea, the lost Atlantis, Cyprus, and its Paphian shrine. His eyes burned +with a strange, comprehending luster; his color, at first high, went pale. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t believe you don’t care for me at all, Miss +Berenice,” he went on, quite strainedly. “I felt you did care about +me. But here,” he added, all at once, with a real, if summoned, military +force, “I won’t bother you. You do understand me. You know how I +feel. I won’t change. Can’t we be friends, anyhow?” +</p> + +<p> +He held out his hand, and she took it, feeling now that she was putting an end +to what might have been an idyllic romance. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course we can,” she said. “I hope I shall see you again +soon.” +</p> + +<p> +After he was gone she walked into the adjoining room and sat down in a wicker +chair, putting her elbows on her knees and resting her chin in her hands. What +a denouement to a thing so innocent, so charming! And now he was gone. She +would not see him any more, would not want to see him—not much, anyhow. +Life had sad, even ugly facts. Oh yes, yes, and she was beginning to perceive +them clearly. +</p> + +<p> +Some two days later, when Berenice had brooded and brooded until she could +endure it no longer, she finally went to Mrs. Carter and said: “Mother, +why don’t you tell me all about this Louisville matter so that I may +really know? I can see something is worrying you. Can’t you trust me? I +am no longer a child by any means, and I am your daughter. It may help me to +straighten things out, to know what to do.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Carter, who had always played a game of lofty though loving motherhood, +was greatly taken aback by this courageous attitude. She flushed and chilled a +little; then decided to lie. +</p> + +<p> +“I tell you there was nothing at all,” she declared, nervously and +pettishly. “It is all an awful mistake. I wish that dreadful man could be +punished severely for what he said to me. To be outraged and insulted this way +before my own child!” +</p> + +<p> +“Mother,” questioned Berenice, fixing her with those cool, blue +eyes, “why don’t you tell me all about Louisville? You and I +shouldn’t have things between us. Maybe I can help you.” +</p> + +<p> +All at once Mrs. Carter, realizing that her daughter was no longer a child nor +a mere social butterfly, but a woman superior, cool, sympathetic, with +intuitions much deeper than her own, sank into a heavily flowered wing-chair +behind her, and, seeking a small pocket-handkerchief with one hand, placed the +other over her eyes and began to cry. +</p> + +<p> +“I was so driven, Bevy, I didn’t know which way to turn. Colonel +Gillis suggested it. I wanted to keep you and Rolfe in school and give you a +chance. It isn’t true—anything that horrible man said. It +wasn’t anything like what he suggested. Colonel Gillis and several others +wanted me to rent them bachelor quarters, and that’s the way it all came +about. It wasn’t my fault; I couldn’t help myself, Bevy.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what about Mr. Cowperwood?” inquired Berenice curiously. She +had begun of late to think a great deal about Cowperwood. He was so cool, deep, +dynamic, in a way resourceful, like herself. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s nothing about him,” replied Mrs. Carter, looking up +defensively. Of all her men friends she best liked Cowperwood. He had never +advised her to evil ways or used her house as a convenience to himself alone. +“He never did anything but help me out. He advised me to give up my house +in Louisville and come East and devote myself to looking after you and Rolfe. +He offered to help me until you two should be able to help yourselves, and so I +came. Oh, if I had only not been so foolish—so afraid of life! But your +father and Mr. Carter just ran through everything.” +</p> + +<p> +She heaved a deep, heartfelt sigh. +</p> + +<p> +“Then we really haven’t anything at all, have we, +mother—property or anything else?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Carter shook her head, meaning no. +</p> + +<p> +“And the money we have been spending is Mr. Cowperwood’s?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +Berenice paused and looked out the window over the wide stretch of park which +it commanded. Framed in it like a picture were a small lake, a hill of trees, +with a Japanese pagoda effect in the foreground. Over the hill were the yellow +towering walls of a great hotel in Central Park West. In the street below could +be heard the jingle of street-cars. On a road in the park could be seen a +moving line of pleasure vehicles—society taking an airing in the chill +November afternoon. +</p> + +<p> +“Poverty, ostracism,” she thought. And should she marry rich? Of +course, if she could. And whom should she marry? The Lieutenant? Never. He was +really not masterful enough mentally, and he had witnessed her discomfiture. +And who, then? Oh, the long line of sillies, light-weights, rakes, +ne’er-do-wells, who, combined with sober, prosperous, conventional, +muddle-headed oofs, constituted society. Here and there, at far jumps, was a +real man, but would he be interested in her if he knew the whole truth about +her? +</p> + +<p> +“Have you broken with Mr. Braxmar?” asked her mother, curiously, +nervously, hopefully, hopelessly. +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t seen him since,” replied Berenice, lying +conservatively. “I don’t know whether I shall or not. I want to +think.” She arose. “But don’t you mind, mother. Only I wish +we had some other way of living besides being dependent on Mr. +Cowperwood.” +</p> + +<p> +She walked into her boudoir, and before her mirror began to dress for a dinner +to which she had been invited. So it was Cowperwood’s money that had been +sustaining them all during the last few years; and she had been so liberal with +his means—so proud, vain, boastful, superior. And he had only fixed her +with those inquiring, examining eyes. Why? But she did not need to ask herself +why. She knew now. What a game he had been playing, and what a silly she had +been not to see it. Did her mother in any way suspect? She doubted it. This +queer, paradoxical, impossible world! The eyes of Cowperwood burned at her as +she thought. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap53"></a>CHAPTER LIII.<br/> +A Declaration of Love</h2> + +<p> +For the first time in her life Berenice now pondered seriously what she could +do. She thought of marriage, but decided that instead of sending for Braxmar or +taking up some sickening chase of an individual even less satisfactory it might +be advisable to announce in a simple social way to her friends that her mother +had lost her money, and that she herself was now compelled to take up some form +of employment—the teaching of dancing, perhaps, or the practice of it +professionally. She suggested this calmly to her mother one day. Mrs. Carter, +who had been long a parasite really, without any constructive monetary notions +of real import, was terrified. To think that she and “Bevy,” her +wonderful daughter, and by reaction her son, should come to anything so humdrum +and prosaic as ordinary struggling life, and after all her dreams. She sighed +and cried in secret, writing Cowperwood a cautious explanation and asking him +to see her privately in New York when he returned. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you think we had best go on a little while longer?” +she suggested to Berenice. “It just wrings my heart to think that you, +with your qualifications, should have to stoop to giving dancing-lessons. We +had better do almost anything for a while yet. You can make a suitable +marriage, and then everything will be all right for you. It doesn’t +matter about me. I can live. But you—” Mrs. Carter’s strained +eyes indicated the misery she felt. Berenice was moved by this affection for +her, which she knew to be genuine; but what a fool her mother had been, what a +weak reed, indeed, she was to lean upon! Cowperwood, when he conferred with +Mrs. Carter, insisted that Berenice was quixotic, nervously awry, to wish to +modify her state, to eschew society and invalidate her wondrous charm by any +sort of professional life. By prearrangement with Mrs. Carter he hurried to +Pocono at a time when he knew that Berenice was there alone. Ever since the +Beales Chadsey incident she had been evading him. +</p> + +<p> +When he arrived, as he did about one in the afternoon of a crisp January day, +there was snow on the ground, and the surrounding landscape was bathed in a +crystalline light that gave back to the eye endless facets of +luster—jewel beams that cut space with a flash. The automobile had been +introduced by now, and he rode in a touring-car of eighty horse-power that gave +back from its dark-brown, varnished surface a lacquered light. In a great fur +coat and cap of round, black lamb’s-wool he arrived at the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Bevy,” he exclaimed, pretending not to know of Mrs. +Carter’s absence, “how are you? How’s your mother? Is she +in?” +</p> + +<p> +Berenice fixed him with her cool, steady-gazing eyes, as frank and incisive as +they were daring, and smiled him an equivocal welcome. She wore a blue denim +painter’s apron, and a palette of many colors glistened under her thumb. +She was painting and thinking—thinking being her special occupation these +days, and her thoughts had been of Braxmar, Cowperwood, Kilmer Duelma, a +half-dozen others, as well as of the stage, dancing, painting. Her life was in +a melting-pot, as it were, before her; again it was like a disarranged puzzle, +the pieces of which might be fitted together into some interesting picture if +she could but endure. +</p> + +<p> +“Do come in,” she said. “It’s cold, isn’t it? +Well, there’s a nice fire here for you. No, mother isn’t here. She +went down to New York. I should think you might have found her at the +apartment. Are you in New York for long?” +</p> + +<p> +She was gay, cheerful, genial, but remote. Cowperwood felt the protective gap +that lay between him and her. It had always been there. He felt that, even +though she might understand and like him, yet there was +something—convention, ambition, or some deficiency on his part—that +was keeping her from him, keeping her eternally distant. +</p> + +<p> +He looked about the room, at the picture she was attempting (a snow-scape, of a +view down a slope), at the view itself which he contemplated from the window, +at some dancing sketches she had recently executed and hung on the wall for the +time being—lovely, short tunic motives. He looked at her in her +interesting and becoming painter’s apron. “Well, Berenice,” +he said, “always the artist first. It is your world. You will never +escape it. These things are beautiful.” He waved an ungloved hand in the +direction of a choric line. “It wasn’t your mother I came to see, +anyhow. It is you. I had such a curious letter from her. She tells me you want +to give up society and take to teaching or something of that sort. I came +because I wanted to talk to you about that. Don’t you think you are +acting rather hastily?” +</p> + +<p> +He spoke now as though there were some reason entirely disassociated from +himself that was impelling him to this interest in her. +</p> + +<p> +Berenice, brush in hand, standing by her picture, gave him a look that was +cool, curious, defiant, equivocal. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I don’t think so,” she replied, quietly. “You know +how things have been, so I may speak quite frankly. I know that mother’s +intentions were always of the best.” +</p> + +<p> +Her mouth moved with the faintest touch of sadness. “Her heart, I am +afraid, is better than her head. As for your motives, I am satisfied to believe +that they have been of the best also. I know that they have been, in +fact—it would be ungenerous of me to suggest anything else.” +(Cowperwood’s fixed eyes, it seemed to her, had moved somewhere in their +deepest depths.) “Yet I don’t feel we can go on as we have been +doing. We have no money of our own. Why shouldn’t I do something? What +else can I really do?” +</p> + +<p> +She paused, and Cowperwood gazed at her, quite still. In her informal, bunchy +painter’s apron, and with her blue eyes looking out at him from beneath +her loose red hair, it seemed to him she was the most perfect thing he had ever +known. Such a keen, fixed, enthroned mind. She was so capable, so splendid, +and, like his own, her eyes were unafraid. Her spiritual equipoise was +undisturbed. +</p> + +<p> +“Berenice,” he said, quietly, “let me tell you something. You +did me the honor just now to speak of my motives ingiving your mother money as +of the best. They were—from my own point of view—the best I have +ever known. I will not say what I thought they were in the beginning. I know +what they were now. I am going to speak quite frankly with you, if you will let +me, as long as we are here together. I don’t know whether you know this +or not, but when I first met your mother I only knew by chance that she had a +daughter, and it was of no particular interest to me then. I went to her house +as the guest of a financial friend of mine who admired her greatly. From the +first I myself admired her, because I found her to be a lady to the manner +born—she was interesting. One day I happened to see a photograph of you +in her home, and before I could mention it she put it away. Perhaps you recall +the one. It is in profile—taken when you were about sixteen.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I remember,” replied Berenice, simply—as quietly as +though she were hearing a confession. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that picture interested me intensely. I inquired about you, and +learned all I could. After that I saw another picture of you, enlarged, in a +Louisville photographer’s window. I bought it. It is in my office +now—my private office—in Chicago. You are standing by a +mantelpiece.” +</p> + +<p> +“I remember,” replied Berenice, moved, but uncertain. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me tell you a little something about my life, will you? It +won’t take long. I was born in Philadelphia. My family had always +belonged there. I have been in the banking and street-railway business all my +life. My first wife was a Presbyterian girl, religious, conventional. She was +older than I by six or seven years. I was happy for a while—five or six +years. We had two children—both still living. Then I met my present wife. +She was younger than myself—at least ten years, and very good-looking. +She was in some respects more intelligent than my first wife—at least +less conventional, more generous, I thought. I fell in love with her, and when +I eventually left Philadelphia I got a divorce and married her. I was greatly +in love with her at the time. I thought she was an ideal mate for me, and I +still think she has many qualities which make her attractive. But my own ideals +in regard to women have all the time been slowly changing. I have come to see, +through various experiments, that she is not the ideal woman for me at all. She +does not understand me. I don’t pretend to understand myself, but it has +occurred to me that there might be a woman somewhere who would understand me +better than I understand myself, who would see the things that I don’t +see about myself, and would like me, anyhow. I might as well tell you that I +have been a lover of women always. There is just one ideal thing in this world +to me, and that is the woman that I would like to have.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should think it would make it rather difficult for any one woman to +discover just which woman you would like to have?” smiled Berenice, +whimsically. Cowperwood was unabashed. +</p> + +<p> +“It would, I presume, unless she should chance to be the very one woman I +am talking about,” he replied, impressively. +</p> + +<p> +“I should think she would have her work cut out for her under any +circumstances,” added Berenice, lightly, but with a touch of sympathy in +her voice. +</p> + +<p> +“I am making a confession,” replied Cowperwood, seriously and a +little heavily. “I am not apologizing for myself. The women I have known +would make ideal wives for some men, but not for me. Life has taught me that +much. It has changed me.” +</p> + +<p> +“And do you think the process has stopped by any means?” she +replied, quaintly, with that air of superior banter which puzzled, fascinated, +defied him. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I will not say that. My ideal has become fixed, though, apparently. +I have had it for a number of years now. It spoils other matters for me. There +is such a thing as an ideal. We do have a pole-star in physics.” +</p> + +<p> +As he said this Cowperwood realized that for him he was making a very +remarkable confession. He had come here primarily to magnetize her and control +her judgment. As a matter of fact, it was almost the other way about. She was +almost dominating him. Lithe, slender, resourceful, histrionic, she was +standing before him making him explain himself, only he did not see her so much +in that light as in the way of a large, kindly, mothering intelligence which +could see, feel, and understand. She would know how it was, he felt sure. He +could make himself understood if he tried. Whatever he was or had been, she +would not take a petty view. She could not. Her answers thus far guaranteed as +much. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she replied, “we do have a pole-star, but you do not +seem able to find it. Do you expect to find your ideal in any living +woman?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have found it,” he answered, wondering at the ingenuity and +complexity of her mind—and of his own, for that matter—of all mind +indeed. Deep below deep it lay, staggering him at times by its fathomless +reaches. “I hope you will take seriously what I am going to say, for it +will explain so much. When I began to be interested in your picture I was so +because it coincided with the ideal I had in mind—the thing that you +think changes swiftly. That was nearly seven years ago. Since then it has never +changed. When I saw you at your school on Riverside Drive I was fully +convinced. Although I have said nothing, I have remained so. Perhaps you think +I had no right to any such feelings. Most people would agree with you. I had +them and do have them just the same, and it explains my relation to your +mother. When she came to me once in Louisville and told me of her difficulties +I was glad to help her for your sake. That has been my reason ever since, +although she does not know that. In some respects, Berenice, your mother is a +little dull. All this while I have been in love with you—intensely so. As +you stand there now you seem to me amazingly beautiful—the ideal I have +been telling you about. Don’t be disturbed; I sha’n’t press +any attentions on you.” (Berenice had moved very slightly. She was +concerned as much for him as for herself. His power was so wide, his power so +great. She could not help taking him seriously when he was so serious.) +“I have done whatever I have done in connection with you and your mother +because I have been in love with you and because I wanted you to become the +splendid thing I thought you ought to become. You have not known it, but you +are the cause of my building the house on Fifth Avenue—the principal +reason. I wanted to build something worthy of you. A dream? Certainly. +Everything we do seems to have something of that quality. Its beauty, if there +is any, is due to you. I made it beautiful thinking of you.” +</p> + +<p> +He paused, and Berenice gave no sign. Her first impulse had been to object, but +her vanity, her love of art, her love of power—all were touched. At the +same time she was curious now as to whether he had merely expected to take her +as his mistress or to wait until he could honor her as his wife. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you are wondering whether I ever expected to marry you or +not,” he went on, getting the thought out of her mind. “I am no +different from many men in that respect, Berenice. I will be frank. I wanted +you in any way that I could get you. I was living in the hope all along that +you would fall in love with me—as I had with you. I hated Braxmar here, +not long ago, when he appeared on the scene, but I could never have thought of +interfering. I was quite prepared to give you up. I have envied every man I +have ever seen with you—young and old. I have even envied your mother for +being so close to you when I could not be. At the same time I have wanted you +to have everything that would help you in any way. I did not want to interfere +with you in case you found some one whom you could truly love if I knew that +you could not love me. There is the whole story outside of anything you may +know. But it is not because of this that I came to-day. Not to tell you +this.” +</p> + +<p> +He paused, as if expecting her to say something, though she made no comment +beyond a questioning “Yes?” +</p> + +<p> +“The thing that I have come to say is that I want you to go on as you +were before. Whatever you may think of me or of what I have just told you, I +want you to believe that I am sincere and disinterested in what I am telling +you now. My dream in connection with you is not quite over. Chance might make +me eligible if you should happen to care. But I want you to go on and be happy, +regardless of me. I have dreamed, but I dare say it has been a mistake. Hold +your head high—you have a right to. Be a lady. Marry any one you really +love. I will see that you have a suitable marriage portion. I love you, +Berenice, but I will make it a fatherly affection from now on. When I die I +will put you in my will. But go on now in the spirit you were going before. I +really can’t be happy unless I think you are going to be.” +</p> + +<p> +He paused, still looking at her, believing for the time being what he said. If +he should die she would find herself in his will. If she were to go on and +socialize and seek she might find some one to love, but also she might think of +him more kindly before she did so. What would be the cost of her as a ward +compared to his satisfaction and delight in having her at least friendly and +sympathetic and being in her good graces and confidence? +</p> + +<p> +Berenice, who had always been more or less interested in him, temperamentally +biased, indeed, in his direction because of his efficiency, simplicity, +directness, and force, was especially touched in this instance by his utter +frankness and generosity. She might question his temperamental control over his +own sincerity in the future, but she could scarcely question that at present he +was sincere. Moreover, his long period of secret love and admiration, the +thought of so powerful a man dreaming of her in this fashion, was so +flattering. It soothed her troubled vanity and shame in what had gone before. +His straightforward confession had a kind of nobility which was electric, +moving. She looked at him as he stood there, a little gray about the +temples—the most appealing ornament of some men to some women—and +for the life of her she could not help being moved by a kind of tenderness, +sympathy, mothering affection. Obviously he did need the woman his attitude +seemed to show that he needed, some woman of culture, spirit, taste, +amorousness; or, at least, he was entitled to dream of her. As he stood before +her he seemed a kind of superman, and yet also a bad boy—handsome, +powerful, hopeful, not so very much older than herself now, impelled by some +blazing internal force which harried him on and on. How much did he really care +for her? How much could he? How much could he care for any one? Yet see all he +had done to interest her. What did that mean? To say all this? To do all this? +Outside was his car brown and radiant in the snow. He was the great Frank +Algernon Cowperwood, of Chicago, and he was pleading with her, a mere chit of a +girl, to be kind to him, not to put him out of her life entirely. It touched +her intellect, her pride, her fancy. +</p> + +<p> +Aloud she said: “I like you better now. I really believe in you. I never +did, quite, before. Not that I think I ought to let you spend your money on me +or mother—I don’t. But I admire you. You make me. I understand how +it is, I think. I know what your ambitions are. I have always felt that I did, +in part. But you mustn’t talk to me any more now. I want to think. I want +to think over what you have said. I don’t know whether I can bring myself +to it or not.” (She noticed that his eyes seemed to move somehow in their +deepest depths again.) “But we won’t talk about it any more at +present.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, Berenice,” he added, with a real plea in his voice, “I +wonder if you do understand. I have been so lonely—I am—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I do,” she replied, holding out her hand. “We are going +to be friends, whatever happens, from now on, because I really like you. You +mustn’t ask me to decide about the other, though, to-day. I can’t +do it. I don’t want to. I don’t care to.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not when I would so gladly give you everything—when I need it so +little?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not until I think it out for myself. I don’t think so, though. +No,” she replied, with an air. “There, Mr. Guardian Father,” +she laughed, pushing his hand away. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood’s heart bounded. He would have given millions to take her +close in his arms. As it was he smiled appealingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you want to jump in and come to New York with me? If your +mother isn’t at the apartment you could stop at the Netherland.