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diff --git a/5421-h/5421-h.htm b/5421-h/5421-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5bc92a7 --- /dev/null +++ b/5421-h/5421-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,13818 @@ +<!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 Metropolis, by Upton Sinclair</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: 120%;} +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 Metropolis, by Upton Sinclair + +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 Metropolis + +Author: Upton Sinclair + +Release Date: July 14, 2002 [EBook #5421] +[Most recently updated: June 1, 2020] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE METROPOLIS *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + + +</pre> + +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" style="width:100%;" alt="cover" /> +</div> + +<h1>The Metropolis</h1> + +<h2>by Upton Sinclair</h2> + +<h4>FIRST PUBLISHED 1908 + +<br/> + +PRINTED BY OFFSET IN GREAT BRITAIN</h4> + +<hr /> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto"> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">CHAPTER I.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">CHAPTER II.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">CHAPTER III.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">CHAPTER IV.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">CHAPTER V.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">CHAPTER VI.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">CHAPTER VII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">CHAPTER VIII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09">CHAPTER IX.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10">CHAPTER X.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap11">CHAPTER XI.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap12">CHAPTER XII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap13">CHAPTER XIII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap14">CHAPTER XIV.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap15">CHAPTER XV.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap16">CHAPTER XVI.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap17">CHAPTER XVII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap18">CHAPTER XVIII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap19">CHAPTER XIX.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap20">CHAPTER XX.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap21">CHAPTER XXI.</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<p> +“Return at ten-thirty,” the General said to his chauffeur, and then +they entered the corridor of the hotel. +</p> + +<p> +Montague gazed about him, and found himself trembling just a little with +anticipation. It was not the magnificence of the place. The quiet uptown hotel +would have seemed magnificent to him, fresh as he was from the country; but, he +did not see the marble columns and the gilded carvings-he was thinking of the +men he was to meet. It seemed too much to crowd into one day-first the vision +of the whirling, seething city, the centre of all his hopes of the future; and +then, at night, this meeting, overwhelming him with the crowded memories of +everything that he held precious in the past. +</p> + +<p> +There were groups of men in faded uniforms standing about in the corridors. +General Prentice bowed here and there as they retired and took the elevator to +the reception-rooms. In the doorway they passed a stout little man with stubby +white moustaches, and the General stopped, exclaiming, “Hello, +Major!” Then he added: “Let me introduce Mr. Allan Montague. +Montague, this is Major Thorne.” +</p> + +<p> +A look of sudden interest flashed across the Major’s face. “General +Montague’s son?” he cried. And then he seized the other’s +hand in both of his, exclaiming, “My boy! my boy! I’m glad to see +you!” +</p> + +<p> +Now Montague was no boy—he was a man of thirty, and rather sedate in his +appearance and manner; there was enough in his six feet one to have made two of +the round and rubicund little Major. And yet it seemed to him quite proper that +the other should address him so. He was back in his boyhood to-night—he +was a boy whenever anyone mentioned the name of Major Thorne. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps you have heard your father speak of me?” asked the Major, +eagerly; and Montague answered, “A thousand times.” +</p> + +<p> +He was tempted to add that the vision that rose before him was of a stout +gentleman hanging in a grape-vine, while a whole battery of artillery made him +their target. +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps it was irreverent, but that was what Montague had always thought of, +ever since he had first laughed over the tale his father told. It had happened +one January afternoon in the Wilderness, during the terrible battle of +Chancellorsville, when Montague’s father had been a rising young +staff-officer, and it had fallen to his lot to carry to Major Thorne what was +surely the most terrifying order that ever a cavalry officer received. It was +in the crisis of the conflict, when the Army of the Potomac was reeling before +the onslaught of Stonewall Jackson’s columns. There was no one to stop +them-and yet they must be stopped, for the whole right wing of the army was +going. So that cavalry regiment had charged full tilt through the thickets, and +into a solid wall of infantry and artillery. The crash of their volley was +blinding—and horses were fairly shot to fragments; and the Major’s +horse, with its lower jaw torn off, had plunged madly away and left its rider +hanging in the aforementioned grape-vine. After he had kicked himself loose, it +was to find himself in an arena where pain-maddened horses and frenzied men +raced about amid a rain of minie-balls and canister. And in this inferno the +gallant Major had captured a horse, and rallied the remains of his shattered +command, and held the line until help came-and then helped to hold it, all +through the afternoon and the twilight and the night, against charge after +charge.—And now to stand and gaze at this stout and red-nosed little +personage, and realize that these mighty deeds had been his! +</p> + +<p> +Then, even while Montague was returning his hand-clasp and telling him of his +pleasure, the Major’s eye caught some one across the room, and he called +eagerly, “Colonel Anderson! Colonel Anderson!” +</p> + +<p> +And this was the heroic Jack Anderson! “Parson” Anderson, the men +had called him, because he always prayed before everything he did. Prayers at +each mess,—a prayer-meeting in the evening,—and then rumour said +the Colonel prayed on while his men slept. With his battery of artillery +trained to perfection under three years of divine guidance, the gallant Colonel +had stood in the line of battle at Cold Harbour—name of frightful +memory!—and when the enemy had swarmed out of their intrenchments and +swept back the whole line just beyond him, his battery had stood like a cape in +a storm-beaten ocean, attacked on two sides at once; and for the half-hour that +elapsed before infantry support came up, the Colonel had ridden slowly up and +down his line, repeating in calm and godly accents, “Give ’em hell, +boys—give ’em hell!”—The Colonel’s hand trembled +now as he held it out, and his voice was shrill and cracked as he told what +pleasure it gave him to meet General Montague’s son. +</p> + +<p> +“Why have we never seen you before?” asked Major Thorne. Montague +replied that he had spent all his life in Mississippi—his father having +married a Southern woman after the war. Once every year the General had come to +New York to attend the reunion of the Loyal Legion of the State; but some one +had had to stay at home with his mother, Montague explained. +</p> + +<p> +There were perhaps a hundred men in the room, and he was passed about from +group to group. Many of them had known his father intimately. It seemed almost +uncanny to him to meet them in the body; to find them old and feeble, +white-haired and wrinkled. As they lived in the chambers of his memory, they +were in their mighty youth—heroes, transfigured and radiant, not subject +to the power of time. +</p> + +<p> +Life on the big plantation had been a lonely one, especially for a +Southern-born man who had fought in the Union army. General Montague had been a +person of quiet tastes, and his greatest pleasure had been to sit with his two +boys on his knees and “fight his battles o’er again.” He had +collected all the literature of the corps which he had commanded—a whole +library of it, in which Allan had learned to find his way as soon as he could +read. He had literally been brought up on the war—for hours he would lie +buried in some big illustrated history, until people came and called him away. +He studied maps of campaigns and battle-fields, until they became alive with +human passion and struggle; he knew the Army of the Potomac by brigade and +division, with the names of commanders, and their faces, and their +ways—until they lived and spoke, and the bare roll of their names had +power to thrill him.—And now here were the men themselves, and all these +scenes and memories crowding upon him in tumultuous throngs. No wonder that he +was a little dazed, and could hardly find words to answer when he was spoken +to. +</p> + +<p> +But then came an incident which called him suddenly back to the world of the +present. “There is Judge Ellis,” said the General. +</p> + +<p> +Judge Ellis! The fame of his wit and eloquence had reached even far +Mississippi—was there any remotest corner of America where men had not +heard of the silver tongue of Judge Ellis? “Cultivate him!” +Montague’s brother Oliver had laughed, when it was mentioned that the +Judge would be present—“Cultivate him—he may be +useful.” +</p> + +<p> +It was not difficult to cultivate one who was as gracious as Judge Ellis. He +stood in the doorway, a smooth, perfectly groomed gentleman, conspicuous in the +uniformed assembly by his evening dress. The Judge was stout and jovial, and +cultivated Dundreary whiskers and a beaming smile. “General +Montague’s son!” he exclaimed, as he pressed the young man’s +hands. “Why, why—I’m surprised! Why have we never seen you +before?” +</p> + +<p> +Montague explained that he had only been in New York about six hours. +“Oh, I see,” said the Judge. “And shall you remain +long?