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, not to-day. I expect to be in soon. I will let you know, or mother +will.” +</p> + +<p> +He bustled out and into the machine after a moment of parley, waving to her +over the purpling snow of the evening as his machine tore eastward, planning to +make New York by dinner-time. If he could just keep her in this friendly, +sympathetic attitude. If he only could! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap54"></a>CHAPTER LIV.<br/> +Wanted—Fifty-year Franchises</h2> + +<p> +Whatever his momentary satisfaction in her friendly acceptance of his +confession, the uncertain attitude of Berenice left Cowperwood about where he +was before. By a strange stroke of fate Braxmar, his young rival, had been +eliminated, and Berenice had been made to see him, Cowperwood, in his true +colors of love and of service for her. Yet plainly she did not accept them at +his own valuation. More than ever was he conscious of the fact that he had +fallen in tow of an amazing individual, one who saw life from a distinct and +peculiar point of view and who was not to be bent to his will. That fact more +than anything else—for her grace and beauty merely emblazoned +it—caused him to fall into a hopeless infatuation. +</p> + +<p> +He said to himself over and over, “Well, I can live without her if I +must,” but at this stage the mere thought was an actual stab in his +vitals. What, after all, was life, wealth, fame, if you couldn’t have the +woman you wanted—love, that indefinable, unnamable coddling of the spirit +which the strongest almost more than the weakest crave? At last he saw clearly, +as within a chalice-like nimbus, that the ultimate end of fame, power, vigor +was beauty, and that beauty was a compound of the taste, the emotion, the +innate culture, passion, and dreams of a woman like Berenice Fleming. That was +it: that was it. And beyond was nothing save crumbling age, darkness, silence. +</p> + +<p> +In the mean time, owing to the preliminary activity and tact of his agents and +advisers, the Sunday newspapers were vying with one another in describing the +wonders of his new house in New York—its cost, the value of its ground, +the wealthy citizens with whom the Cowperwoods would now be neighbors. There +were double-column pictures of Aileen and Cowperwood, with articles indicating +them as prospective entertainers on a grand scale who would unquestionably be +received because of their tremendous wealth. As a matter of fact, this was +purely newspaper gossip and speculation. While the general columns made news +and capital of his wealth, special society columns, which dealt with the +ultra-fashionable, ignored him entirely. Already the machination of certain +Chicago social figures in distributing information as to his past was +discernible in the attitude of those clubs, organizations, and even churches, +membership in which constitutes a form of social passport to better and higher +earthly, if not spiritual, realms. His emissaries were active enough, but soon +found that their end was not to be gained in a day. Many were waiting locally, +anxious enough to get in, and with social equipments which the Cowperwoods +could scarcely boast. After being blackballed by one or two exclusive clubs, +seeing his application for a pew at St. Thomas’s quietly pigeon-holed for +the present, and his invitations declined by several multimillionaires whom he +met in the course of commercial transactions, he began to feel that his +splendid home, aside from its final purpose as an art-museum, could be of +little value. +</p> + +<p> +At the same time Cowperwood’s financial genius was constantly being +rewarded by many new phases of materiality chiefly by an offensive and +defensive alliance he was now able to engineer between himself and the house of +Haeckelheimer, Gotloeb & Co. Seeing the iron manner in which he had managed +to wrest victory out of defeat after the first seriously contested election, +these gentlemen had experienced a change of heart and announced that they would +now gladly help finance any new enterprise which Cowperwood might undertake. +Among many other financiers, they had heard of his triumph in connection with +the failure of American Match. +</p> + +<p> +“Dot must be a right cleffer man, dot Cowperwood,” Mr. Gotloeb told +several of his partners, rubbing his hands and smiling. “I shouldt like +to meet him.” +</p> + +<p> +And so Cowperwood was manoeuvered into the giant banking office, where Mr. +Gotloeb extended a genial hand. +</p> + +<p> +“I hear much of Chicawkgo,” he explained, in his semi-German, +semi-Hebraic dialect, “but almozd more uff you. Are you goink to swallow +up all de street-railwaiss unt elefated roats out dere?” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood smiled his most ingenuous smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Why? Would you like me to leave a few for you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not dot exzagly, but I might not mint sharink in some uff dem wit +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can join with me at any time, Mr. Gotloeb, as you must know. The +door is always very, very wide open for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I musd look into dot some more. It loogs very promising to me. I am +gladt to meet you.” +</p> + +<p> +The great external element in Cowperwood’s financial success—and +one which he himself had foreseen from the very beginning—was the fact +that Chicago was developing constantly. What had been when he arrived a soggy, +messy plain strewn with shanties, ragged sidewalks, a higgledy-piggledy +business heart, was now truly an astounding metropolis which had passed the +million mark in population and which stretched proud and strong over the +greater part of Cook County. Where once had been a meager, makeshift financial +section, with here and there only a splendid business building or hotel or a +public office of some kind, there were now canon-like streets lined with +fifteen and even eighteen story office buildings, from the upper stories of +which, as from watch-towers, might be surveyed the vast expanding regions of +simple home life below. Farther out were districts of mansions, parks, pleasure +resorts, great worlds of train-yards and manufacturing areas. In the commercial +heart of this world Frank Algernon Cowperwood had truly become a figure of +giant significance. How wonderful it is that men grow until, like colossi, they +bestride the world, or, like banyan-trees, they drop roots from every branch +and are themselves a forest—a forest of intricate commercial life, of +which a thousand material aspects are the evidence. His street-railway +properties were like a net—the parasite Gold Thread—linked together +as they were, and draining two of the three important “sides” of +the city. +</p> + +<p> +In 1886, when he had first secured a foothold, they had been capitalized at +between six and seven millions (every device for issuing a dollar on real +property having been exhausted). To-day, under his management, they were +capitalized at between sixty and seventy millions. The majority of the stock +issued and sold was subject to a financial device whereby twenty per cent. +controlled eighty per cent., Cowperwood holding that twenty per cent. and +borrowing money on it as hypothecated collateral. In the case of the West Side +corporation, a corporate issue of over thirty millions had been made, and these +stocks, owing to the tremendous carrying power of the roads and the swelling +traffic night and morning of poor sheep who paid their hard-earned nickels, had +a market value which gave the road an assured physical value of about three +times the sum for which it could have been built. The North Chicago company, +which in 1886 had a physical value of little more than a million, could not now +be duplicated for less than seven millions, and was capitalized at nearly +fifteen millions. The road was valued at over one hundred thousand dollars more +per mile than the sum for which it could actually have been replaced. Pity the +poor groveling hack at the bottom who has not the brain-power either to +understand or to control that which his very presence and necessities create. +</p> + +<p> +These tremendous holdings, paying from ten to twelve per cent. on every +hundred-dollar share, were in the control, if not in the actual ownership, of +Cowperwood. Millions in loans that did not appear on the books of the companies +he had converted into actual cash, wherewith he had bought houses, lands, +equipages, paintings, government bonds of the purest gold value, thereby +assuring himself to that extent of a fortune vaulted and locked, absolutely +secure. After much toiling and moiling on the part of his overworked legal +department he had secured a consolidation, under the title of the Consolidated +Traction Company of Illinois, of all outlying lines, each having separate +franchises and capitalized separately, yet operated by an amazing hocus-pocus +of contracts and agreements in single, harmonious union with all his other +properties. The North and West Chicago companies he now proposed to unite into +a third company to be called the Union Traction Company. By taking up the ten +and twelve per cent. issues of the old North and West companies and giving two +for one of the new six-per-cent one-hundred-dollar-share Union Traction stocks +in their stead, he could satisfy the current stockholders, who were apparently +made somewhat better off thereby, and still create and leave for himself a +handsome margin of nearly eighty million dollars. With a renewal of his +franchises for twenty, fifty, or one hundred years he would have fastened on +the city of Chicago the burden of yielding interest on this somewhat fictitious +value and would leave himself personally worth in the neighborhood of one +hundred millions. +</p> + +<p> +This matter of extending his franchises was a most difficult and intricate +business, however. It involved overcoming or outwitting a recent and very +treacherous increase of local sentiment against him. This had been occasioned +by various details which related to his elevated roads. To the two lines +already built he now added a third property, the Union Loop. This he prepared +to connect not only with his own, but with other outside elevated properties, +chief among which was Mr. Schryhart’s South Side “L.” He +would then farm out to his enemies the privilege of running trains on this new +line. However unwillingly, they would be forced to avail themselves of the +proffered opportunity, because within the region covered by the new loop was +the true congestion—here every one desired to come either once or twice +during the day or night. By this means Cowperwood would secure to his property +a paying interest from the start. +</p> + +<p> +This scheme aroused a really unprecedented antagonism in the breasts of +Cowperwood’s enemies. By the Arneel-Hand-Schryhart contingent it was +looked upon as nothing short of diabolical. The newspapers, directed by such +men as Haguenin, Hyssop, Ormonde Ricketts, and Truman Leslie MacDonald (whose +father was now dead, and whose thoughts as editor of the <i>Inquirer</i> were almost +solely directed toward driving Cowperwood out of Chicago), began to shout, as a +last resort, in the interests of democracy. Seats for everybody (on +Cowperwood’s lines), no more straps in the rush hours, three-cent fares +for workingmen, morning and evening, free transfers from all of +Cowperwood’s lines north to west and west to north, twenty per cent. of +the gross income of his lines to be paid to the city. The masses should be made +cognizant of their individual rights and privileges. Such a course, while +decidedly inimical to Cowperwood’s interests at the present time, and as +such strongly favored by the majority of his opponents, had nevertheless its +disturbing elements to an ultra-conservative like Hosmer Hand. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know about this, Norman,” he remarked to Schryhart, +on one occasion. “I don’t know about this. It’s one thing to +stir up the public, but it’s another to make them forget. This is a +restless, socialistic country, and Chicago is the very hotbed and center of it. +Still, if it will serve to trip him up I suppose it will do for the present. +The newspapers can probably smooth it all over later. But I don’t +know.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Hand was of that order of mind that sees socialism as a horrible +importation of monarchy-ridden Europe. Why couldn’t the people be +satisfied to allow the strong, intelligent, God-fearing men of the community to +arrange things for them? Wasn’t that what democracy meant? Certainly it +was—he himself was one of the strong. He could not help distrusting all +this radical palaver. Still, anything to hurt Cowperwood—anything. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood was not slow to realize that public sentiment was now in danger of +being thoroughly crystallized against him by newspaper agitation. Although his +franchises would not expire—the large majority of them—before +January 1, 1903, yet if things went on at this rate it would be doubtful soon +whether ever again he would be able to win another election by methods +legitimate or illegitimate. Hungry aldermen and councilmen might be venal and +greedy enough to do anything he should ask, provided he was willing to pay +enough, but even the thickest-hided, the most voracious and corrupt politician +could scarcely withstand the searching glare of publicity and the infuriated +rage of a possibly aroused public opinion. By degrees this last, owing to the +untiring efforts of the newspapers, was being whipped into a wild foam. To come +into council at this time and ask for a twenty-year extension of franchises not +destined to expire for seven years was too much. It could not be done. Even +suborned councilmen would be unwilling to undertake it just now. There are some +things which even politically are impossible. +</p> + +<p> +To make matters worse, the twenty-year-franchise limit was really not at all +sufficient for his present needs. In order to bring about the consolidation of +his North and West surface lines, which he was now proposing and on the +strength of which he wished to issue at least two hundred million +dollars’ worth of one-hundred-dollar-six-per-cent. shares in place of the +seventy million dollars current of ten and twelve per cents., it was necessary +for him to secure a much more respectable term of years than the brief one now +permitted by the state legislature, even providing that this latter could be +obtained. +</p> + +<p> +“Peeble are not ferry much indrested in tees short-time frangizes,” +observed Mr. Gotloeb once, when Cowperwood was talking the matter over with +him. He wanted Haeckelheimer & Co. to underwrite the whole issue. +“Dey are so insigure. Now if you couldt get, say, a frangize for fifty or +one hunnert years or something like dot your stocks wouldt go off like hot +cakes. I know where I couldt dispose of fifty million dollars off dem in +Cermany alone.” +</p> + +<p> +He was most unctuous and pleading. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood understood this quite as well as Gotloeb, if not better. He was not +at all satisfied with the thought of obtaining a beggarly twenty-year extension +for his giant schemes when cities like Philadelphia, Boston, New York, and +Pittsburg were apparently glad to grant their corporations franchises which +would not expire for ninety-nine years at the earliest, and in most cases were +given in perpetuity. This was the kind of franchise favored by the great +moneyed houses of New York and Europe, and which Gotloeb, and even Addison, +locally, were demanding. +</p> + +<p> +“It is certainly important that we get these franchises renewed for fifty +years,” Addison used to say to him, and it was seriously and disagreeably +true. +</p> + +<p> +The various lights of Cowperwood’s legal department, constantly on the +search for new legislative devices, were not slow to grasp the import of the +situation. It was not long before the resourceful Mr. Joel Avery appeared with +a suggestion. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you notice what the state legislature of New York is doing in +connection with the various local transit problems down there?” asked +this honorable gentleman of Cowperwood, one morning, ambling in when announced +and seating himself in the great presence. A half-burned cigar was between his +fingers, and a little round felt hat looked peculiarly rakish above his +sinister, intellectual, constructive face and eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I didn’t,” replied Cowperwood, who had actually noted +and pondered upon the item in question, but who did not care to say so. +“I saw something about it, but I didn’t pay much attention to it. +What of it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it plans to authorize a body of four or five men—one branch +in New York, one in Buffalo, I presume—to grant all new franchises and +extend old ones with the consent of the various local communities involved. +They are to fix the rate of compensation to be paid to the state or the city, +and the rates of fare. They can regulate transfers, stock issues, and all that +sort of thing. I was thinking if at any time we find this business of renewing +the franchises too uncertain here we might go into the state legislature and +see what can be done about introducing a public-service commission of that kind +into this state. We are not the only corporation that would welcome it. Of +course, it would be better if there were a general or special demand for it +outside of ourselves. It ought not to originate with us.” +</p> + +<p> +He stared at Cowperwood heavily, the latter returning a reflective gaze. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll think it over,” he said. “There may be something +in that.” +</p> + +<p> +Henceforth the thought of instituting such a commission never left +Cowperwood’s mind. It contained the germ of a solution—the +possibility of extending his franchises for fifty or even a hundred years. +</p> + +<p> +This plan, as Cowperwood was subsequently to discover, was a thing more or less +expressly forbidden by the state constitution of Illinois. The latter provided +that no special or exclusive privilege, immunity, or franchise whatsoever +should be granted to any corporation, association, or individual. Yet, +“What is a little matter like the constitution between friends, +anyhow?” some one had already asked. There are fads in legislation as +well as dusty pigeonholes in which phases of older law are tucked away and +forgotten. Many earlier ideals of the constitution-makers had long since been +conveniently obscured or nullified by decisions, appeals to the federal +government, appeals to the state government, communal contracts, and the +like—fine cobwebby figments, all, but sufficient, just the same, to +render inoperative the original intention. Besides, Cowperwood had but small +respect for either the intelligence or the self-protective capacity of such men +as constituted the rural voting element of the state. From his lawyers and from +others he had heard innumerable droll stories of life in the state legislature, +and the state counties and towns—on the bench, at the rural huskings +where the state elections were won, in country hotels, on country roads and +farms. “One day as I was getting on the train at Petunkey,” old +General Van Sickle, or Judge Dickensheets, or ex-Judge Avery would +begin—and then would follow some amazing narration of rural immorality or +dullness, or political or social misconception. Of the total population of the +state at this time over half were in the city itself, and these he had managed +to keep in control. For the remaining million, divided between twelve small +cities and an agricultural population, he had small respect. What did this +handful of yokels amount to, anyhow?—dull, frivoling, barn-dancing boors. +</p> + +<p> +The great state of Illinois—a territory as large as England proper and as +fertile as Egypt, bordered by a great lake and a vast river, and with a +population of over two million free-born Americans—would scarcely seem a +fit subject for corporate manipulation and control. Yet a more trade-ridden +commonwealth might not have been found anywhere at this time within the entire +length and breadth of the universe. Cowperwood personally, though contemptuous +of the bucolic mass when regarded as individuals, had always been impressed by +this great community of his election. Here had come Marquette and Joliet, La +Salle and Hennepin, dreaming a way to the Pacific. Here Lincoln and Douglas, +antagonist and protagonist of slavery argument, had contested; here had arisen +“Joe” Smith, propagator of that strange American dogma of the +Latter-Day Saints. What a state, Cowperwood sometimes thought; what a figment +of the brain, and yet how wonderful! He had crossed it often on his way to St. +Louis, to Memphis, to Denver, and had been touched by its very +simplicity—the small, new wooden towns, so redolent of American +tradition, prejudice, force, and illusion. The white-steepled church, the +lawn-faced, tree-shaded village streets, the long stretches of flat, open +country where corn grew in serried rows or where in winter the snow bedded +lightly—it all reminded him a little of his own father and mother, who +had been in many respects suited to such a world as this. Yet none the less did +he hesitate to press on the measure which was to adjust his own future, to make +profitable his issue of two hundred million dollars’ worth of Union +Traction, to secure him a fixed place in the financial oligarchy of America and +of the world. +</p> + +<p> +The state legislature at this time was ruled over by a small group of +wire-pulling, pettifogging, corporation-controlled individuals who came up from +the respective towns, counties, and cities of the state, but who bore the same +relation to the communities which they represented and to their superiors and +equals in and out of the legislative halls at Springfield that men do to such +allies anywhere in any given field. Why do we call them pettifogging and +dismiss them? Perhaps they were pettifogging, but certainly no more so than any +other shrewd rat or animal that burrows its way onward—and shall we say +upward? The deepest controlling principle which animated these individuals was +the oldest and first, that of self-preservation. Picture, for example, a common +occurrence—that of Senator John H. Southack, conversing with, perhaps, +Senator George Mason Wade, of Gallatin County, behind a legislative door in one +of the senate conference chambers toward the close of a session—Senator +Southack, blinking, buttonholing his well-dressed colleague and drawing very +near; Senator Wade, curious, confidential, expectant (a genial, solid, +experienced, slightly paunchy but well-built Senator Wade—and handsome, +too). +</p> + +<p> +“You know, George, I told you there would be something eventually in the +Quincy water-front improvement if it ever worked out. Well, here it is. Ed +Truesdale was in town yesterday.” (This with a knowing eye, as much as to +say, “Mum’s the word.”) “Here’s five hundred; +count it.” +</p> + +<p> +A quick flashing out of some green and yellow bills from a vest pocket, a light +thumbing and counting on the part of Senator Wade. A flare of comprehension, +approval, gratitude, admiration, as though to signify, “This is something +like.” “Thanks, John. I had pretty near forgot all about it. Nice +people, eh? If you see Ed again give him my regards. When that Bellville +contest comes up let me know.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Wade, being a good speaker, was frequently in request to stir up the +populace to a sense of pro or con in connection with some legislative crisis +impending, and it was to some such future opportunity that he now pleasantly +referred. O life, O politics, O necessity, O hunger, O burning human appetite +and desire on every hand! +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Southack was an unobtrusive, pleasant, quiet man of the type that would +usually be patronized as rural and pettifogging by men high in commercial +affairs. He was none the less well fitted to his task, a capable and diligent +beneficiary and agent. He was well dressed, middle-aged,—only +forty-five—cool, courageous, genial, with eyes that were material, but +not cold or hard, and a light, springy, energetic step and manner. A holder of +some C. W. & I. R.R. shares, a director of one of his local county banks, a +silent partner in the Effingham Herald, he was a personage in his district, one +much revered by local swains. Yet a more game and rascally type was not to be +found in all rural legislation. +</p> + +<p> +It was old General Van Sickle who sought out Southack, having remembered him +from his earlier legislative days. It was Avery who conducted the negotiations. +Primarily, in all state scheming at Springfield, Senator Southack was supposed +to represent the C. W. I., one of the great trunk-lines traversing the state, +and incidentally connecting Chicago with the South, West, and East. This road, +having a large local mileage and being anxious to extend its franchises in +Chicago and elsewhere, was deep in state politics. By a curious coincidence it +was mainly financed by Haeckelheimer, Gotloeb & Co., of New York, though +Cowperwood’s connection with that concern was not as yet known. Going to +Southack, who was the Republican whip in the senate, Avery proposed that he, in +conjunction with Judge Dickensheets and one Gilson Bickel, counsel for the C. +W. I., should now undertake to secure sufficient support in the state senate +and house for a scheme introducing the New York idea of a public-service +commission into the governing machinery of the state of Illinois. This measure, +be it noted, was to be supplemented by one very interesting and important +little proviso to the effect that all franchise-holding corporations should +hereby, for a period of fifty years from the date of the enactment of the bill +into law, be assured of all their rights, privileges, and +immunities—including franchises, of course. This was justified on the +ground that any such radical change as that involved in the introduction of a +public-service commission might disturb the peace and well-being of +corporations with franchises which still had years to run. +</p> + +<p> +Senator Southack saw nothing very wrong with this idea, though he naturally +perceived what it was all about and whom it was truly designed to protect. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he said, succinctly, “I see the lay of that land, but +what do I get out of it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Fifty thousand dollars for yourself if it’s successful, ten +thousand if it isn’t—provided you make an honest effort; two +thousand dollars apiece for any of the boys who see fit to help you if we win. +Is that perfectly satisfactory?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perfectly,” replied Senator Southack. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap55"></a>CHAPTER LV.<br/> +Cowperwood and the Governor</h2> + +<p> +A Public-service-commission law might, ipso facto, have been quietly passed at +this session, if the arbitrary franchise-extending proviso had not been +introduced, and this on the thin excuse that so novel a change in the working +scheme of the state government might bring about hardship to some. This +redounded too obviously to the benefit of one particular corporation. The +newspaper men—as thick as flies about the halls of the state capitol at +Springfield, and essentially watchful and loyal to their papers—were +quick to sense the true state of affairs. Never were there such hawks as +newspapermen. These wretches (employed by sniveling, mud-snouting newspapers of +the opposition) were not only in the councils of politicians, in the pay of +rival corporations, in the confidence of the governor, in the secrets of the +senators and local representatives, but were here and there in one +another’s confidence. A piece of news—a rumor, a dream, a +fancy—whispered by Senator Smith to Senator Jones, or by Representative +Smith to Representative Jones, and confided by him in turn to Charlie White, of +the Globe, or Eddie Burns, of the Democrat, would in turn be communicated to +Robert Hazlitt, of the <i>Press</i>, or Harry Emonds, of the Transcript. +</p> + +<p> +All at once a disturbing announcement in one or other of the papers, no one +knowing whence it came. Neither Senator Smith nor Senator Jones had told any +one. No word of the confidence imposed in Charlie White or Eddie Burns had ever +been breathed. But there you were—the thing was in the papers, the storm +of inquiry, opinion, opposition was on. No one knew, no one was to blame, but +it was on, and the battle had henceforth to be fought in the open. +</p> + +<p> +Consider also the governor who presided at this time in the executive chamber +at Springfield. He was a strange, tall, dark, osseous man who, owing to the +brooding, melancholy character of his own disposition, had a checkered and a +somewhat sad career behind him. Born in Sweden, he had been brought to America +as a child, and allowed or compelled to fight his own way upward under all the +grinding aspects of poverty. Owing to an energetic and indomitable temperament, +he had through years of law practice and public labors of various kinds built +up for himself a following among Chicago Swedes which amounted to adoration. He +had been city tax-collector, city surveyor, district attorney, and for six or +eight years a state circuit judge. In all these capacities he had manifested a +tendency to do the right as he saw it and play fair—qualities which +endeared him to the idealistic. Honest, and with a hopeless brooding sympathy +for the miseries of the poor, he had as circuit judge, and also as district +attorney, rendered various decisions which had made him very unpopular with the +rich and powerful—decisions in damage cases, fraud cases, railroad claim +cases, where the city or the state was seeking to oust various powerful railway +corporations from possession of property—yards, water-frontages, and the +like, to which they had no just claim. At the same time the populace, reading +the news items of his doings and hearing him speak on various and sundry +occasions, conceived a great fancy for him. He was primarily soft-hearted, +sweet-minded, fiery, a brilliant orator, a dynamic presence. In addition he was +woman-hungry—a phase which homely, sex-starved intellectuals the world +over will understand, to the shame of a lying age, that because of quixotic +dogma belies its greatest desire, its greatest sorrow, its greatest joy. All +these factors turned an ultra-conservative element in the community against +him, and he was considered dangerous. At the same time he had by careful +economy and investment built up a fair sized fortune. Recently, however, owing +to the craze for sky-scrapers, he had placed much of his holdings in a somewhat +poorly constructed and therefore unprofitable office building. Because of this +error financial wreck was threatening him. Even now he was knocking at the +doors of large bonding companies for assistance. +</p> + +<p> +This man, in company with the antagonistic financial element and the +newspapers, constituted, as regards Cowperwood’s +public-service-commission scheme, a triumvirate of difficulties not easy to +overcome. The newspapers, in due time, catching wind of the true purport of the +plan, ran screaming to their readers with the horrible intelligence. In the +offices of Schryhart, Arneel, Hand, and Merrill, as well as in other centers of +finance, there was considerable puzzling over the situation, and then a shrewd, +intelligent deduction was made. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you see what he’s up to, Hosmer?” inquired Schryhart of +Hand. “He sees that we have him scotched here in Chicago. As things stand +now he can’t go into the city council and ask for a franchise for more +than twenty years under the state law, and he can’t do that for three or +four years yet, anyhow. His franchises don’t expire soon enough. He knows +that by the time they do expire we will have public sentiment aroused to such a +point that no council, however crooked it may be, will dare to give him what he +asks unless he is willing to make a heavy return to the city. If he does that +it will end his scheme of selling any two hundred million dollars of Union +Traction at six per cent. The market won’t back him up. He can’t +pay twenty per cent. to the city and give universal transfers and pay six per +cent. on two hundred million dollars, and everybody knows it. He has a fine +scheme of making a cool hundred million out of this. Well, he can’t do +it. We must get the newspapers to hammer this legislative scheme of his to +death. When he comes into the local council he must pay twenty or thirty per +cent. of the gross receipts of his roads to the city. He must give free +transfers from every one of his lines to every other one. Then we have him. I +dislike to see socialistic ideas fostered, but it can’t be helped. We +have to do it. If we ever get him out of here we can hush up the newspapers, +and the public will forget about it; at least we can hope so.” +</p> + +<p> +In the mean time the governor had heard the whisper of +“boodle”—a word of the day expressive of a corrupt +legislative fund. Not at all a small-minded man, nor involved in the financial +campaign being waged against Cowperwood, nor inclined to be influenced mentally +or emotionally by superheated charges against the latter, he nevertheless +speculated deeply. In a vague way he sensed the dreams of Cowperwood. The +charge of seducing women so frequently made against the street-railway magnate, +so shocking to the yoked conventionalists, did not disturb him at all. Back of +the onward sweep of the generations he himself sensed the mystic Aphrodite and +her magic. He realized that Cowperwood had traveled fast—that he was +pressing to the utmost a great advantage in the face of great obstacles. At the +same time he knew that the present street-car service of Chicago was by no +means bad. Would he be proving unfaithful to the trust imposed on him by the +great electorate of Illinois if he were to advantage Cowperwood’s cause? +Must he not rather in the sight of all men smoke out the animating causes +here—greed, over-weening ambition, colossal self-interest as opposed to +the selflessness of a Christian ideal and of a democratic theory of government? +</p> + +<p> +Life rises to a high plane of the dramatic, and hence of the artistic, whenever +and wherever in the conflict regarding material possession there enters a +conception of the ideal. It was this that lit forever the beacon fires of Troy, +that thundered eternally in the horses’ hoofs at Arbela and in the guns +at Waterloo. Ideals were here at stake—the dreams of one man as opposed +perhaps to the ultimate dreams of a city or state or nation—the +grovelings and wallowings of a democracy slowly, blindly trying to stagger to +its feet. In this conflict—taking place in an inland cottage-dotted state +where men were clowns and churls, dancing fiddlers at country fairs—were +opposed, as the governor saw it, the ideals of one man and the ideals of men. +</p> + +<p> +Governor Swanson decided after mature deliberation to veto the bill. +Cowperwood, debonair as ever, faithful as ever to his logic and his conception +of individuality, was determined that no stone should be left unturned that +would permit him to triumph, that would carry him finally to the gorgeous +throne of his own construction. Having first engineered the matter through the +legislature by a tortuous process, fired upon at every step by the press, he +next sent various individuals—state legislators, representatives of the +C. W. & I., members of outside corporations to see the governor, but +Swanson was adamant. He did not see how he could conscientiously sanction the +bill. Finally, one day, as he was seated in his Chicago business office—a +fateful chamber located in the troublesome building which was subsequently to +wreck his fortune and which was the raison d’etre of a present period of +care and depression—enter the smug, comfortable presence of Judge Nahum +Dickensheets, at present senior counsel of the North Chicago Street Railway. He +was a very mountain of a man physically—smooth-faced, agreeably clothed, +hard and yet ingratiating of eye, a thinker, a reasoner. Swanson knew much of +him by reputation and otherwise, although personally they were no more than +speaking acquaintances. +</p> + +<p> +“How are you, Governor? I’m glad to see you again. I heard you were +back in Chicago. I see by the morning papers that you have that Southack +public-service bill up before you. I thought I would come over and have a few +words with you about it if you have no objection. I’ve been trying to get +down to Springfield for the last three weeks to have a little chat with you +before you reached a conclusion one way or the other. Do you mind if I inquire +whether you have decided to veto it?” +</p> + +<p> +The ex-judge, faintly perfumed, clean and agreeable, carried in his hand a +large-sized black hand-satchel which he put down beside him on the floor. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Judge,” replied Swanson, “I’ve practically +decided to veto it. I can see no practical reason for supporting it. As I look +at it now, it’s specious and special, not particularly called for or +necessary at this time.” +</p> + +<p> +The governor talked with a slight Swedish accent, intellectual, individual. +</p> + +<p> +A long, placid, philosophic discussion of all the pros and cons of the +situation followed. The governor was tired, distrait, but ready to listen in a +tolerant way to more argument along a line with which he was already fully +familiar. He knew, of course, that Dickensheets was counsel for the North +Chicago Street Railway Company. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m very glad to have heard what you have to say, Judge,” +finally commented the governor. I don’t want you to think I haven’t +given this matter serious thought—I have. I know most of the things that +have been done down at Springfield. Mr. Cowperwood is an able man; I +don’t charge any more against him than I do against twenty other agencies +that are operating down there at this very moment. I know what his difficulties +are. I can hardly be accused of sympathizing with his enemies, for they +certainly do not sympathize with me. I am not even listening to the newspapers. +This is a matter of faith in democracy—a difference in ideals between +myself and many other men. I haven’t vetoed the bill yet. I don’t +say that something may not arise to make me sign it. My present intention, +unless I hear something much more favorable in its behalf than I have already +heard, is to veto it. +</p> + +<p> +“Governor,” said Dickensheets, rising, “let me thank you for +your courtesy. I would be the last person in the world to wish to influence you +outside the line of your private convictions and your personal sense of fair +play. At the same time I have tried to make plain to you how essential it is, +how only fair and right, that this local street-railway-franchise business +should be removed out of the realm of sentiment, emotion, public passion, envy, +buncombe, and all the other influences that are at work to frustrate and make +difficult the work of Mr. Cowperwood. All envy, I tell you. His enemies are +willing to sacrifice every principle of justice and fair play to see him +eliminated. That sums it up. +</p> + +<p> +“That may all be true,” replied Swanson. “Just the same, +there is another principle involved here which you do not seem to see or do not +care to consider—the right of the people under the state constitution to +a consideration, a revaluation, of their contracts at the time and in the +manner agreed upon under the original franchise. What you propose is sumptuary +legislation; it makes null and void an agreement between the people and the +street-railway companies at a time when the people have a right to expect a +full and free consideration of this matter aside from state legislative +influence and control. To persuade the state legislature, by influence or by +any other means, to step in at this time and interfere is unfair. The +propositions involved in those bills should be referred to the people at the +next election for approval or not, just as they see fit. That is the way this +matter should be arranged. It will not do to come into the legislature and +influence or buy votes, and then expect me to write my signature under the +whole matter as satisfactory.” +</p> + +<p> +Swanson was not heated or antipathetic. He was cool, firm, well-intentioned. +</p> + +<p> +Dickensheets passed his hand over a wide, high temple. He seemed to be +meditating something—some hitherto untried statement or course of action. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Governor,” he repeated, “I want to thank you, anyhow. +You have been exceedingly kind. By the way, I see you have a large, roomy safe +here.” He had picked up the bag he was carrying. “I wonder if I +might leave this here for a day or two in your care? It contains some papers +that I do not wish to carry into the country with me. Would you mind locking it +up in your safe and letting me have it when I send for it?” +</p> + +<p> +“With pleasure,” replied the governor. +</p> + +<p> +He took it, placed it in lower storage space, and closed and locked the door. +The two men parted with a genial hand-shake. The governor returned to his +meditations, the judge hurried to catch a car. +</p> + +<p> +About eleven o’clock the next morning Swanson was still working in his +office, worrying greatly over some method whereby he could raise one hundred +thousand dollars to defray interest charges, repairs, and other payments, on a +structure that was by no means meeting expenses and was hence a drain. At this +juncture his office door opened, and his very youthful office-boy presented him +the card of F. A. Cowperwood. The governor had never seen him before. +Cowperwood entered brisk, fresh, forceful. He was as crisp as a new dollar +bill—as clean, sharp, firmly limned. +</p> + +<p> +“Governor Swanson, I believe?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +The two were scrutinizing each other defensively. +</p> + +<p> +“I am Mr. Cowperwood. I come to have a very few words with you. I will +take very little of your time. I do not wish to go over any of the arguments +that have been gone over before. I am satisfied that you know all about +them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I had a talk with Judge Dickensheets yesterday.” +</p> + +<p> +“Just so, Governor. Knowing all that you do, permit me to put one more +matter before you. I know that you are, comparatively, a poor man—that +every dollar you have is at present practically tied in this building. I know +of two places where you have applied for a loan of one hundred thousand dollars +and have been refused because you haven’t sufficient security to offer +outside of this building, which is mortgaged up to its limit as it stands. The +men, as you must know, who are fighting you are fighting me. I am a scoundrel +because I am selfish and ambitious—a materialist. You are not a +scoundrel, but a dangerous person because you are an idealist. Whether you veto +this bill or not, you will never again be elected Governor of Illinois if the +people who are fighting me succeed, as they will succeed, in fighting +you.” +</p> + +<p> +Swanson’s dark eyes burned illuminatively. He nodded his head in assent. +</p> + +<p> +“Governor, I have come here this morning to bribe you, if I can. I do not +agree with your ideals; in the last analysis I do not believe that they will +work. I am sure I do not believe in most of the things that you believe in. +Life is different at bottom perhaps from what either you or I may think. Just +the same, as compared with other men, I sympathize with you. I will loan you +that one hundred thousand dollars and two or three or four hundred thousand +dollars more besides if you wish. You need never pay me a dollar—or you +can if you wish. Suit yourself. In that black bag which Judge Dickensheets +brought here yesterday, and which is in your safe, is three hundred thousand +dollars in cash. He did not have the courage to mention it. Sign the bill and +let me beat the men who are trying to beat me. I will support you in the future +with any amount of money or influence that I can bring to bear in any political +contest you may choose to enter, state or national.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood’s eyes glowed like a large, genial collie’s. There was a +suggestion of sympathetic appeal in them, rich and deep, and, even more than +that, a philosophic perception of ineffable things. Swanson arose. “You +really don’t mean to say that you are trying to bribe me openly, do +you?” he inquired. In spite of a conventional impulse to burst forth in +moralistic denunciation, solemnly phrased, he was compelled for the moment to +see the other man’s viewpoint. They were working in different directions, +going different ways, to what ultimate end? +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Cowperwood,” continued the governor, his face a physiognomy +out of Goya, his eye alight with a kind of understanding sympathy, “I +suppose I ought to resent this, but I can’t. I see your point of view. +I’m sorry, but I can’t help you nor myself. My political belief, my +ideals, compel me to veto this bill; when I forsake these I am done politically +with myself. I may not be elected governor again, but that does not matter, +either. I could use your money, but I won’t. I shall have to bid you good +morning.” +</p> + +<p> +He moved toward the safe, slowly, opened it, took out the bag and brought it +over. +</p> + +<p> +“You must take that with you,” he added. +</p> + +<p> +The two men looked at each other a moment curiously, sadly—the one with a +burden of financial, political, and moral worry on his spirit, the other with +an unconquerable determination not to be worsted even in defeat. +</p> + +<p> +“Governor,” concluded Cowperwood, in the most genial, contented, +undisturbed voice, “you will live to see another legislature pass and +another governor sign some such bill. It will not be done this session, +apparently, but it will be done. I am not through, because my case is right and +fair. Just the same, after you have vetoed the bill, come and see me, and I +will loan you that one hundred thousand if you want it.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood went out. Swanson vetoed the bill. It is on record that subsequently +he borrowed one hundred thousand dollars from Cowperwood to stay him from ruin. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap56"></a>CHAPTER LVI.<br/> +The Ordeal of Berenice</h2> + +<p> +At the news that Swanson had refused to sign the bill and that the legislature +lacked sufficient courage to pass it over his veto both Schryhart and Hand +literally rubbed their hands in comfortable satisfaction. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Hosmer,” said Schryhart the next day, when they met at their +favorite club—the Union League—“it looks as though we were +making some little progress, after all, doesn’t it? Our friend +didn’t succeed in turning that little trick, did he?” +</p> + +<p> +He beamed almost ecstatically upon his solid companion. +</p> + +<p> +“Not this time. I wonder what move he will decide to make next.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see very well what it can be. He knows now that he +can’t get his franchises without a compromise that will eat into his +profits, and if that happens he can’t sell his Union Traction stock. This +legislative scheme of his must have cost him all of three hundred thousand +dollars, and what has he to show for it? The new legislature, unless I’m +greatly mistaken, will be afraid to touch anything in connection with him. +It’s hardly likely that any of the Springfield politicians will want to +draw the fire of the newspapers again.” +</p> + +<p> +Schryhart felt very powerful, imposing—sleek, indeed—now that his +theory of newspaper publicity as a cure was apparently beginning to work. Hand, +more saturnine, more responsive to the uncertainty of things mundane—the +shifty undercurrents that are perpetually sapping and mining below—was +agreeable, but not sure. Perhaps so. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +In regard to his Eastern life during this interlude, Cowperwood had been +becoming more and more keenly alive to the futility of the attempt to effect a +social rescue for Aileen. “What was the use?” he often asked +himself, as he contemplated her movements, thoughts, plans, as contrasted with +the natural efficiency, taste, grace, and subtlety of a woman like Berenice. He +felt that the latter could, if she would, smooth over in an adroit way all the +silly social antagonisms which were now afflicting him. It was a woman’s +game, he frequently told himself, and would never be adjusted till he had the +woman. +</p> + +<p> +Simultaneously Aileen, looking at the situation from her own point of view and +nonplussed by the ineffectiveness of mere wealth when not combined with a +certain social something which she did not appear to have, was, nevertheless, +unwilling to surrender her dream. What was it, she asked herself over and over, +that made this great difference between women and women? The question contained +its own answer, but she did not know that. She was still +good-looking—very—and an adept in self-ornamentation, after her +manner and taste. So great had been the newspaper palaver regarding the arrival +of a new multimillionaire from the West and the palace he was erecting that +even tradesmen, clerks, and hall-boys knew of her. Almost invariably, when +called upon to state her name in such quarters, she was greeted by a slight +start of recognition, a swift glance of examination, whispers, even open +comment. That was something. Yet how much more, and how different were those +rarefied reaches of social supremacy to which popular repute bears scarcely any +relationship at all. How different, indeed? From what Cowperwood had said in +Chicago she had fancied that when they took up their formal abode in New York +he would make an attempt to straighten out his life somewhat, to modify the +number of his indifferent amours and to present an illusion of solidarity and +unity. Yet, now that they had actually arrived, she noticed that he was more +concerned with his heightened political and financial complications in Illinois +and with his art-collection than he was with what might happen to be going on +in the new home or what could be made to happen there. As in the days of old, +she was constantly puzzled by his persistent evenings out and his sudden +appearances and disappearances. Yet, determine as she might, rage secretly or +openly as she would, she could not cure herself of the infection of Cowperwood, +the lure that surrounded and substantiated a mind and spirit far greater than +any other she had ever known. Neither honor, virtue, consistent charity, nor +sympathy was there, but only a gay, foamy, unterrified sufficiency and a +creative, constructive sense of beauty that, like sunlit spray, glowing with +all the irradiative glories of the morning, danced and fled, spun driftwise +over a heavy sea of circumstance. Life, however dark and somber, could never +apparently cloud his soul. Brooding and idling in the wonder palace of his +construction, Aileen could see what he was like. The silver fountain in the +court of orchids, the peach-like glow of the pink marble chamber, with its +birds and flowers, the serried brilliance of his amazing art-collections were +all like him, were really the color of his soul. To think that after all she +was not the one to bind him to subjection, to hold him by golden yet steely +threads of fancy to the hem of her garment! To think that he should no longer +walk, a slave of his desire, behind the chariot of her spiritual and physical +superiority. Yet she could not give up. +</p> + +<p> +By this time Cowperwood had managed through infinite tact and a stoic disregard +of his own aches and pains to re-establish at least a temporary working +arrangement with the Carter household. To Mrs. Carter he was still a +Heaven-sent son of light. Actually in a mournful way she pleaded for +Cowperwood, vouching for his disinterestedness and long-standing generosity. +Berenice, on the other hand, was swept between her craving for a great state +for herself—luxury, power—and her desire to conform to the current +ethics and morals of life. Cowperwood was married, and because of his attitude +of affection for her his money was tainted. She had long speculated on his +relation to Aileen, the basis of their differences, had often wondered why +neither she nor her mother had ever been introduced. What type of woman was the +second Mrs. Cowperwood? Beyond generalities Cowperwood had never mentioned her. +Berenice actually thought to seek her out in some inconspicuous way, but, as it +chanced, one night her curiosity was rewarded without effort. She was at the +opera with friends, and her escort nudged her arm. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you noticed Box 9—the lady in white satin with the green lace +shawl?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” Berenice raised her glasses. +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Frank Algernon Cowperwood, the wife of the Chicago millionaire. +They have just built that house at 68th Street. He has part lease of number 9, +I believe.” +</p> + +<p> +Berenice almost started, but retained her composure, giving merely an +indifferent glance. A little while after, she adjusted her glasses carefully +and studied Mrs. Cowperwood. She noted curiously that Aileen’s hair was +somewhat the color of her own—more carroty red. She studied her eyes, +which were slightly ringed, her smooth cheeks and full mouth, thickened +somewhat by drinking and dissipation. Aileen was good-looking, she +thought—handsome in a material way, though so much older than herself. +Was it merely age that was alienating Cowperwood, or was it some deep-seated +intellectual difference? Obviously Mrs. Cowperwood was well over forty—a +fact which did not give Berenice any sense of satisfaction or of advantage. She +really did not care enough. It did occur to her, however, that this woman whom +she was observing had probably given the best years of her life to +Cowperwood—the brilliant years of her girlhood. And now he was tired of +her! There were small carefully powdered lines at the tails of Aileen’s +eyes and at the corners of her mouth. At the same time she seemed +preternaturally gay, kittenish, spoiled. With her were two men—one a +well-known actor, sinisterly handsome, a man with a brutal, unclean reputation, +the other a young social pretender—both unknown to Berenice. Her +knowledge was to come from her escort, a loquacious youth, more or less versed, +as it happened, in the gay life of the city. +</p> + +<p> +“I hear that she is creating quite a stir in Bohemia,” he observed. +“If she expects to enter society it’s a poor way to begin, +don’t you think?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know that she expects to?” +</p> + +<p> +“All the usual signs are out—a box here, a house on Fifth +Avenue.” +</p> + +<p> +This study of Aileen puzzled and disturbed Berenice a little. Nevertheless, she +felt immensely superior. Her soul seemed to soar over the plain Aileen +inhabited. The type of the latter’s escorts suggested error—a lack +of social discrimination. Because of the high position he had succeeded in +achieving Cowperwood was entitled, no doubt, to be dissatisfied. His wife had +not kept pace with him, or, rather, had not eluded him in his onward +flight—had not run swiftly before, like a winged victory. Berenice +reflected that if she were dealing with such a man he should never know her +truly—he should be made to wonder and to doubt. Lines of care and +disappointment should never mar her face. She would scheme and dream and +conceal and evade. He should dance attendance, whoever he was. +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless, here she herself was, at twenty-two, unmarried, her background +insecure, the very ground on which she walked treacherous. Braxmar knew, and +Beales Chadsey, and Cowperwood. At least three or four of her acquaintances +must have been at the Waldorf on that fatal night. How long would it be before +others became aware? She tried eluding her mother, Cowperwood, and the +situation generally by freely accepting more extended invitations and by trying +to see whether there was not some opening for her in the field of art. She +thought of painting and essayed several canvases which she took to dealers. The +work was subtle, remote, fanciful—a snow scene with purple edges; a +thinking satyr, iron-like in his heaviness, brooding over a cloudy valley; a +lurking devil peering at a praying Marguerite; a Dutch interior inspired by +Mrs. Batjer, and various dancing figures. Phlegmatic dealers of somber mien +admitted some promise, but pointed out the difficulty of sales. Beginners were +numerous. Art was long. If she went on, of course.... Let them see other +things. She turned her thoughts to dancing. +</p> + +<p> +This art in its interpretative sense was just being introduced into America, a +certain Althea Baker having created a good deal of stir in society by this +means. With the idea of duplicating or surpassing the success of this woman +Berenice conceived a dance series of her own. One was to be “The +Terror”—a nymph dancing in the spring woods, but eventually pursued +and terrorized by a faun; another, “The Peacock,” a fantasy +illustrative of proud self-adulation; another, “The Vestal,” a +study from Roman choric worship. After spending considerable time at Pocono +evolving costumes, poses, and the like, Berenice finally hinted at the plan to +Mrs. Batjer, declaring that she would enjoy the artistic outlet it would +afford, and indicating at the same time that it might provide the necessary +solution of a problem of ways and means. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Bevy, how you talk!” commented Mrs. Batjer. “And with +your possibilities. Why don’t you marry first, and do your dancing +afterward? You might compel a certain amount of attention that way.” +</p> + +<p> +“Because of hubby? How droll! Whom would you suggest that I marry at +once?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, when it comes to that—” replied Mrs. Batjer, with a +slight reproachful lift in her voice, and thinking of Kilmer Duelma. “But +surely your need isn’t so pressing. If you were to take up professional +dancing I might have to cut you afterward—particularly if any one else +did.” +</p> + +<p> +She smiled the sweetest, most sensible smile. Mrs. Batjer accompanied her +suggestions nearly always with a slight sniff and cough. Berenice could see +that the mere fact of this conversation made a slight difference. In Mrs. +Batjer’s world poverty was a dangerous topic. The mere odor of it +suggested a kind of horror—perhaps the equivalent of error or sin. +Others, Berenice now suspected, would take affright even more swiftly. +</p> + +<p> +Subsequent to this, however, she made one slight investigation of those realms +that govern professional theatrical engagements. It was a most disturbing +experience. The mere color and odor of the stuffy offices, the gauche, material +attendants, the impossible aspirants and participants in this make-believe +world! The crudeness! The effrontery! The materiality! The sensuality! It came +to her as a sickening breath and for the moment frightened her. What would +become of refinement there? What of delicacy? How could one rise and sustain an +individual dignity and control in such a world as this? +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood was now suggesting as a binding link that he should buy a home for +them in Park Avenue, where such social functions as would be of advantage to +Berenice and in some measure to himself as an occasional guest might be +indulged in. Mrs. Carter, a fool of comfort, was pleased to welcome this idea. +It promised to give her absolute financial security for the future. +</p> + +<p> +“I know how it is with you, Frank,” she declared. “I know you +need some place that you can call a home. The whole difficulty will be with +Bevy. Ever since that miserable puppy made those charges against me I +haven’t been able to talk to her at all. She doesn’t seem to want +to do anything I suggest. You have much more influence with her than I have. If +you explain, it may be all right.” +</p> + +<p> +Instantly Cowperwood saw an opportunity. Intensely pleased with this confession +of weakness on the part of the mother, he went to Berenice, but by his usual +method of indirect direction. +</p> + +<p> +“You know, Bevy,” he said, one afternoon when he found her alone, +“I have been wondering if it wouldn’t be better if I bought a large +house for you and your mother here in New York, where you and she could do +entertaining on a large scale. Since I can’t spend my money on myself, I +might as well spend it on some one who would make an interesting use of it. You +might include me as an uncle or father’s cousin or something of that +sort,” he added, lightly. +</p> + +<p> +Berenice, who saw quite clearly the trap he was setting for her, was +nonplussed. At the same time she could not help seeing that a house, if it were +beautifully furnished, would be an interesting asset. People in society loved +fixed, notable dwellings; she had observed that. What functions could not be +held if only her mother’s past were not charged against her! That was the +great difficulty. It was almost an Arabian situation, heightened by the glitter +of gold. And Cowperwood was always so diplomatic. He came forward with such a +bland, engaging smile. His hands were so shapely and seeking. +</p> + +<p> +“A house such as you speak of would enlarge the debt beyond payment, I +presume,” she remarked, sardonically and with a sad, almost contemptuous +gesture. Cowperwood realized how her piercing intellect was following his +shifty trail, and winced. She must see that her fate was in his hands, but oh! +if she would only surrender, how swiftly every dollar of his vast fortune +should be piled humbly at her feet. She should have her heart’s desire, +if money would buy it. She could say to him go, and he would go; come, and he +would come. +</p> + +<p> +“Berenice,” he said, getting up, “I know what you think. You +fancy I am trying to further my own interests in this way, but I’m not. I +wouldn’t compromise you ultimately for all the wealth of India. I have +told you where I stand. Every dollar that I have is yours to do with as you +choose on any basis that you may care to name. I have no future outside of you, +none except art. I do not expect you to marry me. Take all that I have. Wipe +society under your feet. Don’t think that I will ever charge it up as a +debt. I won’t. I want you to hold your own. Just answer me one question; +I won’t ever ask another.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” +</p> + +<p> +“If I were single now, and you were not in love or married, would you +consider me at all?” +</p> + +<p> +His eyes pleaded as never had they pleaded before. +</p> + +<p> +She started, looked concerned, severe, then relaxed as suddenly. “Let me +see,” she said, with a slight brightening of the eyes and a toss of her +head. “That is a second cousin to a proposal, isn’t it? You have no +right to make it. You aren’t single, and aren’t likely to be. Why +should I try to read the future?” +</p> + +<p> +She walked indifferently out of the room, and Cowperwood stayed a moment to +think. Obviously he had triumphed in a way. She had not taken great offense. +She must like him and would marry him if only... +</p> + +<p> +Only Aileen. +</p> + +<p> +And now he wished more definitely and forcefully than ever that he were really +and truly free. He felt that if ever he wished to attain Berenice he must +persuade Aileen to divorce him. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap57"></a>CHAPTER LVII.<br/> +Aileen’s Last Card</h2> + +<p> +It was not until some little time after they were established in the new house +that Aileen first came upon any evidence of the existence of Berenice Fleming. +In a general way she assumed that there were women—possibly some of whom +she had known—Stephanie, Mrs. Hand, Florence Cochrane, or later +arrivals—yet so long as they were not obtruded on her she permitted +herself the semi-comforting thought that things were not as bad as they might +be. So long, indeed, as Cowperwood was genuinely promiscuous, so long as he +trotted here and there, not snared by any particular siren, she could not +despair, for, after all, she had ensnared him and held him +deliciously—without variation, she believed, for all of ten years—a +feat which no other woman had achieved before or after. Rita Sohlberg might +have succeeded—the beast! How she hated the thought of Rita! By this +time, however, Cowperwood was getting on in years. The day must come when he +would be less keen for variability, or, at least, would think it no longer +worth while to change. If only he did not find some one woman, some Circe, who +would bind and enslave him in these Later years as she had herself done in his +earlier ones all might yet be well. At the same time she lived in daily terror +of a discovery which was soon to follow. +</p> + +<p> +She had gone out one day to pay a call on some one to whom Rhees Grier, the +Chicago sculptor, had given her an introduction. Crossing Central Park in one +of the new French machines which Cowperwood had purchased for her indulgence, +her glance wandered down a branch road to where another automobile similar to +her own was stalled. It was early in the afternoon, at which time Cowperwood +was presumably engaged in Wall Street. Yet there he was, and with him two +women, neither of whom, in the speed of passing, could Aileen quite make out. +She had her car halted and driven to within seeing-distance behind a clump of +bushes. A chauffeur whom she did not know was tinkering at a handsome machine, +while on the grass near by stood Cowperwood and a tall, slender girl with red +hair somewhat like Aileen’s own. Her expression was aloof, poetic, +rhapsodical. Aileen could not analyze it, but it fixed her attention +completely. In the tonneau sat an elderly lady, whom Aileen at once assumed to +be the girl’s mother. Who were they? What was Cowperwood doing here in +the Park at this hour? Where were they going? With a horrible retch of envy she +noted upon Cowperwood’s face a smile the like and import of which she +well knew. How often she had seen it years and years before! Having escaped +detection, she ordered her chauffeur to follow the car, which soon started, at +a safe distance. She saw Cowperwood and the two ladies put down at one of the +great hotels, and followed them into the dining-room, where, from behind a +screen, after the most careful manoeuvering, she had an opportunity of studying +them at her leisure. She drank in every detail of Berenice’s +face—the delicately pointed chin, the clear, fixed blue eyes, the +straight, sensitive nose and tawny hair. Calling the head waiter, she inquired +the names of the two women, and in return for a liberal tip was informed at +once. “Mrs. Ira Carter, I believe, and her daughter, Miss Fleming, Miss +Berenice Fleming. Mrs. Carter was Mrs. Fleming once.” Aileen followed +them out eventually, and in her own car pursued them to their door, into which +Cowperwood also disappeared. The next day, by telephoning the apartment to make +inquiry, she learned that they actually lived there. After a few days of +brooding she employed a detective, and learned that Cowperwood was a constant +visitor at the Carters’, that the machine in which they rode was his +maintained at a separate garage, and that they were of society truly. Aileen +would never have followed the clue so vigorously had it not been for the look +she had seen Cowperwood fix on the girl in the Park and in the +restaurant—an air of soul-hunger which could not be gainsaid. +</p> + +<p> +Let no one ridicule the terrors of unrequited love. Its tentacles are +cancerous, its grip is of icy death. Sitting in her boudoir immediately after +these events, driving, walking, shopping, calling on the few with whom she had +managed to scrape an acquaintance, Aileen thought morning, noon, and night of +this new woman. The pale, delicate face haunted her. What were those eyes, so +remote in their gaze, surveying? Love? Cowperwood? Yes! Yes! Gone in a flash, +and permanently, as it seemed to Aileen, was the value of this house, her dream +of a new social entrance. And she had already suffered so much; endured so +much. Cowperwood being absent for a fortnight, she moped in her room, sighed, +raged, and then began to drink. Finally she sent for an actor who had once paid +attention to her in Chicago, and whom she had later met here in the circle of +the theaters. She was not so much burning with lust as determined in her +drunken gloom that she would have revenge. For days there followed an orgy, in +which wine, bestiality, mutual recrimination, hatred, and despair were +involved. Sobering eventually, she wondered what Cowperwood would think of her +now if he knew this? Could he ever love her any more? Could he even tolerate +her? But what did he care? It served him right, the dog! She would show him, +she would wreck his dream, she would make her own life a scandal, and his too! +She would shame him before all the world. He should never have a divorce! He +should never be able to marry a girl like that and leave her alone—never, +never, never! When Cowperwood returned she snarled at him without vouchsafing +an explanation. +</p> + +<p> +He suspected at once that she had been spying upon his manoeuvers. Moreover, he +did not fail to notice her heavy eyes, superheated cheeks, and sickly breath. +Obviously she had abandoned her dream of a social victory of some kind, and was +entering on a career of what—debauchery? Since coming to New York she had +failed utterly, he thought, to make any single intelligent move toward her +social rehabilitation. The banal realms of art and the stage, with which in his +absence or neglect she had trifled with here, as she had done in Chicago, were +worse than useless; they were destructive. He must have a long talk with her +one of these days, must confess frankly to his passion for Berenice, and appeal +to her sympathy and good sense. What scenes would follow! Yet she might +succumb, at that. Despair, pride, disgust might move her. Besides, he could now +bestow upon her a very large fortune. She could go to Europe or remain here and +live in luxury. He would always remain friendly with her—helpful, +advisory—if she would permit it. +</p> + +<p> +The conversation which eventually followed on this topic was of such stuff as +dreams are made of. It sounded hollow and unnatural within the walls where it +took place. Consider the great house in upper Fifth Avenue, its magnificent +chambers aglow, of a stormy Sunday night. Cowperwood was lingering in the city +at this time, busy with a group of Eastern financiers who were influencing his +contest in the state legislature of Illinois. Aileen was momentarily consoled +by the thought that for him perhaps love might, after all, be a thing +apart—a thing no longer vital and soul-controlling. To-night he was +sitting in the court of orchids, reading a book—the diary of Cellini, +which some one had recommended to him—stopping to think now and then of +things in Chicago or Springfield, or to make a note. Outside the rain was +splashing in torrents on the electric-lighted asphalt of Fifth Avenue—the +Park opposite a Corot-like shadow. Aileen was in the music-room strumming +indifferently. She was thinking of times past—Lynde, from whom she had +not heard in half a year; Watson Skeet, the sculptor, who was also out of her +ken at present. When Cowperwood was in the city and in the house she was +accustomed from habit to remain indoors or near. So great is the influence of +past customs of devotion that they linger long past the hour when the act +ceases to become valid. +</p> + +<p> +“What an awful night!” she observed once, strolling to a window to +peer out from behind a brocaded valance. +</p> + +<p> +“It is bad, isn’t it?” replied Cowperwood, as she returned. +“Hadn’t you thought of going anywhere this evening?” +</p> + +<p> +“No—oh no,” replied Aileen, indifferently. She rose +restlessly from the piano, and strolled on into the great picture-gallery. +Stopping before one of Raphael Sanzio’s Holy Families, only recently +hung, she paused to contemplate the serene face—medieval, Madonnaesque, +Italian. +</p> + +<p> +The lady seemed fragile, colorless, spineless—without life. Were there +such women? Why did artists paint them? Yet the little Christ was sweet. Art +bored Aileen unless others were enthusiastic. She craved only the fanfare of +the living—not painted resemblances. She returned to the music-room, to +the court of orchids, and was just about to go up-stairs to prepare herself a +drink and read a novel when Cowperwood observed: +</p> + +<p> +“You’re bored, aren’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh no; I’m used to lonely evenings,” she replied, quietly +and without any attempt at sarcasm. +</p> + +<p> +Relentless as he was in hewing life to his theory—hammering substance to +the form of his thought—yet he was tender, too, in the manner of a +rainbow dancing over an abyss. For the moment he wanted to say, “Poor +girlie, you do have a hard time, don’t you, with me?” but he +reflected instantly how such a remark would be received. He meditated, holding +his book in his hand above his knee, looking at the purling water that flowed +and flowed in sprinkling showers over the sportive marble figures of mermaids, +a Triton, and nymphs astride of fishes. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re really not happy in this state, any more, are you?” +he inquired. “Would you feel any more comfortable if I stayed away +entirely?” +</p> + +<p> +His mind had turned of a sudden to the one problem that was fretting him and to +the opportunities of this hour. +</p> + +<p> +“You would,” she replied, for her boredom merely concealed her +unhappiness in no longer being able to command in the least his interest or his +sentiment. +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you say that in just that way?