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have come to stay,” was the reply. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well!” said the other, cordially. “Then we may see +more of you. Are you going into business?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am a lawyer,” said Montague. “I expect to practise.” +</p> + +<p> +The Judge’s quick glance had been taking the measure of the tall, +handsome man before him, with his raven-black hair and grave features. +“You must give us a chance to try your mettle,” he said; and then, +as others approached to meet him, and he was forced to pass on, he laid a +caressing hand on Montague’s arm, whispering, with a sly smile, “I +mean it.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague felt his heart beat a little faster. He had not welcomed his +brother’s suggestion—there was nothing of the sycophant in him; but +he meant to work and to succeed, and he knew what the favour of a man like +Judge Ellis would mean to him. For the Judge was the idol of New York’s +business and political aristocracy, and the doorways of fortune yielded at his +touch. +</p> + +<p> +There were rows of chairs in one of the rooms, and here two or three hundred +men were gathered. There were stands of battle-flags in the corners, each one +of them a scroll of tragic history, to one like Montague, who understood. His +eye roamed over them while the secretary was reading minutes of meetings and +other routine announcements. Then he began to study the assemblage. There were +men with one arm and men with one leg—one tottering old soldier ninety +years of age, stone blind, and led about by his friends. The Loyal Legion was +an officers’ organization, and to that extent aristocratic; but worldly +success counted for nothing in it—some of its members were struggling to +exist on their pensions, and were as much thought of as a man like General +Prentice, who was president of one of the city’s largest banks, and a +rich man, even in New York’s understanding of that term. +</p> + +<p> +The presiding officer introduced “Colonel Robert Selden, who will read +the paper of the evening: ‘Recollections of Spottsylvania.’” +Montague started at the name—for “Bob” Selden had been one of +his father’s messmates, and had fought all through the Peninsula Campaign +at his side. +</p> + +<p> +He was a tall, hawk-faced man with a grey imperial. The room was still as he +arose, and after adjusting his glasses, he began to read his story. He recalled +the situation of the Army of the Potomac in the spring of 1864; for three years +it had marched and fought, stumbling through defeat after defeat, a mighty +weapon, lacking only a man who could wield it. Now at last the man had +come—one who would put them into the battle and give them a chance to +fight. So they had marched into the Wilderness, and there Lee struck them, and +for three days they groped in a blind thicket, fighting hand to hand, amid +suffocating smoke. The Colonel read in a quiet, unassuming voice; but one could +see that he had hold of his hearers by the light that crossed their features +when he told of the army’s recoil from the shock, and of the wild joy +that ran through the ranks when they took up their march to the left, and +realized that this time they were not going back.—So they came to the +twelve days’ grapple of the Spottsylvania Campaign. +</p> + +<p> +There was still the Wilderness thicket; the enemy’s intrenchments, +covering about eight miles, lay in the shape of a dome, and at the cupola of it +were breastworks of heavy timbers banked with earth, and with a ditch and a +tangle of trees in front. The place was the keystone of the Confederate arch, +and the name of it was “the Angle”—“Bloody +Angle!” Montague heard the man who sat next to him draw in his breath, as +if a spasm of pain had shot through him. +</p> + +<p> +At dawn two brigades had charged and captured the place. The enemy returned to +the attack, and for twenty hours thereafter the two armies fought, hurling +regiment after regiment and brigade after brigade into the trenches. There was +a pouring rain, and the smoke hung black about them; they could only see the +flashes of the guns, and the faces of the enemy, here and there. +</p> + +<p> +The Colonel described the approach of his regiment. They lay down for a moment +in a swamp, and the minie-balls sang like swarming bees, and split the blades +of the grass above them. Then they charged, over ground that ran with human +blood. In the trenches the bodies of dead and dying men lay three deep, and +were trampled out of sight in the mud by the feet of those who fought. They +would crouch behind the works, lifting their guns high over their heads, and +firing into the throngs on the other side; again and again men sprang upon the +breastworks and fired their muskets, and then fell dead. They dragged up +cannon, one after another, and blew holes through the logs, and raked +the’ ground with charges of canister. +</p> + +<p> +While the Colonel read, still in his calm, matter-of-fact voice, you might see +men leaning forward in their chairs, hands clenched, teeth set. They knew! They +knew! Had there ever before been a time in history when breastworks had been +charged by artillery? Twenty-four men in the crew of one gun, and only two +unhurt! One iron sponge-bucket with thirty-nine bullet holes shot through it! +And then blasts of canister sweeping the trenches, and blowing scores of living +and dead men to fragments! And into this hell of slaughter new regiments +charging, in lines four deep! And squad after squad of the enemy striving to +surrender, and shot to pieces by their own comrades as they clambered over the +blood-soaked walls! And heavy timbers in the defences shot to splinters! Huge +oak trees—one of them twenty-four inches in diameter—crashing down +upon the combatants, gnawed through by rifle-bullets! Since the world began had +men ever fought like that? +</p> + +<p> +Then the Colonel told of his own wound in the shoulder, and how, toward dusk, +he had crawled away; and how he became lost, and strayed into the enemy’s +line, and was thrust into a batch of prisoners and marched to the rear. And +then of the night that he spent beside a hospital camp in the Wilderness, where +hundreds of wounded and dying men lay about on the rain-soaked ground, moaning, +screaming, praying to be killed. Again the prisoners were moved, having been +ordered to march to the railroad; and on the way the Colonel went blind from +suffering and exhaustion, and staggered and fell in the road. You could have +heard a pin drop in the room, in the pause between sentences in his story, as +he told how the guard argued with him to persuade him to go on. It was their +duty to kill him if he refused, but they could not bring themselves to do it. +In the end they left the job to one, and he stood and cursed the officer, +trying to get up his courage; and finally fired his gun into the air, and went +off and left him. +</p> + +<p> +Then he told how an old negro had found him, and how he lay delirious; and how, +at last, the army marched his way. He ended his narrative the simple sentence: +“It was not until the siege of Petersburg that I was able to rejoin my +Command.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a murmur of applause; and then silence. Suddenly, from somewhere in +the room, came the sound of singing—“Mine eyes have seen the glory +of the coming of the Lord!” The old battle-hymn seemed to strike the very +mood of the meeting; the whole throng took it up, and they sang it, stanza by +stanza. It was rolling forth like a mighty organ-chant as they came to the +fervid closing:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“He hath sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;<br/> +He is sifting out the hearts of men before his judgment seat;<br/> +Oh! be swift, my soul, to answer Him; be jubilant, my feet,—<br/> + Our God is marching on!” +</p> + +<p> +There was a pause again; and the presiding officer rose and said that, owing to +the presence of a distinguished guest, they would forego one of their rules, +and invite Judge Ellis to say a few words. The Judge came forward, and bowed +his acknowledgment of their welcome. Then, perhaps feeling a need of relief +after the sombre recital, the Judge took occasion to apologize for his own +temerity in addressing a roomful of warriors; and somehow he managed to make +that remind him of a story of an army mule, a very amusing story; and that +reminded him of another story, until, when he stopped and sat down, every one +in the room broke into delighted applause. +</p> + +<p> +They went in to dinner. Montague sat by General Prentice, and he, in turn, by +the Judge; the latter was reminded of more stories during the dinner, and kept +every one near him laughing. Finally Montague was moved to tell a story +himself—about an old negro down home, who passed himself off for an +Indian. The Judge was so good as to consider this an immensely funny story, and +asked permission to tell it himself. Several times after that he leaned over +and spoke to Montague, who felt a slight twinge of guilt as he recalled his +brother’s cynical advice, “Cultivate him!” The Judge was so +willing to be cultivated, however, that it gave one’s conscience little +chance. +</p> + +<p> +They went back to the meeting-room again; chairs were shifted, and little +groups formed, and cigars and pipes brought out. They moved the precious +battle-flags forward, and some one produced a bugle and a couple of drums; then +the walls of the place shook, as the whole company burst forth:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Bring the good old bugle, boys! we’ll sing another song—<br/> +Sing it with a spirit that will start the world along—<br/> +Sing it as we used to sing it, fifty thousand strong,—<br/> + While we were marching through Georgia!” +</p> + +<p> +It was wonderful to witness the fervour with which they went through this +rollicking chant—whose spirit we miss because we hear it too often. They +were not skilled musicians—they could only sing loud; but the fire leaped +into their eyes, and they swayed with the rhythm, and sang! Montague found +himself watching the old blind soldier, who sat beating his foot in time, upon +his face the look of one who sees visions. +</p> + +<p> +And then he noticed another man, a little, red-faced Irishman, one of the +drummers. The very spirit of the drum seemed to have entered into +him—into his hands and his feet, his eyes and his head, and his round +little body. He played a long roll between the verses, and it seemed as if he +must surely be swept away upon the wings of it. Catching Montague’s eye, +he nodded and smiled; and after that, every once in a while their eyes would +meet and exchange a greeting. They sang “The Loyal Legioner” and +“The Army Bean” and “John Brown’s Body” and +“Tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys are marching”; all the while the +drum rattled and thundered, and the little drummer laughed and sang, the very +incarnation of the care-free spirit of the soldier! +</p> + +<p> +They stopped for a while, and the little man came over and was introduced. +Lieutenant O’Day was his name; and after he had left, General Prentice +leaned over to Montague and told him a story. “That little man,” he +said, “began as a drummer-boy in my regiment, and went all through the +war in my brigade; and two years ago I met him on the street one cold winter +night, as thin as I am, and shivering in a summer overcoat. I took him to +dinner with me and watched him eat, and I made up my mind there was something +wrong. I made him take me home, and do you know, the man was starving! He had a +little tobacco shop, and he’d got into trouble—the trust had taken +away his trade. And he had a sick wife, and a daughter clerking at six dollars +a week!” +</p> + +<p> +The General went on to tell of his struggle to induce the little man to accept +his aid—to accept a loan of a few hundreds of dollars from Prentice, the +banker! “I never had anything hurt me so in all my life,” he said. +“Finally I took him into the bank—and now you can see he has enough +to eat!” +</p> + +<p> +They began to sing again, and Montague sat and thought over the story. It +seemed to him typical of the thing that made this meeting beautiful to +him—of the spirit of brotherhood and service that reigned +here.—They sang “We are tenting to-night on the old camp +ground”; they sang “Benny Havens, Oh!” and “A Soldier +No More”; they sang other songs of tenderness and sorrow, and men felt a +trembling in their voices and a mist stealing over their eyes. Upon Montague a +spell was falling. +</p> + +<p> +Over these men and their story there hung a mystery—a presence of wonder, +that discloses itself but rarely to mortals, and only to those who have dreamed +and dared. They had not found it easy to do their duty; they had had their +wives and children, their homes and friends and familiar places; and all these +they had left to serve the Republic. They had taught themselves a new way of +life—they had forged themselves into an iron sword of war. They had +marched and fought in dust and heat, in pouring rains and driving, icy blasts; +they had become men grim and terrible in spirit-men with limbs of steel, who +could march or ride for days and nights, who could lie down and sleep upon the +ground in rain-storms and winter snows, who were ready to leap at a word and +seize their muskets and rush into the cannon’s mouth. They had learned to +stare into the face of death, to meet its fiery eyes; to march and eat and +sleep, to laugh and play and sing, in its presence—to carry their life in +their hands, and toss it about as a juggler tosses a ball. And this for +Freedom: for the star-crowned goddess with the flaming eyes, who trod upon the +mountain-tops and called to them in the shock and fury of the battle; whose +trailing robes they followed through the dust and cannon-smoke; for a glimpse +of whose shining face they had kept the long night vigils and charged upon the +guns in the morning; for a touch of whose shimmering robe they had wasted in +prison pens, where famine and loathsome pestilence and raving madness stalked +about in the broad daylight. +</p> + +<p> +And now this army of deliverance, with its waving banners and its prancing +horses and its rumbling cannon, had marched into the shadow-world. The very +ground that it had trod was sacred; and one who fingered the dusty volumes +which held the record of its deeds would feel a strange awe come upon him, and +thrill with a sudden fear of life—that was so fleeting and so little to +be understood. There were boyhood memories in Montague’s mind, of hours +of consecration, when the vision had descended upon him, and he had sat with +face hidden in his hands. +</p> + +<p> +It was for the Republic that these men had suffered; for him and his +children—that a government of the people, by the people, for the people, +might not perish from the earth. And with the organ-music of the Gettysburg +Address echoing within him, the boy laid his soul upon the altar of his +country. They had done so much for him—and now, was there anything that +he could do? A dozen years had passed since then, and still he knew that deep +within him—deeper than all other purposes, than all thoughts of wealth +and fame and power—was the purpose that the men who had died for the +Republic should find him worthy of their trust. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +The singing had stopped, and Judge Ellis was standing before him. The Judge was +about to go, and in his caressing voice he said that he would hope to see +Montague again. Then, seeing that General Prentice was also standing up, +Montague threw off the spell that had gripped him, and shook hands with the +little drummer, and with Selden and Anderson and all the others of his dream +people. A few minutes later he found himself outside the hotel, drinking deep +draughts of the cold November air. +</p> + +<p> +Major Thorne had come out with them; and learning that the General’s +route lay uptown, he offered to walk with Montague to his hotel. +</p> + +<p> +They set out, and then Montague told the Major about the figure in the +grape-vine, and the Major laughed and told how it had felt. There had been more +adventures, it seemed; while he was hunting a horse he had come upon two mules +loaded with ammunition and entangled with their harness about a tree; he had +rushed up to seize them—when a solid shot had struck the tree and +exploded the ammunition and blown the mules to fragments. And then there was +the story of the charge late in the night, which had recovered the lost ground, +and kept Stonewall Jackson busy up to the very hour of his tragic death. And +there was the story of Andersonville, and the escape from prison. Montague +could have walked the streets all night, exchanging these war-time +reminiscences with the Major. +</p> + +<p> +Absorbed in their talk, they came to an avenue given up to the poorer class of +people; with elevated trains rattling by overhead, and rows of little shops +along it. Montague noticed a dense crowd on one of the corners, and asked what +it meant. +</p> + +<p> +“Some sort of a meeting,” said the Major. +</p> + +<p> +They came nearer, and saw a torch, with a man standing near it, above the heads +of the crowd. +</p> + +<p> +“It looks like a political meeting,” said Montague, “but it +can’t be, now—just after election.” +</p> + +<p> +“Probably it’s a Socialist,” said the Major. +“They’re at it all the time.” +</p> + +<p> +They crossed the avenue, and then they could see plainly. The man was lean and +hungry-looking, and he had long arms, which he waved with prodigious violence. +He was in a frenzy of excitement, pacing this way and that, and leaning over +the throng packed about him. Because of a passing train the two could not hear +a sound. +</p> + +<p> +“A Socialist!” exclaimed Montague, wonderingly. “What do they +want?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not sure,” said the other. “They want to overthrow +the government.” +</p> + +<p> +The train passed, and then the man’s words came to them: “They +force you to build palaces, and then they put you into tenements! They force +you to spin fine raiment, and then they dress you in rags! They force you to +build jails, and then they lock you up in them! They force you to make guns, +and then they shoot you with them! They own the political parties, and they +name the candidates, and trick you into voting for them—and they call it +the law! They herd you into armies and send you to shoot your +brothers—and they call it order! They take a piece of coloured rag and +call it the flag and teach you to let yourself be shot—and they call it +<i>patriotism!</i> First, last, and all the time, you do the work and they get +the benefit—they, the masters and owners, and +you—fools—fools—<i>fools!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +The man’s voice had mounted to a scream, and he flung his hands into the +air and broke into jeering laughter. Then came another train, and Montague +could not hear him; but he could see that he was rushing on in the torrent of +his denunciation. +</p> + +<p> +Montague stood rooted to the spot; he was shocked to the depths of his +being—he could scarcely contain himself as he stood there. He longed to +spring forward to beard the man where he stood, to shout him down, to rebuke +him before the crowd. +</p> + +<p> +The Major must have seen his agitation, for he took his arm and led him back +from the throng, saying: “Come! We can’t help it.” +</p> + +<p> +“But—but—,” he protested, “the police ought to +arrest him.” +</p> + +<p> +“They do sometimes,” said the Major, “but it doesn’t do +any good.” +</p> + +<p> +They walked on, and the sounds of the shrill voice died away. “Tell +me,” said Montague, in a low voice, “does that go on very +often?” +</p> + +<p> +“Around the corner from where I live,” said the other, “it +goes on every Saturday night.” +</p> + +<p> +“And do the people listen?