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Because I know you would. I know why you ask. You know well enough that +it isn’t anything I want to do that is concerned. It’s what you +want to do. You’d like to turn me off like an old horse now that you are +tired of me, and so you ask whether I would feel any more comfortable. What a +liar you are, Frank! How really shifty you are! I don’t wonder +you’re a multimillionaire. If you could live long enough you would eat up +the whole world. Don’t you think for one moment that I don’t know +of Berenice Fleming here in New York, and how you’re dancing attendance +on her—because I do. I know how you have been hanging about her for +months and months—ever since we have been here, and for long before. You +think she’s wonderful now because she’s young and in society. +I’ve seen you in the Waldorf and in the Park hanging on her every word, +looking at her with adoring eyes. What a fool you are, to be so big a man! +Every little snip, if she has pink cheeks and a doll’s face, can wind you +right around her finger. Rita Sohlberg did it; Stephanie Platow did it; +Florence Cochrane did it; Cecily Haguenin—and Heaven knows how many more +that I never heard of. I suppose Mrs. Hand still lives with you in +Chicago—the cheap strumpet! Now it’s Berenice Fleming and her frump +of a mother. From all I can learn you haven’t been able to get her +yet—because her mother’s too shrewd, perhaps—but you probably +will in the end. It isn’t you so much as your money that they’re +after. Pah! Well, I’m unhappy enough, but it isn’t anything you can +remedy any more. Whatever you could do to make me unhappy you have done, and +now you talk of my being happier away from you. Clever boy, you! I know you the +way I know my ten fingers. You don’t deceive me at any time in any way +any more. I can’t do anything about it. I can’t stop you from +making a fool of yourself with every woman you meet, and having people talk +from one end of the country to the other. Why, for a woman to be seen with you +is enough to fix her reputation forever. Right now all Broadway knows +you’re running after Berenice Fleming. Her name will soon be as sweet as +those of the others you’ve had. She might as well give herself to you. If +she ever had a decent reputation it’s gone by now, you can depend upon +that.” +</p> + +<p> +These remarks irritated Cowperwood greatly—enraged him—particularly +her references to Berenice. What were you to do with such a woman? he thought. +Her tongue was becoming unbearable; her speech in its persistence and force was +that of a termagant. Surely, surely, he had made a great mistake in marrying +her. At the same time the control of her was largely in his own hands even yet. +</p> + +<p> +“Aileen,” he said, coolly, at the end of her speech, “you +talk too much. You rave. You’re growing vulgar, I believe. Now let me +tell you something.” And he fixed her with a hard, quieting eye. “I +have no apologies to make. Think what you please. I know why you say what you +do. But here is the point. I want you to get it straight and clear. It may make +some difference eventually if you’re any kind of a woman at all. I +don’t care for you any more. If you want to put it another +way—I’m tired of you. I have been for a long while. That’s +why I’ve run with other women. If I hadn’t been tired of you I +wouldn’t have done it. What’s more, I’m in love with somebody +else—Berenice Fleming, and I expect to stay in love. I wish I were free +so I could rearrange my life on a different basis and find a little comfort +before I die. You don’t really care for me any more. You can’t. +I’ll admit I have treated you badly; but if I had really loved you I +wouldn’t have done it, would I? It isn’t my fault that love died in +me, is it? It isn’t your fault. I’m not blaming you. Love +isn’t a bunch of coals that can be blown by an artificial bellows into a +flame at any time. It’s out, and that’s an end of it. Since I +don’t love you and can’t, why should you want me to stay near you? +Why shouldn’t you let me go and give me a divorce? You’ll be just +as happy or unhappy away from me as with me. Why not? I want to be free again. +I’m miserable here, and have been for a long time. I’ll make any +arrangement that seems fair and right to you. I’ll give you this +house—these pictures, though I really don’t see what you’d +want with them.” (Cowperwood had no intention of giving up the gallery if +he could help it.) “I’ll settle on you for life any income you +desire, or I’ll give you a fixed sum outright. I want to be free, and I +want you to let me be. Now why won’t you be sensible and let me do +this?” +</p> + +<p> +During this harangue Cowperwood had first sat and then stood. At the statement +that his love was really dead—the first time he had ever baldly and +squarely announced it—Aileen had paled a little and put her hand to her +forehead over her eyes. It was then he had arisen. He was cold, determined, a +little revengeful for the moment. She realized now that he meant +this—that in his heart was no least feeling for all that had gone +before—no sweet memories, no binding thoughts of happy hours, days, +weeks, years, that were so glittering and wonderful to her in retrospect. Great +Heavens, it was really true! His love was dead; he had said it! But for the +nonce she could not believe it; she would not. It really couldn’t be +true. +</p> + +<p> +“Frank,” she began, coming toward him, the while he moved away to +evade her. Her eyes were wide, her hands trembling, her lips moving in an +emotional, wavy, rhythmic way. “You really don’t mean that, do you? +Love isn’t wholly dead, is it? All the love you used to feel for me? Oh, +Frank, I have raged, I have hated, I have said terrible, ugly things, but it +has been because I have been in love with you! All the time I have. You know +that. I have felt so bad—O God, how bad I have felt! Frank, you +don’t know it—but my pillow has been wet many and many a night. I +have cried and cried. I have got up and walked the floor. I have drunk +whisky—plain, raw whisky—because something hurt me and I wanted to +kill the pain. I have gone with other men, one after another—you know +that—but, oh! Frank, Frank, you know that I didn’t want to, that I +didn’t mean to! I have always despised the thought of them afterward. It +was only because I was lonely and because you wouldn’t pay any attention +to me or be nice to me. Oh, how I have longed and longed for just one loving +hour with you—one night, one day! There are women who could suffer in +silence, but I can’t. My mind won’t let me alone, Frank—my +thoughts won’t. I can’t help thinking how I used to run to you in +Philadelphia, when you would meet me on your way home, or when I used to come +to you in Ninth Street or on Eleventh. Oh, Frank, I probably did wrong to your +first wife. I see it now—how she must have suffered! But I was just a +silly girl then, and I didn’t know. Don’t you remember how I used +to come to you in Ninth Street and how I saw you day after day in the +penitentiary in Philadelphia? You said then you would love me always and that +you would never forget. Can’t you love me any more—just a little? +Is it really true that your love is dead? Am I so old, so changed? Oh, Frank, +please don’t say that—please don’t—please, please +please! I beg of you!” +</p> + +<p> +She tried to reach him and put a hand on his arm, but he stepped aside. To him, +as he looked at her now, she was the antithesis of anything he could brook, let +alone desire artistically or physically. The charm was gone, the spell broken. +It was another type, another point of view he required, but, above all and +principally, youth, youth—the spirit, for instance, that was in Berenice +Fleming. He was sorry—in his way. He felt sympathy, but it was like the +tinkling of a far-off sheep-bell—the moaning of a whistling buoy heard +over the thrash of night-black waves on a stormy sea. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t understand how it is, Aileen,” he said. “I +can’t help myself. My love is dead. It is gone. I can’t recall it. +I can’t feel it. I wish I could, but I can’t; you must understand +that. Some things are possible and some are not.” +</p> + +<p> +He looked at her, but with no relenting. Aileen, for her part, saw in his eyes +nothing, as she believed, save cold philosophic logic—the man of +business, the thinker, the bargainer, the plotter. At the thought of the +adamantine character of his soul, which could thus definitely close its gates +on her for ever and ever, she became wild, angry, feverish—not quite +sane. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, don’t say that!” she pleaded, foolishly. “Please +don’t. Please don’t say that. It might come back a little +if—if—you would only believe in it. Don’t you see how I feel? +Don’t you see how it is?” +</p> + +<p> +She dropped to her knees and clasped him about the waist. “Oh, Frank! Oh, +Frank! Oh, Frank!” she began to call, crying. “I can’t stand +it! I can’t! I can’t! I can’t! I shall die.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t give way like that, Aileen,” he pleaded. “It +doesn’t do any good. I can’t lie to myself. I don’t want to +lie to you. Life is too short. Facts are facts. If I could say and believe that +I loved you I would say so now, but I can’t. I don’t love you. Why +should I say that I do?” +</p> + +<p> +In the content of Aileen’s nature was a portion that was purely +histrionic, a portion that was childish—petted and spoiled—a +portion that was sheer unreason, and a portion that was splendid +emotion—deep, dark, involved. At this statement of Cowperwood’s +which seemed to throw her back on herself for ever and ever to be alone, she +first pleaded willingness to compromise—to share. She had not fought +Stephanie Platow, she had not fought Florence Cochrane, nor Cecily Haguenin, +nor Mrs. Hand, nor, indeed, anybody after Rita, and she would fight no more. +She had not spied on him in connection with Berenice—she had accidentally +met them. True, she had gone with other men, but? Berenice was beautiful, she +admitted it, but so was she in her way still—a little, still. +Couldn’t he find a place for her yet in his life? Wasn’t there room +for both? +</p> + +<p> +At this expression of humiliation and defeat Cowperwood was sad, sick, almost +nauseated. How could one argue? How make her understand? +</p> + +<p> +“I wish it were possible, Aileen,” he concluded, finally and +heavily, “but it isn’t.” +</p> + +<p> +All at once she arose, her eyes red but dry. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t love me, then, at all, do you? Not a bit?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, Aileen, I don’t. I don’t mean by that that I dislike +you. I don’t mean to say that you aren’t interesting in your way as +a woman and that I don’t sympathize with you. I do. But I don’t +love you any more. I can’t. The thing I used to feel I can’t feel +any more.” +</p> + +<p> +She paused for a moment, uncertain how to take this, the while she whitened, +grew more tense, more spiritual than she had been in many a day. Now she felt +desperate, angry, sick, but like the scorpion that ringed by fire can turn only +on itself. What a hell life was, she told herself. How it slipped away and left +one aging, horribly alone! Love was nothing, faith nothing—nothing, +nothing! +</p> + +<p> +A fine light of conviction, intensity, intention lit her eye for the moment. +“Very well, then,” she said, coolly, tensely. “I know what +I’ll do. I’ll not live this way. I’ll not live beyond +to-night. I want to die, anyhow, and I will.” +</p> + +<p> +It was by no means a cry, this last, but a calm statement. It should prove her +love. To Cowperwood it seemed unreal, bravado, a momentary rage intended to +frighten him. She turned and walked up the grand staircase, which was +near—a splendid piece of marble and bronze fifteen feet wide, with marble +nereids for newel-posts, and dancing figures worked into the stone. She went +into her room quite calmly and took up a steel paper-cutter of dagger +design—a knife with a handle of bronze and a point of great sharpness. +Coming out and going along the balcony over the court of orchids, where +Cowperwood still was seated, she entered the sunrise room with its pool of +water, its birds, its benches, its vines. Locking the door, she sat down and +then, suddenly baring an arm, jabbed a vein—ripped it for +inches—and sat there to bleed. Now she would see whether she could die, +whether he would let her. +</p> + +<p> +Uncertain, astonished, not able to believe that she could be so rash, not +believing that her feeling could be so great, Cowperwood still remained where +she had left him wondering. He had not been so greatly moved—the tantrums +of women were common—and yet— Could she really be contemplating +death? How could she? How ridiculous! Life was so strange, so mad. But this was +Aileen who had just made this threat, and she had gone up the stairs to carry +it out, perhaps. Impossible! How could it be? Yet back of all his doubts there +was a kind of sickening feeling, a dread. He recalled how she had assaulted +Rita Sohlberg. +</p> + +<p> +He hurried up the steps now and into her room. She was not there. He went +quickly along the balcony, looking here and there, until he came to the sunrise +room. She must be there, for the door was shut. He tried it—it was +locked. +</p> + +<p> +“Aileen,” he called. “Aileen! Are you in there?” No +answer. He listened. Still no answer. “Aileen!” he repeated. +“Are you in there? What damned nonsense is this, anyhow?” +</p> + +<p> +“George!” he thought to himself, stepping back; “she might do +it, too—perhaps she has.” He could not hear anything save the odd +chattering of a toucan aroused by the light she had switched on. Perspiration +stood out on his brow. He shook the knob, pushed a bell for a servant, called +for keys which had been made for every door, called for a chisel and hammer. +</p> + +<p> +“Aileen,” he said, “if you don’t open the door this +instant I will see that it is opened. It can be opened quick enough.” +</p> + +<p> +Still no sound. +</p> + +<p> +“Damn it!” he exclaimed, becoming wretched, horrified. A servant +brought the keys. The right one would not enter. A second was on the other +side. “There is a bigger hammer somewhere,” Cowperwood said. +“Get it! Get me a chair!” Meantime, with terrific energy, using a +large chisel, he forced the door. +</p> + +<p> +There on one of the stone benches of the lovely room sat Aileen, the level pool +of water before her, the sunrise glow over every thing, tropic birds in their +branches, and she, her hair disheveled, her face pale, one arm—her +left—hanging down, ripped and bleeding, trickling a thick stream of rich, +red blood. On the floor was a pool of blood, fierce, scarlet, like some rich +cloth, already turning darker in places. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood paused—amazed. He hurried forward, seized her arm, made a +bandage of a torn handkerchief above the wound, sent for a surgeon, saying the +while: “How could you, Aileen? How impossible! To try to take your life! +This isn’t love. It isn’t even madness. It’s foolish +acting.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you really care?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“How can you ask? How could you really do this?” +</p> + +<p> +He was angry, hurt, glad that she was alive, shamed—many things. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you really care?” she repeated, wearily. +</p> + +<p> +“Aileen, this is nonsense. I will not talk to you about it now. Have you +cut yourself anywhere else?” he asked, feeling about her bosom and sides. +</p> + +<p> +“Then why not let me die?” she replied, in the same manner. +“I will some day. I want to.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you may, some day,” he replied, “but not to-night. I +scarcely think you want to now. This is too much, Aileen—really +impossible.” +</p> + +<p> +He drew himself up and looked at her—cool, unbelieving, the light of +control, even of victory, in his eyes. As he had suspected, it was not truly +real. She would not have killed herself. She had expected him to come—to +make the old effort. Very good. He would see her safely in bed and in a +nurse’s hands, and would then avoid her as much as possible in the +future. If her intention was genuine she would carry it out in his absence, but +he did not believe she would. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap58"></a>CHAPTER LVIII.<br/> +A Marauder Upon the Commonwealth</h2> + +<p> +The spring and summer months of 1897 and the late fall of 1898 witnessed the +final closing battle between Frank Algernon Cowperwood and the forces inimical +to him in so far as the city of Chicago, the state of Illinois, and indeed the +United States of America, were concerned. When in 1896 a new governor and a new +group of state representatives were installed Cowperwood decided that it would +be advisable to continue the struggle at once. By the time this new legislature +should convene for its labors a year would have passed since Governor Swanson +had vetoed the original public-service-commission bill. By that time public +sentiment as aroused by the newspapers would have had time to cool. Already +through various favorable financial interests—particularly Haeckelheimer, +Gotloeb & Co. and all the subsurface forces they represented—he had +attempted to influence the incoming governor, and had in part succeeded. +</p> + +<p> +The new governor in this instance—one Corporal A. E. Archer—or +ex-Congressman Archer, as he was sometimes called—was, unlike Swanson, a +curious mixture of the commonplace and the ideal—one of those shiftily +loyal and loyally shifty who make their upward way by devious, if not too +reprehensible methods. He was a little man, stocky, brown-haired, brown-eyed, +vigorous, witty, with the ordinary politician’s estimate of public +morality—namely, that there is no such thing. A drummer-boy at fourteen +in the War of the Rebellion, a private at sixteen and eighteen, he had +subsequently been breveted for conspicuous military service. At this later time +he was head of the Grand Army of the Republic, and conspicuous in various +stirring eleemosynary efforts on behalf of the old soldiers, their widows and +orphans. A fine American, flag-waving, tobacco-chewing, foul-swearing little +man was this—and one with noteworthy political ambitions. Other Grand +Army men had been conspicuous in the lists for Presidential nominations. Why +not he? An excellent orator in a high falsetto way, and popular because of +good-fellowship, presence, force, he was by nature materially and commercially +minded—therefore without basic appeal to the higher ranks of +intelligence. In seeking the nomination for governorship he had made the usual +overtures and had in turn been sounded by Haeckelheimer, Gotloeb, and various +other corporate interests who were in league with Cowperwood as to his attitude +in regard to a proposed public-service commission. At first he had refused to +commit himself. Later, finding that the C. W. & I. and the Chicago & +Pacific (very powerful railroads both) were interested, and that other +candidates were running him a tight chase in the gubernatorial contest, he +succumbed in a measure, declaring privately that in case the legislature proved +to be strongly in favor of the idea and the newspapers not too crushingly +opposed he might be willing to stand as its advocate. Other candidates +expressed similar views, but Corporal Archer proved to have the greater +following, and was eventually nominated and comfortably elected. +</p> + +<p> +Shortly after the new legislature had convened, it so chanced that a certain A. +S. Rotherhite, publisher of the South Chicago Journal, was one day accidentally +sitting as a visitor in the seat of a state representative by the name of +Clarence Mulligan. While so occupied Rotherhite was familiarly slapped on the +back by a certain Senator Ladrigo, of Menard, and was invited to come out into +the rotunda, where, posing as Representative Mulligan, he was introduced by +Senator Ladrigo to a stranger by the name of Gerard. The latter, with but few +preliminary remarks, began as follows: +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Mulligan, I want to fix it with you in regard to this Southack bill +which is soon to come up in the house. We have seventy votes, but we want +ninety. The fact that the bill has gone to a second reading in the senate shows +our strength. I am authorized to come to terms with you this morning if you +would like. Your vote is worth two thousand dollars to you the moment the bill +is signed.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Rotherhite, who happened to be a newly recruited member of the Opposition +press, proved very canny in this situation. +</p> + +<p> +“Excuse me,” he stammered, “I did not understand your +name?” +</p> + +<p> +“Gerard. G-er-ard. Henry A. Gerard,” replied this other. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you. I will think it over,” was the response of the presumed +Representative Mulligan. +</p> + +<p> +Strange to state, at this very instant the authentic Mulligan actually +appeared—heralded aloud by several of his colleagues who happened to be +lingering near by in the lobby. Whereupon the anomalous Mr. Gerard and the +crafty Senator Ladrigo discreetly withdrew. Needless to say that Mr. Rotherhite +hurried at once to the forces of righteousness. The press should spread this +little story broadcast. It was a very meaty incident; and it brought the whole +matter once more into the fatal, poisonous field of press discussion. +</p> + +<p> +At once the Chicago papers flew to arms. The cry was raised that the same old +sinister Cowperwoodian forces were at work. The members of the senate and the +house were solemnly warned. The sterling attitude of ex-Governor Swanson was +held up as an example to the present Governor Archer. “The whole +idea,” observed an editorial in Truman Leslie MacDonald’s <i>Inquirer</i>, +“smacks of chicane, political subtlety, and political jugglery. Well do +the citizens of Chicago and the people of Illinois know who and what particular +organization would prove the true beneficiaries. We do not want a +public-service commission at the behest of a private street-railway +corporation. Are the tentacles of Frank A. Cowperwood to envelop this +legislature as they did the last?” +</p> + +<p> +This broadside, coming in conjunction with various hostile rumblings in other +papers, aroused Cowperwood to emphatic language. +</p> + +<p> +“They can all go to the devil,” he said to Addison, one day at +lunch. “I have a right to an extension of my franchises for fifty years, +and I am going to get it. Look at New York and Philadelphia. Why, the Eastern +houses laugh. They don’t understand such a situation. It’s all the +inside work of this Hand-Schryhart crowd. I know what they’re doing and +who’s pulling the strings. The newspapers yap-yap every time they give an +order. Hyssop waltzes every time Arneel moves. Little MacDonald is a +stool-pigeon for Hand. It’s got down so low now that it’s anything +to beat Cowperwood. Well, they won’t beat me. I’ll find a way out. +The legislature will pass a bill allowing for a fifty-year franchise, and the +governor will sign it. I’ll see to that personally. I have at least +eighteen thousand stockholders who want a decent run for their money, and I +propose to give it to them. Aren’t other men getting rich? Aren’t +other corporations earning ten and twelve per cent? Why shouldn’t I? Is +Chicago any the worse? Don’t I employ twenty thousand men and pay them +well? All this palaver about the rights of the people and the duty to the +public—rats! Does Mr. Hand acknowledge any duty to the public where his +special interests are concerned? Or Mr. Schryhart? Or Mr. Arneel? The +newspapers be damned! I know my rights. An honest legislature will give me a +decent franchise to save me from the local political sharks.” +</p> + +<p> +By this time, however, the newspapers had become as subtle and powerful as the +politicians themselves. Under the great dome of the capitol at Springfield, in +the halls and conference chambers of the senate and house, in the hotels, and +in the rural districts wherever any least information was to be gathered, were +their representatives—to see, to listen, to pry. Out of this contest they +were gaining prestige and cash. By them were the reform aldermen persuaded to +call mass-meetings in their respective districts. Property-owners were urged to +organize; a committee of one hundred prominent citizens led by Hand and +Schryhart was formed. It was not long before the halls, chambers, and +committee-rooms of the capitol at Springfield and the corridors of the one +principal hotel were being tramped over almost daily by rampant delegations of +ministers, reform aldermen, and civil committeemen, who arrived speechifying, +threatening, and haranguing, and departed, only to make room for another relay. +</p> + +<p> +“Say, what do you think of these delegations, Senator?” inquired a +certain Representative Greenough of Senator George Christian, of Grundy, one +morning, the while a group of Chicago clergymen accompanied by the mayor and +several distinguished private citizens passed through the rotunda on their way +to the committee on railroads, where the house bill was privily being +discussed. “Don’t you think they speak well for our civic pride and +moral upbringing?” He raised his eyes and crossed his fingers over his +waistcoat in the most sanctimonious and reverential attitude. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, dear Pastor,” replied the irreverent Christian, without the +shadow of a smile. He was a little sallow, wiry man with eyes like a ferret, a +small mustache and goatee ornamenting his face. “But do not forget that +the Lord has called us also to this work.” +</p> + +<p> +“Even so,” acquiesced Greenough. “We must not weary in well +doing. The harvest is truly plenteous and the laborers are few.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tut, tut, Pastor. Don’t overdo it. You might make me larf,” +replied Christian; and the twain parted with knowing and yet weary smiles. +</p> + +<p> +Yet how little did the accommodating attitude of these gentlemen avail in +silencing the newspapers. The damnable newspapers! They were here, there, and +everywhere reporting each least fragment of rumor, conversation, or imaginary +programme. Never did the citizens of Chicago receive so keen a drilling in +statecraft—its subtleties and ramifications. The president of the senate +and the speaker of the house were singled out and warned separately as to their +duty. A page a day devoted to legislative proceeding in this quarter was +practically the custom of the situation. Cowperwood was here personally on the +scene, brazen, defiant, logical, the courage of his convictions in his eyes, +the power of his magnetism fairly enslaving men. Throwing off the mask of +disinterestedness—if any might be said to have covered him—he now +frankly came out in the open and, journeying to Springfield, took quarters at +the principal hotel. Like a general in time of battle, he marshaled his forces +about him. In the warm, moonlit atmosphere of June nights when the streets of +Springfield were quiet, the great plain of Illinois bathed for hundreds of +miles from north to south in a sweet effulgence and the rurals slumbering in +their simple homes, he sat conferring with his lawyers and legislative agents. +</p> + +<p> +Pity in such a crisis the poor country-jake legislator torn between his desire +for a justifiable and expedient gain and his fear lest he should be assailed as +a betrayer of the people’s interests. To some of these small-town +legislators, who had never seen as much as two thousand dollars in cash in all +their days, the problem was soul-racking. Men gathered in private rooms and +hotel parlors to discuss it. They stood in their rooms at night and thought +about it alone. The sight of big business compelling its desires the while the +people went begging was destructive. Many a romantic, illusioned, idealistic +young country editor, lawyer, or statesman was here made over into a minor +cynic or bribe-taker. Men were robbed of every vestige of faith or even of +charity; they came to feel, perforce, that there was nothing outside the +capacity for taking and keeping. The surface might appear +commonplace—ordinary men of the state of Illinois going here and +there—simple farmers and small-town senators and representatives +conferring and meditating and wondering what they could do—yet a +jungle-like complexity was present, a dark, rank growth of horrific but avid +life—life at the full, life knife in hand, life blazing with courage and +dripping at the jaws with hunger. +</p> + +<p> +However, because of the terrific uproar the more cautious legislators were by +degrees becoming fearful. Friends in their home towns, at the instigation of +the papers, were beginning to write them. Political enemies were taking heart. +It meant too much of a sacrifice on the part of everybody. In spite of the fact +that the bait was apparently within easy reach, many became evasive and +disturbed. When a certain Representative Sparks, cocked and primed, with the +bill in his pocket, arose upon the floor of the house, asking leave to have it +spread upon the minutes, there was an instant explosion. The privilege of the +floor was requested by a hundred. Another representative, Disback, being in +charge of the opposition to Cowperwood, had made a count of noses and was +satisfied in spite of all subtlety on the part of the enemy that he had at +least one hundred and two votes, the necessary two-thirds wherewith to crush +any measure which might originate on the floor. Nevertheless, his followers, +because of caution, voted it to a second and a third reading. All sorts of +amendments were made—one for a three-cent fare during the rush-hours, +another for a 20 per cent. tax on gross receipts. In amended form the measure +was sent to the senate, where the changes were stricken out and the bill once +more returned to the house. Here, to Cowperwood’s chagrin, signs were +made manifest that it could not be passed. “It can’t be done, +Frank,” said Judge Dickensheets. “It’s too grilling a game. +Their home papers are after them. They can’t live.” +</p> + +<p> +Consequently a second measure was devised—more soothing and lulling to +the newspapers, but far less satisfactory to Cowperwood. It conferred upon the +Chicago City Council, by a trick of revising the old Horse and Dummy Act of +1865, the right to grant a franchise for fifty instead of for twenty years. +This meant that Cowperwood would have to return to Chicago and fight out his +battle there. It was a severe blow, yet better than nothing. Providing that he +could win one more franchise battle within the walls of the city council in +Chicago, it would give him all that he desired. But could he? Had he not come +here to the legislature especially to evade such a risk? His motives were +enduring such a blistering exposure. Yet perhaps, after all, if the price were +large enough the Chicago councilmen would have more real courage than these +country legislators—would dare more. They would have to. +</p> + +<p> +So, after Heaven knows what desperate whisperings, conferences, arguments, and +heartening of members, there was originated a second measure which—after +the defeat of the first bill, 104 to 49—was introduced, by way of a very +complicated path, through the judiciary committee. It was passed; and Governor +Archer, after heavy hours of contemplation and self-examination, signed it. A +little man mentally, he failed to estimate an aroused popular fury at its true +import to him. At his elbow was Cowperwood in the clear light of day, snapping +his fingers in the face of his enemies, showing by the hard, cheerful glint in +his eye that he was still master of the situation, giving all assurance that he +would yet live to whip the Chicago papers into submission. Besides, in the +event of the passage of the bill, Cowperwood had promised to make Archer +independently rich—a cash reward of five hundred thousand dollars. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap59"></a>CHAPTER LIX.<br/> +Capital and Public Rights</h2> + +<p> +Between the passage on June 5, 1897, of the Mears bill—so christened +after the doughty representative who had received a small fortune for +introducing it—and its presentation to the Chicago City Council in +December of the same year, what broodings, plottings, politickings, and +editorializings on the part of all and sundry! In spite of the intense feeling +of opposition to Cowperwood there was at the same time in local public life one +stratum of commercial and phlegmatic substance that could not view him in an +altogether unfavorable light. They were in business themselves. His lines +passed their doors and served them. They could not see wherein his +street-railway service differed so much from that which others might give. Here +was the type of materialist who in Cowperwood’s defiance saw a +justification of his own material point of view and was not afraid to say so. +But as against these there were the preachers—poor wind-blown sticks of +unreason who saw only what the current palaver seemed to indicate. Again there +were the anarchists, socialists, single-taxers, and public-ownership advocates. +There were the very poor who saw in Cowperwood’s wealth and in the +fabulous stories of his New York home and of his art-collection a heartless +exploitation of their needs. At this time the feeling was spreading broadcast +in America that great political and economic changes were at hand—that +the tyranny of iron masters at the top was to give way to a richer, freer, +happier life for the rank and file. A national eight-hour-day law was being +advocated, and the public ownership of public franchises. And here now was a +great street-railway corporation, serving a population of a million and a half, +occupying streets which the people themselves created by their presence, taking +toll from all these humble citizens to the amount of sixteen or eighteen +millions of dollars in the year and giving in return, so the papers said, poor +service, shabby cars, no seats at rush-hours, no universal transfers (as a +matter of fact, there were in operation three hundred and sixty-two separate +transfer points) and no adequate tax on the immense sums earned. The workingman +who read this by gas or lamp light in the kitchen or parlor of his shabby flat +or cottage, and who read also in other sections of his paper of the free, +reckless, glorious lives of the rich, felt himself to be defrauded of a portion +of his rightful inheritance. It was all a question of compelling Frank A. +Cowperwood to do his duty by Chicago. He must not again be allowed to bribe the +aldermen; he must not be allowed to have a fifty-year franchise, the privilege +of granting which he had already bought from the state legislature by the +degradation of honest men. He must be made to succumb, to yield to the forces +of law and order. It was claimed—and with a justice of which those who +made the charge were by no means fully aware—that the Mears bill had been +put through the house and senate by the use of cold cash, proffered even to the +governor himself. No legal proof of this was obtainable, but Cowperwood was +assumed to be a briber on a giant scale. By the newspaper cartoons he was +represented as a pirate commander ordering his men to scuttle another +vessel—the ship of Public Rights. He was pictured as a thief, a black +mask over his eyes, and as a seducer, throttling Chicago, the fair maiden, +while he stole her purse. The fame of this battle was by now becoming +world-wide. In Montreal, in Cape Town, in Buenos Ayres and Melbourne, in London +and Paris, men were reading of this singular struggle. At last, and truly, he +was a national and international figure. His original dream, however, modified +by circumstances, had literally been fulfilled. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile be it admitted that the local elements in finance which had brought +about this terrific onslaught on Cowperwood were not a little disturbed as to +the eventual character of the child of their own creation. Here at last was a +public opinion definitely inimical to Cowperwood; but here also were they +themselves, tremendous profit-holders, with a desire for just such favors as +Cowperwood himself had exacted, deliberately setting out to kill the goose that +could lay the golden egg. Men such as Haeckelheimer, Gotloeb, Fishel, +tremendous capitalists in the East and foremost in the directorates of huge +transcontinental lines, international banking-houses, and the like, were amazed +that the newspapers and the anti-Cowperwood element should have gone so far in +Chicago. Had they no respect for capital? Did they not know that long-time +franchises were practically the basis of all modern capitalistic prosperity? +Such theories as were now being advocated here would spread to other cities +unless checked. America might readily become +anti-capitalistic—socialistic. Public ownership might appear as a +workable theory—and then what? +</p> + +<p> +“Those men out there are very foolish,” observed Mr. Haeckelheimer +at one time to Mr. Fishel, of Fishel, Stone & Symons. “I can’t +see that Mr. Cowperwood is different from any other organizer of his day. He +seems to me perfectly sound and able. All his companies pay. There are no +better investments than the North and West Chicago railways. It would be +advisable, in my judgment, that all the lines out there should be consolidated +and be put in his charge. He would make money for the stockholders. He seems to +know how to run street-railways.” +</p> + +<p> +“You know,” replied Mr. Fishel, as smug and white as Mr. +Haeckelheimer, and in thorough sympathy with his point of view, “I have +been thinking of something like that myself. All this quarreling should be +hushed up. It’s very bad for business—very. Once they get that +public-ownership nonsense started, it will be hard to stop. There has been too +much of it already.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Fishel was stout and round like Mr. Haeckelheimer, but much smaller. He was +little more than a walking mathematical formula. In his cranium were financial +theorems and syllogisms of the second, third, and fourth power only. +</p> + +<p> +And now behold a new trend of affairs. Mr. Timothy Arneel, attacked by +pneumonia, dies and leaves his holdings in Chicago City to his eldest son, +Edward Arneel. Mr. Fishel and Mr. Haeckelheimer, through agents and then +direct, approach Mr. Merrill in behalf of Cowperwood. There is much talk of +profits—how much more profitable has been the Cowperwood regime over +street-railway lines than that of Mr. Schryhart. Mr. Fishel is interested in +allaying socialistic excitement. So, by this time, is Mr. Merrill. Directly +hereafter Mr. Haeckelheimer approaches Mr. Edward Arneel, who is not nearly so +forceful as his father, though he would like to be so. He, strange to relate, +has come rather to admire Cowperwood and sees no advantage in a policy that can +only tend to municipalize local lines. Mr. Merrill, for Mr. Fishel, approaches +Mr. Hand. “Never! never! never!” says Hand. Mr. Haeckelheimer +approaches Mr. Hand. “Never! never! never! To the devil with Mr. +Cowperwood!” But as a final emissary for Mr. Haeckelheimer and Mr. Fishel +there now appears Mr. Morgan Frankhauser, the partner of Mr. Hand in a +seven-million-dollar traction scheme in Minneapolis and St. Paul. Why will Mr. +Hand be so persistent? Why pursue a scheme of revenge which only stirs up the +masses and makes municipal ownership a valid political idea, thus disturbing +capital elsewhere? Why not trade his Chicago holdings to him, Frankhauser, for +Pittsburg traction stock—share and share alike—and then fight +Cowperwood all he pleases on the outside? +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Hand, puzzled, astounded, scratching his round head, slaps a heavy hand on +his desk. “Never!” he exclaims. “Never, by God—as long +as I am alive and in Chicago!” And then he yields. Life does shifty +things, he is forced to reflect in a most puzzled way. Never would he have +believed it! “Schryhart,” he declared to Frankhauser, “will +never come in. He will die first. Poor old Timothy—if he were +alive—he wouldn’t either.” +</p> + +<p> +“Leave Mr. Schryhart out of it, for Heaven’s sake,” pleaded +Mr. Frankhauser, a genial American German. “Haven’t I troubles +enough?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Schryhart is enraged. Never! never! never! He will sell out first—but +he is in a minority, and Mr. Frankhauser, for Mr. Fishel or Mr. Haeckelheimer, +will gladly take his holdings. +</p> + +<p> +Now behold in the autumn of 1897 all rival Chicago street-railway lines brought +to Mr. Cowperwood on a platter, as it were—a golden platter. +</p> + +<p> +“Ve haff it fixed,” confidentially declared Mr. Gotloeb to Mr. +Cowperwood, over an excellent dinner in the sacred precincts of the +Metropolitan Club in New York. Time, 8.30 P.M. Wine—sparkling burgundy. +“A telegram come shusst to-day from Frankhauser. A nice man dot. You +shouldt meet him sometime. Hant—he sells out his stock to Frankhauser. +Merrill unt Edward Arneel vork vit us. Ve hantle efferyt’ing for dem. Mr. +Fishel vill haff his friends pick up all de local shares he can, unt mit dees +tree ve control de board. Schryhart iss out. He sess he vill resign. Very goot. +I don’t subbose dot vill make you veep any. It all hintges now on vether +you can get dot fifty-year-franchise ordinance troo de city council or not. +Haeckelheimer sess he prefers you to all utters to run t’ings. He vill +leef everytink positifely in your hands. Frankhauser sess de same. Vot +Haeckelheimer sess he doess. Now dere you are. It’s up to you. I vish you +much choy. It is no small chop you haff, beating de newspapers, unt you still +haff Hant unt Schryhart against you. Mr. Haeckelheimer askt me to pay his +complimends to you unt to say vill you dine vit him next veek, or may he dine +vit you—vicheffer iss most conveniend. So.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +In the mayor’s chair of Chicago at this time sat a man named Walden H. +Lucas. Aged thirty-eight, he was politically ambitious. He had the elements of +popularity—the knack or luck of fixing public attention. A fine, +upstanding, healthy young buck he was, subtle, vigorous, a cool, direct, +practical thinker and speaker, an eager enigmatic dreamer of great political +honors to come, anxious to play his cards just right, to make friends, to be +the pride of the righteous, and yet the not too uncompromising foe of the +wicked. In short, a youthful, hopeful Western Machiavelli, and one who could, +if he chose, serve the cause of the anti-Cowperwood struggle exceedingly well +indeed. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood, disturbed, visits the mayor in his office. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Lucas, what is it you personally want? What can I do for you? Is it +future political preferment you are after?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Cowperwood, there isn’t anything you can do for me. You do not +understand me, and I do not understand you. You cannot understand me because I +am an honest man.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ye gods!” replied Cowperwood. “This is certainly a case of +self-esteem and great knowledge. Good afternoon.” +</p> + +<p> +Shortly thereafter the mayor was approached by one Mr. Carker, who was the +shrewd, cold, and yet magnetic leader of Democracy in the state of New York. +Said Carker: +</p> + +<p> +“You see, Mr. Lucas, the great money houses of the East are interested in +this local contest here in Chicago. For example, Haeckelheimer, Gotloeb & +Co. would like to see a consolidation of all the lines on a basis that will +make them an attractive investment for buyers generally and will at the same +time be fair and right to the city. A twenty-year contract is much too short a +term in their eyes. Fifty is the least they could comfortably contemplate, and +they would prefer a hundred. It is little enough for so great an outlay. The +policy now being pursued here can lead only to the public ownership of public +utilities, and that is something which the national Democratic party at large +can certainly not afford to advocate at present. It would antagonize the money +element from coast to coast. Any man whose political record was definitely +identified with such a movement would have no possible chance at even a state +nomination, let alone a national one. He could never be elected. I make myself +clear, do I not?” +</p> + +<p> +“You do.” +</p> + +<p> +“A man can just as easily be taken from the mayor’s office in +Chicago as from the governor’s office at Springfield,” pursued Mr. +Carker. “Mr. Haeckelheimer and Mr. Fishel have personally asked me to +call on you. If you want to be mayor of Chicago again for two years or governor +next year, until the time for picking a candidate for the Presidency arrives, +suit yourself. In the mean time you will be unwise, in my judgment, to saddle +yourself with this public-ownership idea. The newspapers in fighting Mr. +Cowperwood have raised an issue which never should have been raised.” +</p> + +<p> +After Mr. Carker’s departure, arrived Mr. Edward Arneel, of local renown, +and then Mr. Jacob Bethal, the Democratic leader in San Francisco, both +offering suggestions which if followed might result in mutual support. There +were in addition delegations of powerful Republicans from Minneapolis and from +Philadelphia. Even the president of the Lake City Bank and the president of the +Prairie National—once anti-Cowperwood—arrived to say what had +already been said. So it went. Mr. Lucas was greatly nonplussed. A political +career was surely a difficult thing to effect. Would it pay to harry Mr. +Cowperwood as he had set out to do? Would a steadfast policy advocating the +cause of the people get him anywhere? Would they be grateful? Would they +remember? Suppose the current policy of the newspapers should be modified, as +Mr. Carker had suggested that it might be. What a mess and tangle politics +really were! +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Bessie,” he inquired of his handsome, healthy, semi-blonde +wife, one evening, “what would you do if you were I?” +</p> + +<p> +She was gray-eyed, gay, practical, vain, substantially connected in so far as +family went, and proud of her husband’s position and future. He had +formed the habit of talking over his various difficulties with her. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’ll tell you, Wally,” she replied. +“You’ve got to stick to something. It looks to me as though the +winning side was with the people this time. I don’t see how the +newspapers can change now after all they’ve done. You don’t have to +advocate public ownership or anything unfair to the money element, but just the +same I’d stick to my point that the fifty-year franchise is too much. You +ought to make them pay the city something and get their franchise without +bribery. They can’t do less than that. I’d stick to the course +you’ve begun on. You can’t get along without the people, Wally. You +just must have them. If you lose their good will the politicians can’t +help you much, nor anybody else.” +</p> + +<p> +Plainly there were times when the people had to be considered. They just had to +be! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap60"></a>CHAPTER LX.<br/> +The Net</h2> + +<p> +The storm which burst in connection with Cowperwood’s machinations at +Springfield early in 1897, and continued without abating until the following +fall, attracted such general attention that it was largely reported in the +Eastern papers. F. A. Cowperwood versus the state of Illinois—thus one +New York daily phrased the situation. The magnetizing power of fame is great. +Who can resist utterly the luster that surrounds the individualities of some +men, causing them to glow with a separate and special effulgence? Even in the +case of Berenice this was not without its value. In a Chicago paper which she +found lying one day on a desk which Cowperwood had occupied was an extended +editorial which interested her greatly. After reciting his various misdeeds, +particularly in connection with the present state legislature, it went on to +say: “He has an innate, chronic, unconquerable contempt for the rank and +file. Men are but slaves and thralls to draw for him the chariot of his +greatness. Never in all his history has he seen fit to go to the people direct +for anything. In Philadelphia, when he wanted public-franchise control, he +sought privily and by chicane to arrange his affairs with a venal city +treasurer. In Chicago he has uniformly sought to buy and convert to his own use +the splendid privileges of the city, which should really redound to the benefit +of all. Frank Algernon Cowperwood does not believe in the people; he does not +trust them. To him they constitute no more than a field upon which corn is to +be sown, and from which it is to be reaped. They present but a mass of bent +backs, their knees and faces in the mire, over which as over a floor he strides +to superiority. His private and inmost faith is in himself alone. Upon the +majority he shuts the gates of his glory in order that the sight of their +misery and their needs may not disturb nor alloy his selfish bliss. Frank +Algernon Cowperwood does not believe in the people.” +</p> + +<p> +This editorial battle-cry, flung aloft during the latter days of the contest at +Springfield and taken up by the Chicago papers generally and by those +elsewhere, interested Berenice greatly. As she thought of him—waging his +terrific contests, hurrying to and fro between New York and Chicago, building +his splendid mansion, collecting his pictures, quarreling with Aileen—he +came by degrees to take on the outlines of a superman, a half-god or +demi-gorgon. How could the ordinary rules of life or the accustomed paths of +men be expected to control him? They could not and did not. And here he was +pursuing her, seeking her out with his eyes, grateful for a smile, waiting as +much as he dared on her every wish and whim. +</p> + +<p> +Say what one will, the wish buried deep in every woman’s heart is that +her lover should be a hero. Some, out of the veriest stick or stone, fashion +the idol before which they kneel, others demand the hard reality of greatness; +but in either case the illusion of paragon-worship is maintained. +</p> + +<p> +Berenice, by no means ready to look upon Cowperwood as an accepted lover, was +nevertheless gratified that his erring devotion was the tribute of one able +apparently to command thought from the whole world. Moreover, because the New +York papers had taken fire from his great struggle in the Middle West and were +charging him with bribery, perjury, and intent to thwart the will of the +people, Cowperwood now came forward with an attempt to explain his exact +position to Berenice and to justify himself in her eyes. During visits to the +Carter house or in entr’actes at the opera or the theater, he recounted +to her bit by bit his entire history. He described the characters of Hand, +Schryhart, Arneel, and the motives of jealousy and revenge which had led to +their attack upon him in Chicago. “No human being could get anything +through the Chicago City Council without paying for it,” he declared. +“It’s simply a question of who’s putting up the money.” +He told how Truman Leslie MacDonald had once tried to “shake him +down” for fifty thousand dollars, and how the newspapers had since found +it possible to make money, to increase their circulation, by attacking him. He +frankly admitted the fact of his social ostracism, attributing it partially to +Aileen’s deficiencies and partially to his own attitude of Promethean +defiance, which had never yet brooked defeat. +</p> + +<p> +“And I will defeat them now,” he said, solemnly, to Berenice one +day over a luncheon-table at the Plaza when the room was nearly empty. His gray +eyes were a study in colossal enigmatic spirit. “The governor +hasn’t signed my fifty-year franchise bill” (this was before the +closing events at Springfield), “but he will sign it. Then I have one +more fight ahead of me. I’m going to combine all the traffic lines out +there under one general system. I am the logical person to provide it. Later +on, if public ownership ever arrives, the city can buy it.” +</p> + +<p> +“And then—” asked Berenice sweetly, flattered by his +confidences. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I don’t know. I suppose I’ll live abroad. You +don’t seem to be very much interested in me. I’ll finish my picture +collection—” +</p> + +<p> +“But supposing you should lose?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t contemplate losing,” he remarked, coolly. +“Whatever happens, I’ll have enough to live on. I’m a little +tired of contest.” +</p> + +<p> +He smiled, but Berenice saw that the thought of defeat was a gray one. With +victory was his heart, and only there. Owing to the national publicity being +given to Cowperwood’s affairs at this time the effect upon Berenice of +these conversations with him was considerable. At the same time another and +somewhat sinister influence was working in his favor. By slow degrees she and +her mother were coming to learn that the ultra-conservatives of society were no +longer willing to accept them. Berenice had become at last too individual a +figure to be overlooked. At an important luncheon given by the Harris +Haggertys, some five months after the Beales Chadsey affair, she had been +pointed out to Mrs. Haggerty by a visiting guest from Cincinnati as some one +with whom rumor was concerning itself. Mrs. Haggerty wrote to friends in +Louisville for information, and received it. Shortly after, at the coming-out +party of a certain Geraldine Borga, Berenice, who had been her sister’s +schoolmate, was curiously omitted. She took sharp note of that. Subsequently +the Haggertys failed to include her, as they had always done before, in their +generous summer invitations. This was true also of the Lanman Zeiglers and the +Lucas Demmigs. No direct affront was offered; she was simply no longer invited. +Also one morning she read in the Tribune that Mrs. Corscaden Batjer had sailed +for Italy. No word of this had been sent to Berenice. Yet Mrs. Batjer was +supposedly one of her best friends. A hint to some is of more avail than an +open statement to others. Berenice knew quite well in which direction the tide +was setting. +</p> + +<p> +True, there were a number—the ultra-smart of the smart world—who +protested. Mrs. Patrick Gilbennin, for instance: “No! You don’t +tell me? What a shame! Well, I like Bevy and shall always like her. She’s +clever, and she can come here just as long as she chooses. It isn’t her +fault. She’s a lady at heart and always will be. Life is so cruel.” +Mrs. Augustus Tabreez: “Is that really true? I can’t believe it. +Just the same, she’s too charming to be dropped. I for one propose to +ignore these rumors just as long as I dare. She can come here if she +can’t go anywhere else.” Mrs. Pennington Drury: “That of Bevy +Fleming! Who says so? I don’t believe it. I like her anyhow. The idea of +the Haggertys cutting her—dull fools! Well, she can be my guest, the dear +thing, as long as she pleases. As though her mother’s career really +affected her!” +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless, in the world of the dull rich—those who hold their own by +might of possession, conformity, owl-eyed sobriety, and ignorance—Bevy +Fleming had become persona non grata. How did she take all this? With that air +of superior consciousness which knows that no shift of outer material +ill-fortune can detract one jot from an inward mental superiority. The truly +individual know themselves from the beginning and rarely, if ever, doubt. Life +may play fast and loose about them, running like a racing, destructive tide in +and out, but they themselves are like a rock, still, serene, unmoved. Bevy +Fleming felt herself to be so immensely superior to anything of which she was a +part that she could afford to hold her head high even now Just the same, in +order to remedy the situation she now looked about her with an eye single to a +possible satisfactory marriage. Braxmar had gone for good. He was somewhere in +the East—in China, she heard—his infatuation for her apparently +dead. Kilmer Duelma was gone also—snapped up—an acquisition on the +part of one of those families who did not now receive her. However, in the +drawing-rooms where she still appeared—and what were they but marriage +markets?