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Sometimes they can’t keep the street clear,” was the reply. +</p> + +<p> +And again they walked in silence. At last Montague asked, “What does it +mean?” +</p> + +<p> +The Major shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps another civil war,” said +he. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<p> +Allan Montague’s father had died about five years before. A couple of +years later his younger brother, Oliver, had announced his intention of seeking +a career in New York. He had no profession, and no definite plans; but his +father’s friends were men of influence and wealth, and the doors were +open to him. So he had turned his share of the estate into cash and departed. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver was a gay and pleasure-loving boy, with all the material of a prodigal +son in him; his brother had more than half expected to see him come back in a +year or two with empty pockets. But New York had seemed to agree with Oliver. +He never told what he was doing—what he wrote was simply that he was +managing to keep the wolf from the door. But his letters hinted at expensive +ways of life; and at Christmas time, and at Cousin Alice’s birthday, he +would send home presents which made the family stare. +</p> + +<p> +Montague had always thought of himself as a country lawyer and planter. But two +months ago a fire had swept away the family mansion, and then on top of that +had come an offer for the land; and with Oliver telegraphing several times a +day in his eagerness, they had taken the sudden resolution to settle up their +affairs and move to New York. +</p> + +<p> +There were Montague and his mother, and Cousin Alice, who was nineteen, and old +“Mammy Lucy,” Mrs. Montague’s servant. Oliver had met them at +Jersey City, radiant with happiness. He looked just as much of a boy as ever, +and just as beautiful; excepting that he was a little paler, New York had not +changed him at all. There was a man in uniform from the hotel to take charge of +their baggage, and a big red touring-car for them; and now they were snugly +settled in their apartments, with the younger brother on duty as counsellor and +guide. +</p> + +<p> +Montague had come to begin life all over again. He had brought his money, and +he expected to invest it, and to live upon the income until he had begun to +earn something. He had worked hard at his profession, and he meant to work in +New York, and to win his way in the end. He knew almost nothing about the +city—he faced it with the wide-open eyes of a child. +</p> + +<p> +One began to learn quickly, he found. It was like being swept into a maelstrom: +first the hurrying throngs on the ferry-boat, and then the cabmen and the +newsboys shouting, and the cars with clanging gongs; then the swift motor, +gliding between trucks and carriages and around corners where big policemen +shepherded the scurrying populace; and then Fifth Avenue, with its rows of +shops and towering hotels; and at last a sudden swing round a corner—and +their home. +</p> + +<p> +“I have picked a quiet family place for you,” Oliver had said, and +that had greatly pleased his brother. But he had stared in dismay when he +entered this latest “apartment hotel”—which catered for two +or three hundred of the most exclusive of the city’s +aristocracy—and noted its great arcade, with massive doors of bronze, and +its entrance-hall, trimmed with Caen stone and Italian marble, and roofed with +a vaulted ceiling painted by modern masters. Men in livery bore their wraps and +bowed the way before them; a great bronze elevator shot them to the proper +floor; and they went to their rooms down a corridor walled with blood-red +marble and paved with carpet soft as a cushion. Here were six rooms of palatial +size, with carpets, drapery, and furniture of a splendour quite appalling to +Montague. +</p> + +<p> +As soon as the man who bore their wraps had left the room, he turned upon his +brother. +</p> + +<p> +“Oliver,” he said, “how much are we paying for all +this?” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver smiled. “You are not paying anything, old man,” he replied. +“You’re to be my guests for a month or two, until you get your +bearings.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s very good of you,” said the other; +“—we’ll talk about it later. But meantime, tell me what the +apartment costs.” +</p> + +<p> +And then Montague encountered his first full charge of New York dynamite. +“Six hundred dollars a week,” said Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +He started as if his brother had struck him. “Six hundred dollars a +week!” he gasped. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said the other, quietly. +</p> + +<p> +It was fully a minute before he could find his breath. “Brother,” +he exclaimed, “you’re mad!” +</p> + +<p> +“It is a very good bargain,” smiled the other; “I have some +influence with them.” +</p> + +<p> +Again there was a pause, while Montague groped for words. “Oliver,” +he exclaimed, “I can’t believe you! How could you think that we +could pay such a price?” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t think it,” said Oliver; “I told you I +expected to pay it myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“But how could we let you pay it for us?” cried the other. +“Can you fancy that <i>I</i> will ever earn enough to pay such a +price?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course you will,” said Oliver. “Don’t be foolish, +Allan—you’ll find it’s easy enough to make money in New York. +Leave it to me, and wait awhile.” +</p> + +<p> +But the other was not to be put off. He sat down on the embroidered silk +bedspread, and demanded abruptly, “What do you expect my income to be a +year?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sure I don’t know,” laughed Oliver; “nobody +takes the time to add up his income. You’ll make what you need, and +something over for good measure. This one thing you’ll know for +certain—the more you spend, the more you’ll be able to make.” +</p> + +<p> +And then, seeing that the sober look was not to be expelled from his +brother’s face, Oliver seated himself and crossed his legs, and proceeded +to set forth the paradoxical philosophy of extravagance. His brother had come +into a city of millionaires. There was a certain group of +people—“the right set,” was Oliver’s term for +them—and among them he would find that money was as free as air. So far +as his career was concerned, he would find that there was nothing in all New +York so costly as economy. If he did not live like a gentleman, he would find +himself excluded from the circle of the elect—and how he would manage to +exist then was a problem too difficult for his brother to face. +</p> + +<p> +And so, as quickly as he could, he was to bring himself to a state of mind +where things did not surprise him; where he did what others did and paid what +others paid, and did it serenely, as if he had done it all his life. He would +soon find his place; meantime all he had to do was to put himself into his +brother’s charge. “You’ll find in time that I have the +strings in my hands,” the latter added. “Just take life easy, and +let me introduce you to the right people.” +</p> + +<p> +All of which sounded very attractive. “But are you sure,” asked +Montague, “that you understand what I’m here for? I don’t +want to get into the Four Hundred, you know—I want to practise +law.” +</p> + +<p> +“In the first place,” replied Oliver, “don’t talk about +the Four Hundred—it’s vulgar and silly; there’s no such +thing. In the next place, you’re going to live in New York, and you want +to know the right people. If you know them, you can practise law, or practise +billiards, or practise anything else that you fancy. If you don’t know +them, you might as well go practise in Dahomey, for all you can accomplish. You +might come on here and start in for yourself, and in twenty years you +wouldn’t get as far as you can get in two weeks, if you’ll let me +attend to it.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague was nearly five years his brother’s senior, and at home had +taken a semi-paternal attitude toward him. Now, however, the situation seemed +to have reversed itself. With a slight smile of amusement, he subsided, and +proceeded to put himself into the attitude of a docile student of the mysteries +of the Metropolis. +</p> + +<p> +They agreed that they would say nothing about these matters to the others. Mrs. +Montague was half blind, and would lead her placid, indoor existence with old +Mammy Lucy. As for Alice, she was a woman, and would not trouble herself with +economics; if fairy godmothers chose to shower gifts upon her, she would take +them. +</p> + +<p> +Alice was built to live in a palace, anyway, Oliver said. He had cried out with +delight when he first saw her. She had been sixteen when he left, and tall and +thin; now she was nineteen, and with the pale tints of the dawn in her hair and +face. In the auto, Oliver had turned and, stared at her, and pronounced the +cryptic judgment, “You’ll go!” +</p> + +<p> +Just now she was wandering about the rooms, exclaiming with wonder. Everything +here was so quiet and so harmonious that at first one’s suspicions were +lulled. It was simplicity, but of a strange and perplexing +kind—simplicity elaborately studied. It was luxury, but grown assured of +itself, and gazing down upon itself with aristocratic disdain. And after a +while this began to penetrate the vulgarest mind, and to fill it with awe; one +cannot remain long in an apartment which is trimmed and furnished in rarest +Circassian walnut, and “papered” with hand-embroidered silk cloth, +without feeling some excitement—even though there be no one to mention +that the furniture has cost eight thousand dollars per room, and that the wall +covering has been imported from Paris at a cost of seventy dollars per yard. +</p> + +<p> +Montague also betook himself to gazing about. He noted the great double +windows, with sashes of bronze; the