—one or two affairs did spring up—tentative approachments +on the part of scions of wealth. They were destined to prove abortive. One of +these youths, Pedro Ricer Marcado, a Brazilian, educated at Oxford, promised +much for sincerity and feeling until he learned that Berenice was poor in her +own right—and what else? Some one had whispered something in his ear. +Again there was a certain William Drake Bowdoin, the son of a famous old +family, who lived on the north side of Washington Square. After a ball, a +morning musicale, and one other affair at which they met Bowdoin took Berenice +to see his mother and sister, who were charmed. “Oh, you serene +divinity!” he said to her, ecstatically, one day. “Won’t you +marry me?” Bevy looked at him and wondered. “Let us wait just a +little longer, my dear,” she counseled. “I want you to be sure that +you really love me. Shortly thereafter, meeting an old classmate at a club, +Bowdoin was greeted as follows: +</p> + +<p> +“Look here, Bowdoin. You’re a friend of mine. I see you with that +Miss Fleming. Now, I don’t know how far things have gone, and I +don’t want to intrude, but are you sure you are aware of all the aspects +of the case?” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” demanded Bowdoin. “I want you to speak +out.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, pardon, old man. No offense, really. You know me. I couldn’t. +College—and all that. Just this, though, before you go any further. +Inquire about. You may hear things. If they’re true you ought to know. If +not, the talking ought to stop. If I’m wrong call on me for amends. I +hear talk, I tell you. Best intentions in the world, old man. I do assure +you.” +</p> + +<p> +More inquiries. The tongues of jealousy and envy. Mr. Bowdoin was sure to +inherit three million dollars. Then a very necessary trip to somewhere, and +Berenice stared at herself in the glass. What was it? What were people saying, +if anything? This was strange. Well, she was young and beautiful. There were +others. Still, she might have come to love Bowdoin. He was so airy, artistic in +an unconscious way. Really, she had thought better of him. +</p> + +<p> +The effect of all this was not wholly depressing. Enigmatic, disdainful, with a +touch of melancholy and a world of gaiety and courage, Berenice heard at times +behind joy the hollow echo of unreality. Here was a ticklish business, this +living. For want of light and air the finest flowers might die. Her +mother’s error was not so inexplicable now. By it had she not, after all, +preserved herself and her family to a certain phase of social superiority? +Beauty was of such substance as dreams are made of, and as fleeting. Not +one’s self alone—one’s inmost worth, the splendor of +one’s dreams—but other things—name, wealth, the presence or +absence of rumor, and of accident—were important. Berenice’s lip +curled. But life could be lived. One could lie to the world. Youth is +optimistic, and Berenice, in spite of her splendid mind, was so young. She saw +life as a game, a good chance, that could be played in many ways. +Cowperwood’s theory of things began to appeal to her. One must create +one’s own career, carve it out, or remain horribly dull or bored, dragged +along at the chariot wheels of others. If society was so finicky, if men were +so dull—well, there was one thing she could do. She must have life, +life—and money would help some to that end. +</p> + +<p> +Besides, Cowperwood by degrees was becoming attractive to her; he really was. +He was so much better than most of the others, so very powerful. She was +preternaturally gay, as one who says, “Victory shall be mine +anyhow.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap61"></a>CHAPTER LXI.<br/> +The Cataclysm</h2> + +<p> +And now at last Chicago is really facing the thing which it has most feared. A +giant monopoly is really reaching out to enfold it with an octopus-like grip. +And Cowperwood is its eyes, its tentacles, its force! Embedded in the giant +strength and good will of Haeckelheimer, Gotloeb & Co., he is like a +monument based on a rock of great strength. A fifty-year franchise, to be +delivered to him by a majority of forty-eight out of a total of sixty-eight +aldermen (in case the ordinance has to be passed over the mayor’s veto), +is all that now stands between him and the realization of his dreams. What a +triumph for his iron policy of courage in the face of all obstacles! What a +tribute to his ability not to flinch in the face of storm and stress! Other men +might have abandoned the game long before, but not he. What a splendid windfall +of chance that the money element should of its own accord take fright at the +Chicago idea of the municipalization of public privilege and should hand him +this giant South Side system as a reward for his stern opposition to fol-de-rol +theories. +</p> + +<p> +Through the influence of these powerful advocates he was invited to speak +before various local commercial bodies—the Board of Real Estate Dealers, +the Property Owners’ Association, the Merchants’ League, the +Bankers’ Union, and so forth, where he had an opportunity to present his +case and justify his cause. But the effect of his suave speechifyings in these +quarters was largely neutralized by newspaper denunciation. “Can any good +come out of Nazareth?” was the regular inquiry. That section of the press +formerly beholden to Hand and Schryhart stood out as bitterly as ever; and most +of the other newspapers, being under no obligation to Eastern capital, felt it +the part of wisdom to support the rank and file. The most searching and +elaborate mathematical examinations were conducted with a view to showing the +fabulous profits of the streetcar trust in future years. The fine hand of +Eastern banking-houses was detected and their sinister motives noised abroad. +“Millions for everybody in the trust, but not one cent for +Chicago,” was the <i>Inquirer</i>’s way of putting it. Certain altruists +of the community were by now so aroused that in the destruction of Cowperwood +they saw their duty to God, to humanity, and to democracy straight and clear. +The heavens had once more opened, and they saw a great light. On the other hand +the politicians—those in office outside the mayor—constituted a +petty band of guerrillas or free-booters who, like hungry swine shut in a pen, +were ready to fall upon any and all propositions brought to their attention +with but one end in view: that they might eat, and eat heartily. In times of +great opportunity and contest for privilege life always sinks to its lowest +depths of materialism and rises at the same time to its highest reaches of the +ideal. When the waves of the sea are most towering its hollows are most +awesome. +</p> + +<p> +Finally the summer passed, the council assembled, and with the first breath of +autumn chill the very air of the city was touched by a premonition of contest. +Cowperwood, disappointed by the outcome of his various ingratiatory efforts, +decided to fall back on his old reliable method of bribery. He fixed on his +price—twenty thousand dollars for each favorable vote, to begin with. +Later, if necessary, he would raise it to twenty-five thousand, or even thirty +thousand, making the total cost in the neighborhood of a million and a half. +Yet it was a small price indeed when the ultimate return was considered. He +planned to have his ordinance introduced by an alderman named Ballenberg, a +trusted lieutenant, and handed thereafter to the clerk, who would read it, +whereupon another henchman would rise to move that it be referred to the joint +committee on streets and alleys, consisting of thirty-four members drawn from +all the standing committees. By this committee it would be considered for one +week in the general council-chamber, where public hearings would be held. By +keeping up a bold front Cowperwood thought the necessary iron could be put into +his followers to enable them to go through with the scorching ordeal which was +sure to follow. Already aldermen were being besieged at their homes and in the +precincts of the ward clubs and meeting-places. Their mail was being packed +with importuning or threatening letters. Their very children were being +derided, their neighbors urged to chastise them. Ministers wrote them in +appealing or denunciatory vein. They were spied upon and abused daily in the +public prints. The mayor, shrewd son of battle that he was, realizing that he +had a whip of terror in his hands, excited by the long contest waged, and by +the smell of battle, was not backward in urging the most drastic remedies. +</p> + +<p> +“Wait till the thing comes up,” he said to his friends, in a great +central music-hall conference in which thousands participated, and when the +matter of ways and means to defeat the venal aldermen was being discussed. +“We have Mr. Cowperwood in a corner, I think. He cannot do anything for +two weeks, once his ordinance is in, and by that time we shall be able to +organize a vigilance committee, ward meetings, marching clubs, and the like. We +ought to organize a great central mass-meeting for the Sunday night before the +Monday when the bill comes up for final hearing. We want overflow meetings in +every ward at the same time. I tell you, gentlemen, that, while I believe there +are enough honest voters in the city council to prevent the Cowperwood crowd +from passing this bill over my veto, yet I don’t think the matter ought +to be allowed to go that far. You never can tell what these rascals will do +once they see an actual cash bid of twenty or thirty thousand dollars before +them. Most of them, even if they were lucky, would never make the half of that +in a lifetime. They don’t expect to be returned to the Chicago City +Council. Once is enough. There are too many others behind them waiting to get +their noses in the trough. Go into your respective wards and districts and +organize meetings. Call your particular alderman before you. Don’t let +him evade you or quibble or stand on his rights as a private citizen or a +public officer. Threaten—don’t cajole. Soft or kind words +won’t go with that type of man. Threaten, and when you have managed to +extract a promise be on hand with ropes to see that he keeps his word. I +don’t like to advise arbitrary methods, but what else is to be done? The +enemy is armed and ready for action right now. They’re just waiting for a +peaceful moment. Don’t let them find it. Be ready. Fight. I’m your +mayor, and ready to do all I can, but I stand alone with a mere pitiful veto +right. You help me and I’ll help you. You fight for me and I’ll +fight for you.” +</p> + +<p> +Witness hereafter the discomfiting situation of Mr. Simon Pinski at 9 P.M. on +the second evening following the introduction of the ordinance, in the ward +house of the Fourteenth Ward Democratic Club. Rotund, flaccid, red-faced, his +costume a long black frock-coat and silk hat, Mr. Pinski was being heckled by +his neighbors and business associates. He had been called here by threats to +answer for his prospective high crimes and misdemeanors. By now it was pretty +well understood that nearly all the present aldermen were criminal and venal, +and in consequence party enmities were practically wiped out. There were no +longer for the time being Democrats and Republicans, but only pro or anti +Cowperwoods—principally anti. Mr. Pinski, unfortunately, had been singled +out by the Transcript, the <i>Inquirer</i>, and the Chronicle as one of those open to +advance questioning by his constituents. Of mixed Jewish and American +extraction, he had been born and raised in the Fourteenth and spoke with a +decidedly American accent. He was neither small nor large—sandy-haired, +shifty-eyed, cunning, and on most occasions amiable. Just now he was decidedly +nervous, wrathy, and perplexed, for he had been brought here against his will. +His slightly oleaginous eye—not unlike that of a small pig—had been +fixed definitely and finally on the munificent sum of thirty thousand dollars, +no less, and this local agitation threatened to deprive him of his almost +unalienable right to the same. His ordeal took place in a large, low-ceiled +room illuminated by five very plain, thin, two-armed gas-jets suspended from +the ceiling and adorned by posters of prizefights, raffles, games, and the +“Simon Pinski Pleasure Association” plastered here and there freely +against dirty, long-unwhitewashed walls. He stood on the low raised platform at +the back of the room, surrounded by a score or more of his ward henchmen, all +more or less reliable, all black-frocked, or at least in their Sunday clothes; +all scowling, nervous, defensive, red-faced, and fearing trouble. Mr. Pinski +has come armed. This talk of the mayor’s concerning guns, ropes, drums, +marching clubs, and the like has been given very wide publicity, and the public +seems rather eager for a Chicago holiday in which the slaughter of an alderman +or so might furnish the leading and most acceptable feature. +</p> + +<p> +“Hey, Pinski!” yells some one out of a small sea of new and +decidedly unfriendly faces. (This is no meeting of Pinski followers, but a +conglomerate outpouring of all those elements of a distrait populace bent on +enforcing for once the principles of aldermanic decency. There are even women +here—local church-members, and one or two advanced civic reformers and W. +C. T. U. bar-room smashers. Mr. Pinski has been summoned to their presence by +the threat that if he didn’t come the noble company would seek him out +later at his own house.) +</p> + +<p> +“Hey, Pinski! You old boodler! How much do you expect to get out of this +traction business?” (This from a voice somewhere in the rear.) +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mr. Pinski</i> (turning to one side as if pinched in the neck). “The man that +says I am a boodler is a liar! I never took a dishonest dollar in my life, and +everybody in the Fourteenth Ward knows it.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Five Hundred People Assembled</i>. “Ha! ha! ha! Pinski never took a +dollar! Ho! ho! ho! Whoop-ee!” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mr. Pinski</i> (very red-faced, rising). “It is so. Why should I talk to a +lot of loafers that come here because the papers tell them to call me names? I +have been an alderman for six years now. Everybody knows me.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Voice</i>. “You call us loafers. You crook!” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Another Voice</i> (referring to his statement of being known). “You bet they +do!” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Another Voice</i> (this from a small, bony plumber in workclothes). “Hey, you +old grafter! Which way do you expect to vote? For or against this franchise? +Which way?” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Still Another Voice</i> (an insurance clerk). “Yes, which way?” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mr. Pinski</i> (rising once more, for in his nervousness he is constantly rising or +starting to rise, and then sitting down again). “I have a right to my own +mind, ain’t I? I got a right to think. What for am I an alderman, then? +The constitution...” +</p> + +<p> +<i>An Anti-Pinski Republican</i> (a young law clerk). “To hell with the +constitution! No fine words now, Pinski. Which way do you expect to vote? For +or against? Yes or no?” +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Voice</i> (that of a bricklayer, anti-Pinski). “He daresn’t say. +He’s got some of that bastard’s money in his jeans now, I’ll +bet.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Voice from Behind</i> (one of Pinski’s henchmen—a heavy, pugilistic +Irishman). “Don’t let them frighten you, Sim. Stand your ground. +They can’t hurt you. We’re here.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pinski</i> (getting up once more). “This is an outrage, I say. Ain’t I +gon’ to be allowed to say what I think? There are two sides to every +question. Now, I think whatever the newspapers say that +Cowperwood—” +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Journeyman Carpenter</i> (a reader of the <i>Inquirer</i>). “You’re bribed, +you thief! You’re beating about the bush. You want to sell out.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Bony Plumber</i>. “Yes, you crook! You want to get away with thirty +thousand dollars, that’s what you want, you boodler!” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mr. Pinski</i> (defiantly, egged on by voices from behind). “I want to be +fair—that’s what. I want to keep my own mind. The constitution +gives everybody the right of free speech—even me. I insist that the +street-car companies have some rights; at the same time the people have rights +too.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Voice</i>. “What are those rights?” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Another Voice</i>. “He don’t know. He wouldn’t know the +people’s rights from a sawmill.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Another Voice</i>. “Or a load of hay.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pinski</i> (continuing very defiantly now, since he has not yet been slain). +“I say the people have their rights. The companies ought to be made to +pay a fair tax. But this twenty-year-franchise idea is too little, I think. The +Mears bill now gives them fifty years, and I think all told—” +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Five Hundred</i> (in chorus). “Ho, you robber! You thief! You boodler! +Hang him! Ho! ho! ho! Get a rope!” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pinski</i> (retreating within a defensive circle as various citizens approach him, +their eyes blazing, their teeth showing, their fists clenched). “My +friends, wait! Ain’t I goin’ to be allowed to finish?” +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Voice</i>. “We’ll finish you, you stiff!” +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Citizen</i> (advancing; a bearded Pole). “How will you vote, hey? Tell us +that! How? Hey?” +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Second Citizen</i> (a Jew). “You’re a no-good, you robber. I know you +for ten years now already. You cheated me when you were in the grocery +business.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Third Citizen</i> (a Swede. In a sing-song voice). “Answer me this, Mr. +Pinski. If a majority of the citizens of the Fourteenth Ward don’t want +you to vote for it, will you still vote for it?” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pinski</i> (hesitating). +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Five Hundred</i>. “Ho! look at the scoundrel! He’s afraid to say. +He don’t know whether he’ll do what the people of this ward want +him to do. Kill him! Brain him!” +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Voice from Behind</i>. “Aw, stand up, Pinski. Don’t be afraid.” +Pinski (terrorized as the five hundred make a rush for the stage). “If +the people don’t want me to do it, of course I won’t do it. Why +should I? Ain’t I their representative?” +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Voice</i>. “Yes, when you think you’re going to get the wadding +kicked out of you.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Another Voice</i>. “You wouldn’t be honest with your mother, you +bastard. You couldn’t be!” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pinski</i>. “If one-half the voters should ask me not to do it I +wouldn’t do it.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Voice</i>. “Well, we’ll get the voters to ask you, all right. +We’ll get nine-tenths of them to sign before to-morrow night.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>An Irish-American</i> (aged twenty-six; a gas collector; coming close to Pinski). +“If you don’t vote right we’ll hang you, and I’ll be +there to help pull the rope myself.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>One of Pinski’s Lieutenants</i>. “Say, who is that freshie? We want to +lay for him. One good kick in the right place will just about finish +him.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Gas Collector</i>. “Not from you, you carrot-faced terrier. Come outside +and see.” (Business of friends interfering). +</p> + +<p> +The meeting becomes disorderly. Pinski is escorted out by +friends—completely surrounded—amid shrieks and hisses, cat-calls, +cries of “Boodler!” “Thief!” “Robber!” +</p> + +<p> +There were many such little dramatic incidents after the ordinance had been +introduced. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Henceforth on the streets, in the wards and outlying sections, and even, on +occasion, in the business heart, behold the marching clubs—those +sinister, ephemeral organizations which on demand of the mayor had cropped out +into existence—great companies of the unheralded, the dull, the +undistinguished—clerks, working-men, small business men, and minor scions +of religion or morality; all tramping to and fro of an evening, after +working-hours, assembling in cheap halls and party club-houses, and drilling +themselves to what end? That they might march to the city hall on the fateful +Monday night when the street-railway ordinances should be up for passage and +demand of unregenerate lawmakers that they do their duty. Cowperwood, coming +down to his office one morning on his own elevated lines, was the observer of a +button or badge worn upon the coat lapel of stolid, inconsequential citizens +who sat reading their papers, unconscious of that presence which epitomized the +terror and the power they all feared. One of these badges had for its device a +gallows with a free noose suspended; another was blazoned with the query: +“Are we going to be robbed?” On sign-boards, fences, and dead walls +huge posters, four by six feet in dimension, were displayed. +</p> + +<h4>WALDEN H. LUCAS<br/> +<br/> +against the<br/> +<br/> +BOODLERS<br/> +===========================<br/> +Every citizen of Chicago should<br/> +come down to the City Hall<br/> +<br/> +TO-NIGHT<br/> +MONDAY, DEC. 12<br/> +===========================<br/> +and every Monday night<br/> +thereafter while the Street-car<br/> +Franchises are under consideration,<br/> +and see that the interests<br/> +of the city are protected against<br/> +<br/> +BOODLEISM<br/> +=========<br/> +<i>Citizens, Arouse and Defeat the Boodlers!</i><br/> +</h4> + +<p> +In the papers were flaring head-lines; in the clubs, halls, and churches fiery +speeches could nightly be heard. Men were drunk now with a kind of fury of +contest. They would not succumb to this Titan who was bent on undoing them. +They would not be devoured by this gorgon of the East. He should be made to pay +an honest return to the city or get out. No fifty-year franchise should be +granted him. The Mears law must be repealed, and he must come into the city +council humble and with clean hands. No alderman who received as much as a +dollar for his vote should in this instance be safe with his life. +</p> + +<p> +Needless to say that in the face of such a campaign of intimidation only great +courage could win. The aldermen were only human. In the council +committee-chamber Cowperwood went freely among them, explaining as he best +could the justice of his course and making it plain that, although willing to +buy his rights, he looked on them as no more than his due. The rule of the +council was barter, and he accepted it. His unshaken and unconquerable defiance +heartened his followers greatly, and the thought of thirty thousand dollars was +as a buttress against many terrors. At the same time many an alderman +speculated solemnly as to what he would do afterward and where he would go once +he had sold out. +</p> + +<p> +At last the Monday night arrived which was to bring the final test of strength. +Picture the large, ponderous structure of black granite—erected at the +expense of millions and suggesting somewhat the somnolent architecture of +ancient Egypt—which served as the city hall and county court-house +combined. On this evening the four streets surrounding it were packed with +thousands of people. To this throng Cowperwood has become an astounding figure: +his wealth fabulous, his heart iron, his intentions sinister—the acme of +cruel, plotting deviltry. Only this day, the Chronicle, calculating well the +hour and the occasion, has completely covered one of its pages with an +intimate, though exaggerated, description of Cowperwood’s house in New +York: his court of orchids, his sunrise room, the baths of pink and blue +alabaster, the finishings of marble and intaglio. Here Cowperwood was +represented as seated in a swinging divan, his various books, art treasures, +and comforts piled about him. The idea was vaguely suggested that in his +sybaritic hours odalesques danced before him and unnamable indulgences and +excesses were perpetrated. +</p> + +<p> +At this same hour in the council-chamber itself were assembling as hungry and +bold a company of gray wolves as was ever gathered under one roof. The room was +large, ornamented to the south by tall windows, its ceiling supporting a heavy, +intricate chandelier, its sixty-six aldermanic desks arranged in half-circles, +one behind the other; its woodwork of black oak carved and highly polished; its +walls a dark blue-gray decorated with arabesques in gold—thus giving to +all proceedings an air of dignity and stateliness. Above the speaker’s +head was an immense portrait in oil of a former mayor—poorly done, dusty, +and yet impressive. The size and character of the place gave on ordinary +occasions a sort of resonance to the voices of the speakers. To-night through +the closed windows could be heard the sound of distant drums and marching feet. +In the hall outside the council door were packed at least a thousand men with +ropes, sticks, a fife-and-drum corps which occasionally struck up “Hail! +Columbia, Happy Land,” “My Country, ’Tis of Thee,” and +“Dixie.” Alderman Schlumbohm, heckled to within an inch of his +life, followed to the council door by three hundred of his fellow-citizens, was +there left with the admonition that they would be waiting for him when he +should make his exit. He was at last seriously impressed. +</p> + +<p> +“What is this?” he asked of his neighbor and nearest associate, +Alderman Gavegan, when he gained the safety of his seat. “A free +country?” +</p> + +<p> +“Search me!” replied his compatriot, wearily. “I never seen +such a band as I have to deal with out in the Twentieth. Why, my God! a man +can’t call his name his own any more out here. It’s got so now the +newspapers tell everybody what to do.” +</p> + +<p> +Alderman Pinski and Alderman Hoherkorn, conferring together in one corner, were +both very dour. “I’ll tell you what, Joe,” said Pinski to his +confrere; “it’s this fellow Lucas that has got the people so +stirred up. I didn’t go home last night because I didn’t want those +fellows to follow me down there. Me and my wife stayed down-town. But one of +the boys was over here at Jake’s a little while ago, and he says there +must ’a’ been five hundred people around my house at six +o’clock, already. Whad ye think o’ that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Same here. I don’t take much stock in this lynching idea. Still, +you can’t tell. I don’t know whether the police could help us much +or not. It’s a damned outrage. Cowperwood has a fair proposition. +What’s the matter with them, anyhow?” +</p> + +<p> +Renewed sounds of “Marching Through Georgia” from without. +</p> + +<p> +Enter at this time Aldermen Ziner, Knudson, Revere, Rogers, Tiernan, and +Kerrigan. Of all the aldermen perhaps Messrs. Tiernan and Kerrigan were as cool +as any. Still the spectacle of streets blocked with people who carried torches +and wore badges showing slip-nooses attached to a gallows was rather serious. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you, Pat,” said “Smiling Mike,” as +they eventually made the door through throngs of jeering citizens; “it +does look a little rough. Whad ye think?” +</p> + +<p> +“To hell with them!” replied Kerrigan, angry, waspish, determined. +“They don’t run me or my ward. I’ll vote as I damn +please.” +</p> + +<p> +“Same here,” replied Tiernan, with a great show of courage. +“That goes for me. But it’s putty warm, anyhow, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, it’s warm, all right,” replied Kerrigan, suspicious +lest his companion in arms might be weakening, “but that’ll never +make a quitter out of me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nor me, either,” replied the Smiling One. +</p> + +<p> +Enter now the mayor, accompanied by a fife-and-drum corps rendering “Hail +to the Chief.” He ascends the rostrum. Outside in the halls the huzzas of +the populace. In the gallery overhead a picked audience. As the various +aldermen look up they contemplate a sea of unfriendly faces. “Get on to +the mayor’s guests,” commented one alderman to another, cynically. +</p> + +<p> +A little sparring for time while minor matters are considered, and the gallery +is given opportunity for comment on the various communal lights, identifying +for itself first one local celebrity and then another. “There’s +Johnnie Dowling, that big blond fellow with the round head; there’s +Pinski—look at the little rat; there’s Kerrigan. Get on to the +emerald. Eh, Pat, how’s the jewelry? You won’t get any chance to do +any grafting to-night, Pat. You won’t pass no ordinance to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Alderman Winkler</i> (pro-Cowperwood). “If the chair pleases, I think +something ought to be done to restore order in the gallery and keep these +proceedings from being disturbed. It seems to me an outrage, that, on an +occasion of this kind, when the interests of the people require the most +careful attention—” +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Voice</i>. “The interests of the people!” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Another Voice</i>. “Sit down. You’re bought!” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Alderman Winkler</i>. “If the chair pleases—” +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Mayor</i>. “I shall have to ask the audience in the gallery to keep quiet +in order that the business in hand may be considered.” (Applause, and the +gallery lapses into silence.) +</p> + +<p> +<i>Alderman Guigler</i> (to Alderman Sumulsky). “Well trained, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Alderman Ballenberg</i> (pro-Cowperwood, getting up—large, brown, florid, +smooth-faced). “Before calling up an ordinance which bears my name I +should like to ask permission of the council to make a statement. When I +introduced this ordinance last week I said—” +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Voice</i>. “We know what you said.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Alderman Ballenberg</i>. “I said that I did so by request. I want to explain +that it was at the request of a number of gentlemen who have since appeared +before the committee of this council that now has this ordinance—” +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Voice</i>. “That’s all right, Ballenberg. We know by whose request +you introduced it. You’ve said your little say.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Alderman Ballenberg</i>. “If the chair pleases—” +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Voice</i>. “Sit down, Ballenberg. Give some other boodler a chance.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Mayor</i>. “Will the gallery please stop interrupting.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Alderman Horanek</i> (jumping to his feet). “This is an outrage. The gallery +is packed with people come here to intimidate us. Here is a great public +corporation that has served this city for years, and served it well, and when +it comes to this body with a sensible proposition we ain’t even allowed +to consider it. The mayor packs the gallery with his friends, and the papers +stir up people to come down here by thousands and try to frighten us. I for +one—” +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Voice</i>. “What’s the matter, Billy? Haven’t you got your +money yet?” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Alderman Hvranek</i> (Polish-American, intelligent, even artistic looking, shaking +his fist at the gallery). “You dare not come down here and say that, you +coward!” +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Chorus of Fifty Voices</i>. “Rats!” (also) “Billy, you ought to +have wings.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Alderman Tiernan</i> (rising). “I say now, Mr. Mayor, don’t you think +we’ve had enough of this?” +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Voice</i>. “Well, look who’s here. If it ain’t Smiling +Mike.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Another Voice</i>. “How much do you expect to get, Mike?” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Alderman Tiernan</i> (turning to gallery). “I want to say I can lick any man +that wants to come down here and talk to me to my face. I’m not afraid of +no ropes and no guns. These corporations have done everything for the +city—” +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Voice</i>. “Aw!” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Alderman Tiernan</i>. “If it wasn’t for the street-car companies we +wouldn’t have any city.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ten Voices</i>. “Aw!” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Alderman Tiernan</i> (bravely). “My mind ain’t the mind of some +people.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Voice</i>. “I should say not.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Alderman Tiernan</i>. “I’m talking for compensation for the privileges +we expect to give.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Voice</i>. “You’re talking for your pocket-book.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Alderman Tiernan</i>. “I don’t give a damn for these cheap skates and +cowards in the gallery. I say treat these corporations right. They have helped +make the city.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Chorus of Fifty Voices</i>. “Aw! You want to treat yourself right, +that’s what you want. You vote right to-night or you’ll be +sorry.” +</p> + +<p> +By now the various aldermen outside of the most hardened characters were more +or less terrified by the grilling contest. It could do no good to battle with +this gallery or the crowd outside. Above them sat the mayor, before them +reporters, ticking in shorthand every phrase and word. “I don’t see +what we can do,” said Alderman Pinski to Alderman Hvranek, his neighbor. +“It looks to me as if we might just as well not try.” +</p> + +<p> +At this point arose Alderman Gilleran, small, pale, intelligent, +anti-Cowperwood. By prearrangement he had been scheduled to bring the second, +and as it proved, the final test of strength to the issue. “If the chair +pleases,” he said, “I move that the vote by which the Ballenberg +fifty-year ordinance was referred to the joint committee of streets and alleys +be reconsidered, and that instead it be referred to the committee on city +hall.” +</p> + +<p> +This was a committee that hitherto had always been considered by members of +council as of the least importance. Its principal duties consisted in devising +new names for streets and regulating the hours of city-hall servants. There +were no perquisites, no graft. In a spirit of ribald defiance at the +organization of the present session all the mayor’s friends—the +reformers—those who could not be trusted—had been relegated to this +committee. Now it was proposed to take this ordinance out of the hands of +friends and send it here, from whence unquestionably it would never reappear. +The great test had come. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Alderman Hoberkorn</i> (mouthpiece for his gang because the most skilful in a +parliamentary sense). “The vote cannot be reconsidered.” He begins +a long explanation amid hisses. +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Voice</i>. “How much have you got?” +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Second Voice</i>. “You’ve been a boodler all your life.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Alderman Hoberkorn</i> (turning to the gallery, a light of defiance in his eye). +“You come here to intimidate us, but you can’t do it. You’re +too contemptible to notice.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Voice</i>. “You hear the drums, don’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Second Voice</i>. “Vote wrong, Hoberkorn, and see. We know you.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Alderman Tiernan</i> (to himself). “Say, that’s pretty rough, +ain’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Mayor</i>. “Motion overruled. The point is not well taken.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Alderman Guigler</i> (rising a little puzzled). “Do we vote now on the +Gilleran resolution?” +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Voice</i>. “You bet you do, and you vote right.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Mayor</i>. “Yes. The clerk will call the roll.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Clerk</i> (reading the names, beginning with the A’s). +“Altvast?” (pro-Cowperwood). +</p> + +<p> +<i>Alderman Altvast</i>. “Yea.” Fear had conquered him. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Alderman Tiernan</i> (to Alderman Kerrigan). “Well, there’s one baby +down.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Alderman Kerrigan</i>. “Yep.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ballenberg?” (Pro-Cowperwood; the man who had introduced the +ordinance.) +</p> + +<p> +“Yea.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Alderman Tiernan</i>. “Say, has Ballenberg weakened?” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Alderman Kerrigan</i>. “It looks that way.” +</p> + +<p> +“Canna?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fogarty?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Alderman Tiernan </i>(nervously). “There goes Fogarty.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hvranek?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Alderman Tiernan</i>. “And Hvranek!” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Alderman Kerrigan</i> (referring to the courage of his colleagues). +“It’s coming out of their hair.” +</p> + +<p> +In exactly eighty seconds the roll-call was in and Cowperwood had lost—41 +to 25. It was plain that the ordinance could never be revived. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap62"></a>CHAPTER LXII.<br/> +The Recompense</h2> + +<p> +You have seen, perhaps, a man whose heart was weighted by a great woe. You have +seen the eye darken, the soul fag, and the spirit congeal under the breath of +an icy disaster. At ten-thirty of this particular evening Cowperwood, sitting +alone in the library of his Michigan Avenue house, was brought face to face +with the fact that he had lost. He had built so much on the cast of this single +die. It was useless to say to himself that he could go into the council a week +later with a modified ordinance or could wait until the storm had died out. He +refused himself these consolations. Already he had battled so long and so +vigorously, by every resource and subtlety which his mind had been able to +devise. All week long on divers occasions he had stood in the council-chamber +where the committee had been conducting its hearings. Small comfort to know +that by suits, injunctions, appeals, and writs to intervene he could tie up +this transit situation and leave it for years and years the prey of lawyers, +the despair of the city, a hopeless muddle which would not be unraveled until +he and his enemies should long be dead. This contest had been so long in the +brewing, he had gone about it with such care years before. And now the enemy +had been heartened by a great victory. His aldermen, powerful, hungry, fighting +men all—like those picked soldiers of the ancient Roman +emperors—ruthless, conscienceless, as desperate as himself, had in their +last redoubt of personal privilege fallen, weakened, yielded. How could he +hearten them to another struggle—how face the blazing wrath of a mighty +populace that had once learned how to win? Others might enter +here—Haeckelheimer, Fishel, any one of a half-dozen Eastern +giants—and smooth out the ruffled surface of the angry sea that he had +blown to fury. But as for him, he was tired, sick of Chicago, sick of this +interminable contest. Only recently he had promised himself that if he were to +turn this great trick he would never again attempt anything so desperate or +requiring so much effort. He would not need to. The size of his fortune made it +of little worth. Besides, in spite of his tremendous vigor, he was getting on. +</p> + +<p> +Since he had alienated Aileen he was quite alone, out of touch with any one +identified with the earlier years of his life. His all-desired Berenice still +evaded him. True, she had shown lately a kind of warming sympathy; but what was +it? Gracious tolerance, perhaps—a sense of obligation? Certainly little +more, he felt. He looked into the future, deciding heavily that he must fight +on, whatever happened, and then— +</p> + +<p> +While he sat thus drearily pondering, answering a telephone call now and then, +the door-bell rang and the servant brought a card which he said had been +presented by a young woman who declared that it would bring immediate +recognition. Glancing at it, Cowperwood jumped to his feet and hurried +down-stairs into the one presence he most craved. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +There are compromises of the spirit too elusive and subtle to be traced in all +their involute windings. From that earliest day when Berenice Fleming had first +set eyes on Cowperwood she had been moved by a sense of power, an amazing and +fascinating individuality. Since then by degrees he had familiarized her with a +thought of individual freedom of action and a disregard of current social +standards which were destructive to an earlier conventional view of things. +Following him through this Chicago fight, she had been caught by the wonder of +his dreams; he was on the way toward being one of the world’s greatest +money giants. During his recent trips East she had sometimes felt that she was +able to read in the cast of his face the intensity of this great ambition, +which had for its ultimate aim—herself. So he had once assured her. +Always with her he had been so handsome, so pleading, so patient. +</p> + +<p> +So here she was in Chicago to-night, the guest of friends at the Richelieu, and +standing in Cowperwood’s presence. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Berenice!” he said, extending a cordial hand. +</p> + +<p> +“When did you arrive in town? Whatever brings you here?” He had +once tried to make her promise that if ever her feeling toward him changed she +would let him know of it in some way. And here she was to-night—on what +errand? He noted her costume of brown silk and velvet—how well it seemed +to suggest her cat-like grace! +</p> + +<p> +“You bring me here,” she replied, with an indefinable something in +her voice which was at once a challenge and a confession. “I thought from +what I had just been reading that you might really need me now.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean—?” he inquired, looking at her with vivid eyes. +There he paused. +</p> + +<p> +“That I have made up my mind. Besides, I ought to pay some time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Berenice!” he exclaimed, reproachfully. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I don’t mean that, either,” she replied. “I am +sorry now. I think I understand you better. Besides,” she added, with a +sudden gaiety that had a touch of self-consolation in it, “I want +to.” +</p> + +<p> +“Berenice! Truly?” +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t you tell?” she queried. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then,” he smiled, holding out his hands; and, to his +amazement, she came forward. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t explain myself to myself quite,” she added, in a +hurried low, eager tone, “but I couldn’t stay away any longer. I +had the feeling that you might be going to lose here for the present. But I +want you to go somewhere else if you have to—London or Paris. The world +won’t understand us quite—but I do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Berenice!” He smothered her cheek and hair. +</p> + +<p> +“Not so close, please. And there aren’t to be any other ladies, +unless you want me to change my mind.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not another one, as I hope to keep you. You will share everything I +have...” +</p> + +<p> +For answer— +</p> + +<p> +How strange are realities as opposed to illusion! +</p> + +<h3>In Retrospect</h3> + +<p> +The world is dosed with too much religion. Life is to be learned from life, and +the professional moralist is at best but a manufacturer of shoddy wares. At the +ultimate remove, God or the life force, if anything, is an equation, and at its +nearest expression for man—the contract social—it is that also. Its +method of expression appears to be that of generating the individual, in all +his glittering variety and scope, and through him progressing to the mass with +its problems. In the end a balance is invariably struck wherein the mass +subdues the individual or the individual the mass—for the time being. +For, behold, the sea is ever dancing or raging. +</p> + +<p> +In the mean time there have sprung up social words and phrases expressing a +need of balance—of equation. These are right, justice, truth, morality, +an honest mind, a pure heart—all words meaning: a balance must be struck. +The strong must not be too strong; the weak not too weak. But without variation +how could the balance be maintained? Nirvana! Nirvana! The ultimate, still, +equation. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Rushing like a great comet to the zenith, his path a blazing trail, Cowperwood +did for the hour illuminate the terrors and wonders of individuality. But for +him also the eternal equation—the pathos of the discovery that even +giants are but pygmies, and that an ultimate balance must be struck. Of the +strange, tortured, terrified reflection of those who, caught in his wake, were +swept from the normal and the commonplace, what shall we say? Legislators by +the hundred, who were hounded from politics into their graves; a half-hundred +aldermen of various councils who were driven grumbling or whining into the +limbo of the dull, the useless, the commonplace. A splendid governor dreaming +of an ideal on the one hand, succumbing to material necessity on the other, +traducing the spirit that aided him the while he tortured himself with his own +doubts. A second governor, more amenable, was to be greeted by the hisses of +the populace, to retire brooding and discomfited, and finally to take his own +life. Schryhart and Hand, venomous men both, unable to discover whether they +had really triumphed, were to die eventually, puzzled. A mayor whose greatest +hour was in thwarting one who contemned him, lived to say: “It is a great +mystery. He was a strange man.” A great city struggled for a score of +years to untangle that which was all but beyond the power of solution—a +true Gordian knot. +</p> + +<p> +And this giant himself, rushing on to new struggles and new difficulties in an +older land, forever suffering the goad of a restless heart—for him was no +ultimate peace, no real understanding, but only hunger and thirst and wonder. +Wealth, wealth, wealth! A new grasp of a new great problem and its eventual +solution. Anew the old urgent thirst for life, and only its partial quenchment. +In Dresden a palace for one woman, in Rome a second for another. In London a +third for his beloved Berenice, the lure of beauty ever in his eye. The lives +of two women wrecked, a score of victims despoiled; Berenice herself weary, yet +brilliant, turning to others for recompense for her lost youth. And he +resigned, and yet not—loving, understanding, doubting, caught at last by +the drug of a personality which he could not gainsay. +</p> + +<p> +What shall we say of life in the last analysis—“Peace, be +still”? Or shall we battle sternly for that equation which we know will +be maintained whether we battle or no, in order that the strong become not too +strong or the weak not too weak? Or perchance shall we say (sick of dullness): +“Enough of this. I will have strong meat or die!” And die? Or live? +</p> + +<p> +Each according to his temperament—that something which he has not made +and cannot always subdue, and which may not always be subdued by others for +him. Who plans the steps that lead lives on to splendid glories, or twist them +into gnarled sacrifices, or make of them dark, disdainful, contentious +tragedies? The soul within? And whence comes it? Of God? +</p> + +<p> +What thought engendered the spirit of Circe, or gave to a Helen the lust of +tragedy? What lit the walls of Troy? Or prepared the woes of an Andromache? By +what demon counsel was the fate of Hamlet prepared? And why did the weird +sisters plan ruin to the murderous Scot? +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Double, double toil and trouble,<br/> +Fire burn and cauldron bubble.<br/> +</p> + +<p> +In a mulch of darkness are bedded the roots of endless sorrows—and of +endless joys. Canst thou fix thine eye on the morning? Be glad. And if in the +ultimate it blind thee, be glad also! Thou hast lived. +</p> + +<h5>THE END</h5> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Titan, by Theodore Dreiser + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TITAN *** + +***** This file should be named 3629-h.htm or 3629-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/2/3629/ + +Produced by Kirk Pearson and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. HTML version by Al Haines. + +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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