bronze fire-proof doors; the bronze +electric candles and chandeliers, from which the room was flooded with a soft +radiance at the touch of a button; the “duchesse” and +“marquise” chairs, with upholstery matching the walls; the huge +leather “slumber-couch,” with adjustable lamp at its head. When one +opened the door of the dressing-room closet, it was automatically filled with +light; there was an adjustable three-sided mirror, at which one could study his +own figure from every side. There was a little bronze box near the bed, in +which one might set his shoes, and with a locked door opening out into the +hall, so that the floor-porter could get them without disturbing one. Each of +the bath-rooms was the size of an ordinary man’s parlour, with floor and +walls of snow-white marble, and a door composed of an imported plate-glass +mirror. There was a great porcelain tub, with glass handles upon the wall by +which you could help yourself out of it, and a shower-bath with linen duck +curtains, which were changed every day; and a marble slab upon which you might +lie to be rubbed by the masseur who would come at the touch of a button. +</p> + +<p> +There was no end to the miracles of this establishment, as Montague found in +the course of time. There was no chance that the antique bronze clock on the +mantel might go wrong, for it was electrically controlled from the office. You +did not open the window and let in the dust, for the room was automatically +ventilated, and you turned a switch marked “hot” and +“cold.” The office would furnish you a guide who would show you the +establishment; and you might see your bread being kneaded by electricity, upon +an opal glass table, and your eggs being tested by electric light; you might +peer into huge refrigerators, ventilated by electric fans, and in which each +tiny lamb chop reposed in a separate holder. Upon your own floor was a pantry, +provided with hot and cold storage-rooms and an air-tight dumb-waiter; you +might have your own private linen and crockery and plate, and your own family +butler, if you wished. Your children, however, would not be permitted in the +building, even though you were dying—this was a small concession which +you made to a host who had invested a million dollars and a half in furniture +alone. +</p> + +<p> +A few minutes later the telephone bell rang, and Oliver answered it and said, +“Send him up.” +</p> + +<p> +“Here’s the tailor,” he remarked, as he hung up the receiver. +</p> + +<p> +“Whose tailor?” asked his brother. +</p> + +<p> +“Yours,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“Do I have to have some new clothes?” Montague asked. +</p> + +<p> +“You haven’t any clothes at present,” was the reply. +</p> + +<p> +Montague was standing in front of the “costumer,” as the elaborate +mirror was termed. He looked himself over, and then he looked at his brother. +Oliver’s clothing was a little like the Circassian walnut; at first you +thought that it was simple, and even a trifle careless—it was only by +degrees you realized that it was original and distinguished, and very +expensive. +</p> + +<p> +“Won’t your New York friends make allowance for the fact that I am +fresh from the country?” asked Montague, quizzically. +</p> + +<p> +“They might,” was the reply. “I know a hundred who would lend +me money, if I asked them. But I don’t ask them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then how soon shall I be able to appear?” asked Montague, with +visions of himself locked up in the room for a week or two. +</p> + +<p> +“You are to have three suits to-morrow morning,” said Oliver. +“Genet has promised.” +</p> + +<p> +“Suits made to order?” gasped the other, in perplexity. +</p> + +<p> +“He never heard of any other sort of suits,” said Oliver, with +grave rebuke in his voice. +</p> + +<p> +M. Genet had the presence of a Russian grand duke, and the manner of a court +chamberlain. He brought a subordinate to take Montague’s measure, while +he himself studied his colour-scheme. Montague gathered from the conversation +that he was going to a house-party in the country the next morning, and that he +would need a dress-suit, a hunting-suit, and a “morning coat.” The +rest might wait until his return. The two discussed him and his various +“points” as they might have discussed a horse; he possessed +distinction, he learned, and a great deal could be done with him—with a +little skill he might be made into a personality. His French was not in +training, but he managed to make out that it was M. Genet’s opinion that +the husbands of New York would tremble when he made his appearance among them. +</p> + +<p> +When the tailor had left, Alice came in, with her face shining from a cold +bathing. “Here you are decking yourselves out!” she cried. +“And what about me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Your problem is harder,” said Oliver, with a laugh; “but you +begin this afternoon. Reggie Mann is going to take you with him, and get you +some dresses.” +</p> + +<p> +“What!” gasped Alice. “Get me some dresses! A man?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course,” said the other. “Reggie Mann advises half the +women in New York about their clothes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who is he? A tailor?” asked the girl. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver was sitting on the edge of the canapé, swinging one leg over the other; +and he stopped abruptly and stared, and then sank back, laughing softly to +himself. “Oh, dear me!” he said. “Poor Reggie!” +</p> + +<p> +Then, realizing that he would have to begin at the beginning, he proceeded to +explain that Reggie Mann was a cotillion leader, the idol of the feminine side +of society. He was the special pet and protégé of the great Mrs. de +Graffenried, of whom they had surely heard—Mrs. de Graffenried, who was +acknowledged to be the mistress of society at Newport, and was destined some +day to be mistress in New York. Reggie and Oliver were “thick,” and +he had stayed in town on purpose to attend to her attiring—having seen +her picture, and vowed that he would make a work of art out of her. And then +Mrs. Robbie Walling would give her a dance; and all the world would come to +fall at her feet. +</p> + +<p> +“You and I are going out to ‘Black Forest,’ the +Wallings’ shooting-lodge, to-morrow,” Oliver added to his brother. +“You’ll meet Mrs. Robbie there. You’ve heard of the Wallings, +I hope.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Montague, “I’m not that ignorant.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” said the other, “we’re to motor down. +I’m going to take you in my racing-car, so you’ll have an +experience. We’ll start early.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll be ready,” said Montague; and when his brother replied +that he would be at the door at eleven, he made another amused note as to the +habits of New Yorkers. +</p> + +<p> +The price which he paid at the hotel included the services of a valet or a maid +for each of them, and so when their baggage arrived they had nothing to do. +They went to lunch in one of the main dining-rooms of the hotel, a room with +towering columns of dark-green marble and a maze of palms and flowers. Oliver +did the ordering; his brother noticed that the simple meal cost them about +fifteen dollars, and he wondered if they were to eat at that rate all the time. +</p> + +<p> +Then Montague mentioned the fact that before leaving home he had received a +telegram from General Prentice, asking him to go with him that evening to the +meeting of the Loyal Legion. Montague wondered, half amused, if his brother +would deem his old clothing fit for such a function. But Oliver replied that it +would not matter what he wore there; he would not meet anyone who counted, +except Prentice himself. The General and his family were prominent in society, +it appeared, and were to be cultivated. But Oliver shrewdly forbore to +elaborate upon this, knowing that his brother would be certain to talk about +old times, which would be the surest possible method of lodging himself in the +good graces of General Prentice. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +After luncheon came Reggie Mann, dapper and exquisite, with slender little +figure and mincing gait, and the delicate hands and soft voice of a woman. He +was dressed for the afternoon parade, and wore a wonderful scarlet orchid in +his buttonhole. Montague’s hand he shook at his shoulder’s height; +but when Alice came in he did not shake hands with her. Instead, he stood and +gazed, and gazed again, and lifting his hands a little with excess of emotion, +exclaimed, “Oh, perfect! perfect!” +</p> + +<p> +“And Ollie, I told you so!” he added, eagerly. “She is tall +enough to wear satin! She shall have the pale blue Empire gown—she shall +have the pale blue Empire gown if I have to pay for it myself! And oh, what +times we shall have with that hair! And the figure—Réval will simply go +wild!” +</p> + +<p> +So Reggie prattled on, with his airy grace; he took her hand and studied it, +and then turned her about to survey her figure, while Alice blushed and strove +to laugh to hide her embarrassment. “My dear Miss Montague,” he +exclaimed, “I bring all Gotham and lay it at your feet! Ollie, your +battle is won! Won without firing a shot! I know the very man for her—his +father is dying, and he will have four millions in Transcontinental alone. And +he is as handsome as Antinous and as fascinating as Don Juan! <i>Allons!</i> we +may as well begin with the trousseau this afternoon!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<p> +Oliver was not rooming with them; he had his own quarters at the club, which he +did not wish to leave. But the next morning, about twenty minutes after the +hour he had named, he was at the door, and Montague went down. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver’s car was an imported French racer. It had only two seats, open in +front, with a rumble behind for the mechanic. It was long and low and rakish, a +most wicked-looking object; whenever it stopped on the street a crowd gathered +to stare at it. Oliver was clad in a black bearskin coat, covering his feet, +and with cap and gloves to match; he wore goggles, pushed up over his forehead. +A similar costume lay ready in his brother’s seat. +</p> + +<p> +The suits of clothing had come, and were borne in his grips by his valet. +“We can’t carry them with us,” said Oliver. +“He’ll have to take them down by train.” And while his +brother was buttoning up the coat, he gave the address; then Montague clambered +in, and after a quick glance over his shoulder, Oliver pressed a lever and +threw over the steering-wheel, and they whirled about and sped down the street. +</p> + +<p> +Sometimes, at home in Mississippi, one would meet automobiling parties, +generally to the damage of one’s harness and temper. But until the day +before, when he had stepped off the ferry, Montague had never ridden in a +motor-car. Riding in this one was like travelling in a dream—it slid +along without a sound, or the slightest trace of vibration; it shot forward, it +darted to right or to left, it slowed up, it stopped, as if of its own +will—the driver seemed to do nothing. Such things as car tracks had no +effect upon it at all, and serious defects in the pavement caused only the +faintest swelling motion; it was only when it leaped ahead like a living thing +that one felt the power of it, by the pressure upon his back. +</p> + +<p> +They went at what seemed to Montague a breakneck pace through the city streets, +dodging among trucks and carriages, grazing cars, whirling round corners, +taking the wildest of chances. Oliver seemed always to know what the other +fellow would do; but the thought that he might do something different kept his +companion’s heart pounding in a painful way. Once the latter cried out as +a man leapt for his life; Oliver laughed, and said, without turning his head, +“You’ll get used to it by and by.” +</p> + +<p> +They went down Fourth Avenue and turned into the Bowery. Elevated trains +pounded overhead, and a maze of gin-shops, dime-museums, cheap lodging-houses, +and clothing-stores sped past them. Once or twice Oliver’s hawk-like +glance detected a blue uniform ahead, and then they slowed down to a decorous +pace, and the other got a chance to observe the miserable population of the +neighbourhood. It was a cold November day, and an “out of work” +time, and wretched outcast men walked with shoulders drawn forward and hands in +their pockets. +</p> + +<p> +“Where in the world are we going?” Montague asked. +</p> + +<p> +“To Long Island,” said the other. “It’s a beastly +ride—this part of it—but it’s the only way. Some day +we’ll have an overhead speedway of our own, and we won’t have to +drive through this mess.” +</p> + +<p> +They turned off at the approach to the Williamsburg Bridge, and found the +street closed for repairs. They had to make a détour of a block, and they +turned with a vicious sweep and plunged into the very heart of the tenement +district. Narrow, filthy streets, with huge, cañon-like blocks of buildings, +covered with rusty iron fire-escapes and decorated with soap-boxes and pails +and laundry and babies; narrow stoops, crowded with playing children; +grocery-shops, clothing-shops, saloons; and a maze of placards and signs in +English and German and Yiddish. Through the throngs Oliver drove, his brows +knitted with impatience and his horn honking angrily. “Take it +easy,”—protested Montague; but the other answered, +“Bah!” Children screamed and darted out of the way, and men and +women started back, scowling and muttering; when a blockade of wagons and +push-carts forced them to stop, the children gathered about and jeered, and a +group of hoodlums loafing by a saloon flung ribaldry at them; but Oliver never +turned his eyes from the road ahead. +</p> + +<p> +And at last they were out on the bridge. “Slow vehicles keep to the +right,” ran the sign, and so there was a lane for them to the left. They +sped up the slope, the cold air beating upon them like a hurricane. Far below +lay the river, with tugs and ferry-boats ploughing the wind-beaten grey water, +and a city spread out on either bank—a wilderness of roofs, with chimneys +sticking up and white jets of steam spouting everywhere. Then they sped down +the farther slope, and into Brooklyn. +</p> + +<p> +There was an asphalted avenue, lined with little residences. There was block +upon block of them, mile after mile of them—Montague had never, seen so +many houses in his life before, and nearly all poured out of the same mould. +</p> + +<p> +Many other automobiles were speeding out by this avenue, and they raced with +one another. The one which was passed the most frequently got the dust and +smell; and so the universal rule was that when you were behind you watched for +a clear track, and then put on speed, and went to the front; but then just when +you had struck a comfortable pace, there was a whirring and a puffing at your +left, and your rival came stealing past you. If you were ugly, you put on speed +yourself, and forced him to fall back, or to run the risk of trouble with +vehicles coming the other way. For Oliver there seemed to be but one +rule,—pass everything. +</p> + +<p> +They came to the great Ocean Driveway. Here were many automobiles, nearly all +going one way, and nearly all racing. There were two which stuck to Oliver and +would not be left behind—one, two, three—one, two, three—they +passed and repassed. Their dust was blinding, and the continual odour was +sickening; and so Oliver set his lips tight, and the little dial on the +indicator began to creep ahead, and they whirled away down the drive. +“Catch us this time!” he muttered. +</p> + +<p> +A few seconds later Oliver gave a sudden exclamation, as a policeman, concealed +behind a bush at the roadside, sprang out and hailed them. The policeman had a +motor-cycle, and Oliver shouted to the mechanic, “Pull the cord!” +His brother turned, alarmed and perplexed, and saw the man reach down to the +floor of the car. He saw the policeman leap upon the cycle and start to follow. +Then he lost sight of him in the clouds of dust. +</p> + +<p> +For perhaps five minutes they tore on, tense and silent, at a pace that +Montague had never equalled in an express train. Vehicles coming the other way +would leap into sight, charging straight at them, it seemed, and shooting past +a hand’s breadth away. Montague had just about made up his mind that one +such ride would last him for a lifetime, when he noticed that they were +slacking up. “You can let go the cord,” said Oliver. +“He’ll never catch us now.” +</p> + +<p> +“What <i>is</i> the cord?” asked the other. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s tied to the tag with our number on, in back. It swings it up +so it can’t be seen.” +</p> + +<p> +They were turning off into a country road, and Montague sank back and laughed +till the tears ran down his cheeks. “Is that a common trick?” he +asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Quite,” said the other. “Mrs. Robbie has a trough of mud in +their garage, and her driver sprinkles the tag every time before she goes out. +You have to do something, you know, or you’d be taken up all the +time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you ever been arrested?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve only been in court once,” said Oliver. +“I’ve been stopped a dozen times.” +</p> + +<p> +“What did they do the other times—warn you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Warn me?” laughed Oliver. “What they did was to get in with +me and ride a block or two, out of sight of the crowd; and then I slipped them +a ten-dollar bill and they got out.” +</p> + +<p> +To which Montague responded, “Oh, I see!” +</p> + +<p> +They turned into a broad macadamized road, and here were more autos, and more +dust, and more racing. Now and then they crossed a trolley or a railroad track, +and here was always a warning sign; but Oliver must have had some occult way of +knowing that the track was clear, for he never seemed to slow up. Now and then +they came to villages, and did reduce speed; but from the pace at which they +went through, the villagers could not have suspected it. +</p> + +<p> +And then came another adventure. The road was in repair, and was very bad, and +they were picking their way, when suddenly a young man who had been walking on +a side path stepped out before them, and drew a red handkerchief from his +pocket, and faced them, waving it. Oliver muttered an oath. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter?” cried his brother. +</p> + +<p> +“We’re arrested!” he exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +“What!” gasped the other. “Why, we were not going at +all.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know,” said Oliver; “but they’ve got us all the +same.” +</p> + +<p> +He must have made up his mind at one glance that the case was hopeless, for he +made no attempt to put on speed, but let the young man step aboard as they +reached him. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it?” Oliver demanded. +</p> + +<p> +“I have been sent out by the Automobile Association,” said the +stranger, “to warn you that they have a trap set in the next town. So +watch out.” +</p> + +<p> +And Oliver gave a gasp, and said, “Oh! Thank you!” The young man +stepped off, and they went ahead, and he lay back in his seat and shook with +laughter. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that common?” his brother asked, between laughs. +</p> + +<p> +“It happened to me once before,” said Oliver. “But I’d +forgotten it completely.” +</p> + +<p> +They proceeded very slowly; and when they came to the outskirts of the village +they went at a funereal pace, while the car throbbed in protest. In front of a +country store they saw a group of loungers watching them, and Oliver said, +“There’s the first part of the trap. They have a telephone, and +somewhere beyond is a man with another telephone, and beyond that a man to +stretch a rope across the road.” +</p> + +<p> +“What would they do with you?” asked the other. +</p> + +<p> +“Haul you up before a justice of the peace, and fine you anywhere from +fifty to two hundred and fifty dollars. It’s regular highway +robbery—there are some places that boast of never levying taxes; they get +all their money out of us!” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver pulled out his watch. “We’re going to be late to lunch, +thanks to these delays,” he said. He added that they were to meet at the +“Hawk’s Nest,” which he said was an “automobile +joint.” +</p> + +<p> +Outside of the town they “hit it up” again; and half an hour later +they came to a huge sign, “To the Hawk’s Nest,” and turned +off. They ran up a hill, and came suddenly out of a pine-forest into view of a +hostelry, perched upon the edge of a bluff overlooking the Sound. There was a +broad yard in front, in which automobiles wheeled and sputtered, and a long +shed that was lined with them. +</p> + +<p> +Half a dozen attendants ran to meet them as they drew up at the steps. They all +knew Oliver, and two fell to brushing his coat, and one got his cap, while the +mechanic took the car to the shed. Oliver had a tip for each of them; one of +the things that Montague observed was that in New York you had to carry a +pocketful of change, and scatter it about wherever you went. They tipped the +man who carried their coats and the boy who opened the door. In the washrooms +they tipped the boys who filled the basins for them and those who gave them a +second brushing. +</p> + +<p> +The piazzas of the inn were crowded with automobiling parties, in all sorts of +strange costumes. It seemed to Montague that most of them were flashy +people—the men had red faces and the women had loud voices; he saw one in +a sky-blue coat with bright scarlet facing. It occurred to him that if these +women had not worn such large hats, they would not have needed quite such a +supply of the bright-coloured veiling which they wound over the hats and tied +under their chins, or left to float about in the breeze. +</p> + +<p> +The dining-room seemed to have been built in sections, rambling about on the +summit of the cliff. The side of it facing the water was all glass, and could +be taken down. The ceiling was a maze of streamers and Japanese lanterns, and +here and there were orange-trees and palms and artificial streams and +fountains. Every table was crowded, it seemed; one was half-deafened by the +clatter of plates, the voices and laughter, and the uproar of a negro orchestra +of banjos, mandolins, and guitars. Negro waiters flew here and there, and a +huge, stout head-waiter, who was pirouetting and strutting, suddenly espied +Oliver, and made for him with smiles of welcome. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir—just come in, sir,” he said, and led the way down +the room, to where, in a corner, a table had been set for sixteen or eighteen +people. There was a shout, “Here’s Ollie!”—and a +pounding of glasses and a chorus of welcome—“Hello, Ollie! +You’re late, Ollie! What’s the matter—car broke down?” +</p> + +<p> +Of the party, about half were men and half women. Montague braced himself for +the painful ordeal of being introduced to sixteen people in succession, but +this was considerately spared him. He shook hands with Robbie Walling, a tall +and rather hollow-chested young man, with slight yellow moustaches; and with +Mrs. Robbie, who bade him welcome, and presented him with the freedom of the +company. +</p> + +<p> +Then he found himself seated between two young ladies, with a waiter leaning +over him to take his order for the drinks. He said, a little hesitatingly, that +he would like some whisky, as he was about frozen, upon which the girl on his +right, remarked, “You’d better try a champagne +cocktail—you’ll get your results quicker.” She added, to the +waiter, “Bring a couple of them, and be quick about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“You had a cold ride, no doubt, in that low car,” she went on, to +Montague. “What made you late?” +</p> + +<p> +“We had some delays,” he answered. “Once we thought we were +arrested.” +</p> + +<p> +“Arrested!” she exclaimed; and others took up the word, crying, +“Oh, Ollie! tell us about it!” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver told the tale, and meantime his brother had a chance to look about him. +All of the party were young—he judged that he was the oldest person +there. They were not of the flashily dressed sort, but no one would have had to +look twice to know that there was money in the crowd. They had had their first +round of drinks, and started in to enjoy themselves. They were all intimates, +calling each other by their first names. Montague noticed that these names +always ended in “ie,”—there was Robbie and Freddie and Auggie +and Clarrie and Bertie and Chappie; if their names could not be made to end +properly, they had nicknames instead. +</p> + +<p> +“Ollie” told how they had distanced the policeman; and Clarrie +Mason (one of the younger sons of the once mighty railroad king) told of a +similar feat which his car had performed. And then the young lady who sat +beside him told how a fat Irish woman had skipped out of their way as they +rounded a corner, and stood and cursed them from the vantage-point of the +sidewalk. +</p> + +<p> +The waiter came with the liquor, and Montague thanked his neighbour, Miss +Price. Anabel Price was her name, and they called her “Billy”; she +was a tall and splendidly formed creature, and he learned in due time that she +was a famous athlete. She must have divined that he would feel a little lost in +this crowd of intimates, and set to work to make him feel at home—an +attempt in which she was not altogether successful. +</p> + +<p> +They were bound for a shooting-lodge, and so she asked him if he were fond of +shooting. He replied that he was; in answer to a further question he said that +he had hunted chiefly deer and wild turkey. “Ah, then you are a real +hunter!” said Miss Price. “I’m afraid you’ll scorn our +way.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you do?” he inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“Wait and you’ll see,” replied she; and added, casually, +“When you get to be pally with us, you’ll conclude we don’t +furnish.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague’s jaw dropped just a little. He recovered himself, however, and +said that he presumed so, or that he trusted not; afterward, when he had made +inquiries and found out what he should have said, he had completely forgotten +what he <i>had</i> said.—Down in a hotel in Natchez there was an old +head-waiter, to whom Montague had once appealed to seat him next to a friend. +At the next meal, learning that the request had been granted, he said to the +old man, “I’m afraid you have shown me partiality”; to which +the reply came, “I always tries to show it as much as I kin.” +Montague always thought of this whenever he recalled his first encounter with +“Billy” Price. +</p> + +<p> +The young lady on the other side of him now remarked that Robbie was ordering +another “topsy-turvy lunch.” He inquired what sort of a lunch that +was; she told him that Robbie called it a “digestion exercise.” +That was the only remark that Miss de Millo addressed to him during the meal +(Miss Gladys de Mille, the banker’s daughter, known as “Baby” +to her intimates). She was a stout and round-faced girl, who devoted herself +strictly to the business of lunching; and Montague noticed at the end that she +was breathing rather hard, and that her big round eyes seemed bigger than ever. +</p> + +<p> +Conversation was general about the table, but it was not easy conversation to +follow. It consisted mostly of what is known as “joshing,” and +involved acquaintance with intimate details of personalities and past events. +Also, there was a great deal of slang used, which kept a stranger’s wits +on the jump. However, Montague concluded that all his deficiencies were made up +for by his brother, whose sallies were the cause of the loudest laughter. Just +now he seemed to the other more like the Oliver he had known of old—for +Montague had already noted a change in him. At home there had never been any +end to his gaiety and fun, and it was hard to get him to take anything +seriously; but now he kept all his jokes for company, and when he was alone he +was in deadly earnest. Apparently he was working hard over his pleasures. +</p> + +<p> +Montague could understand how this was possible. Some one, for instance, had +worked hard over the ordering of the lunch—to secure the maximum of +explosive effect. It began with ice-cream, moulded in fancy shapes and then +buried in white of egg and baked brown. Then there was a turtle soup, thick and +green and greasy; and then—horror of horrors—a great steaming +plum-pudding. It was served in a strange phenomenon of a platter, with six +long, silver legs; and the waiter set it in front of Robbie Walling and lifted +the cover with a sweeping gesture—and then removed it and served it +himself. Montague had about made up his mind that this was the end, and begun +to fill up on bread-and-butter, when there appeared cold asparagus, served in +individual silver holders resembling andirons. Then—appetite now being +sufficiently whetted—there came quail, in piping hot little +casseroles—; and then half a grape-fruit set in a block of ice and filled +with wine; and then little squab ducklings, bursting fat, and an artichoke; and +then a <i>café parfait</i>; and then—as if to crown the +audacity—huge thick slices of roast beef! Montague had given up long +ago—he could keep no track of the deluge of food which poured forth. And +between all the courses there were wines of precious brands, tumbled +helter-skelter,—sherry and port, champagne and claret and liqueur. +Montague watched poor “Baby” de Mille out of the corner of his eye, +and pitied her; for it was evident that she could not resist the impulse to eat +whatever was put before her, and she was visibly suffering. He wondered whether +he might not manage to divert her by conversation, but he lacked the courage to +make the attempt. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +The meal was over at four o’clock. By that time most of the other parties +were far on their way to New York, and the inn was deserted. They possessed +themselves of their belongings, and one by one their cars whirled away toward +“Black Forest.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague had been told that it was a “shooting-lodge.” He had a +vision of some kind of a rustic shack, and wondered dimly how so many people +would be stowed away. When they turned off the main road, and his brother +remarked, “Here we are,” he was surprised to see a rather large +building of granite, with an archway spanning the road. He was still more +surprised when they whizzed through and went on. +</p> + +<p> +“Where are we going?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“To ‘Black Forest,’” said Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“And what was that we passed?” +</p> + +<p> +“That was the gate-keeper’s lodge,” was Oliver’s reply. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<p> +They ran for about three miles upon a broad macadamized avenue, laid straight +as an arrow’s flight through the forest; and then the sound of the sea +came to them, and before them was a mighty granite pile, looming grim in the +twilight, with a draw-bridge and moat, and four great castellated towers. +“Black Forest” was built in imitation of a famous old fortress in +Provence—only the fortress had forty small rooms, and its modern +prototype had seventy large ones, and now every window was blazing with lights. +A man does not let himself be caught twice in such a blunder; and having +visited a “shooting-lodge” which had cost three-quarters of a +million dollars and was set in a preserve of ten thousand acres, he was +prepared for Adirondack “camps” which had cost half a million and +Newport “cottages” which had cost a million or two. +</p> + +<p> +Liveried servants took the car, and others opened the door and took their +coats. The first thing they saw was a huge fireplace, a fireplace a dozen feet +across, made of great boulders, and with whole sections of a pine tree blazing +in it. Underfoot was polished hardwood, with skins of bear and buffalo. The +firelight flickered upon shields and battle-axes and broad-swords, hung upon +the oaken pillars; while between them were tapestries, picturing the Song of +Roland and the battle of Roncesvalles. One followed the pillars of the great +hall to the vaulted roof, whose glass was glowing blood-red in the western +light. A broad stairway ascended to the second floor, which opened upon +galleries about the hall. +</p> + +<p> +Montague went to the fire, and stood rubbing his hands before the grateful +blaze. “Scotch or Irish, sir?” inquired a lackey, hovering at his +side. He had scarcely given his order when the door opened and a second motor +load of the party appeared, shivering and rushing for the fire. In a couple of +minutes they were all assembled—and roaring with laughter over +“Baby” de Mille’s account of how her car had run over a +dachshund. “Oh, do you know,” she cried, “he simply +<i>popped!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +Half a dozen attendants hovered about, and soon the tables in the hall were +covered with trays containing decanters and siphons. By this means everybody in +the party was soon warmed up, and then in groups they scattered to amuse +themselves. +</p> + +<p> +There was a great hall for indoor tennis, and there were half a dozen +squash-courts. Montague knew neither of these games, but he was interested in +watching the water-polo in the swimming-tank, and in studying the appointments +of this part of the building. The tank, with the walls and floor about it, were +all of marble; there was a bronze gallery running about it, from which one +might gaze into the green depths of the water. There were luxurious +dressing-rooms for men and women, with hot and cold needle-baths, steam-rooms +with rubbers in attendance and weighing and lifting machines, electric machines +for producing “violet rays,” and electric air-blasts for the drying +of the women’s hair. +</p> + +<p> +He watched several games, in which men and women took part; and later on, when +the tennis and other players appeared, he joined them in a plunge. Afterward, +he entered one of the electric elevators and was escorted to his room, where he +found his bag unpacked, and his evening attire laid out upon the bed. +</p> + +<p> +It was about nine when the party went into the dining-room, which opened upon a +granite terrace and loggia facing the sea. The room was finished in some rare +black wood, the name of which he did not know; soft radiance suffused it, and +the table was lighted by electric candles set in silver sconces, and veiled by +silk shades. It gleamed with its load of crystal and silver, set off by +scattered groups of orchids and ferns. The repast of the afternoon had been +simply a lunch, it seemed—and now they had an elaborate dinner, prepared +by Robbie Walling’s famous ten-thousand-dollar chef. In contrast with the +uproar of the inn was the cloistral stillness of this dining-room, where the +impassive footmen seemed to move on padded slippers, and the courses appeared +and vanished as if by magic. Montague did his best to accustom himself to the +gowns of the women, which were cut lower than any he had ever seen in his life; +but he hesitated every time he turned to speak to the young lady beside him, +because he could look so deep down into her bosom, and it was difficult for him +to realize that she did not mind it. +</p> + +<p> +The conversation was the same as before, except that it was a little more +general, and louder in tone; for the guests had become more intimate, and as +Robbie Walling’s wines of priceless vintage poured forth, they became a +little “high.” The young lady who sat on Montague’s right was +a Miss Vincent, a granddaughter of one of the sugar-kings; she was dark-skinned +and slender, and had appeared at a recent lawn fête in the costume of an Indian +maiden. The company amused itself by selecting an Indian name for her; all +sorts of absurd ones were suggested, depending upon various intimate details of +the young lady’s personality and habits. Robbie caused a laugh by +suggesting “Little Dewdrop”—it appeared that she had once +been discovered writing a poem about a dewdrop; some one else suggested +“Little Raindrop,” and then Ollie brought down the house by +exclaiming, “Little Raindrop in the Mud-puddle!” A perfect gale of +laughter swept over the company, and it must have been a minute before they +could recover their composure; in order to appreciate the humour of the sally +it was necessary to know that Miss Vincent had “come a cropper” at +the last meet of the Long Island Hunt Club, and been extricated from a slough +several feet deep. +</p> + +<p> +This was explained to Montague by the young lady on his left—the one +whose half-dressed condition caused his embarrassment. She was only about +twenty, with a wealth of golden hair and the bright, innocent face of a child; +he had not yet learned her name, for every one called her “Cherub.” +Not long after this she made a remark across the table to Baby de Mille, a +strange jumble of syllables, which sounded like English, yet was not. Miss de +Mille replied, and several joined in, until there was quite a conversation +going on. “Cherub” explained to him that “Baby” had +invented a secret language, made by transposing letters; and that Ollie and +Bertie were crazy to guess the key to it, and could not. +</p> + +<p> +The dinner lasted until late. The wine-glasses continued to be emptied, and to +be magically filled again. The laughter was louder, and now and then there were +snatches of singing; women lolled about in their chairs-one beautiful boy sat +gazing dreamily across the table at Montague, now and then closing his eyes, +and opening them more and more reluctantly. The attendants moved about, +impassive and silent as ever; no one else seemed to be cognizant of their +existence, but Montague could not help noticing them, and wondering what they +thought of it all. +</p> + +<p> +When at last the party broke up, it was because the bridge-players wished to +get settled for the evening. The others gathered in front of the fireplace, and +smoked and chatted. At home, when one planned a day’s hunting, he went to +bed early and rose before dawn; but here, it seemed, there was game a-plenty, +and the hunters had nothing to consider save their own comfort. +</p> + +<p> +The cards were played in the vaulted “gun-room.” Montague strolled +through it, and his eye ran down the wall, lined with glass cases and filled +with every sort of firearm known to the hunter. He recalled, with a twinge of +self-abasement, that he had suggested bringing his shotgun along! +</p> + +<p> +He joined a group in one corner, and lounged in the shadows, and studied +“Billy” Price, whose conversation had so mystified him. +“Billy,” whose father was a banker, proved to be a devotee of +horses; she was a veritable Amazon, the one passion of whose life was glory. +Seeing her sitting in this group, smoking cigarettes, and drinking highballs, +and listening impassively to risqué stories, one might easily draw base +conclusions about Billy Price. But as a matter of fact she was made of marble; +and the men, instead of falling in love with her, made her their confidante, +and told her their troubles, and sought her sympathy and advice. +</p> + +<p> +Some of this was explained to Montague by a young lady, who, as the evening +wore on, came in and placed herself beside him. “My name is Betty +Wyman,” she said, “and you and I will have to be friends, because +Ollie’s my side partner.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague had to meet her advances; so had not much time to speculate as to what +the term “side partner” might be supposed to convey. Betty was a +radiant little creature, dressed in a robe of deep crimson, made of some soft +and filmy and complicated material; there was a crimson rose in her hair, and a +living glow of crimson in her cheeks. She was bright and quick, like a +butterfly, full of strange whims and impulses; mischievous lights gleamed in +her eyes and mischievous smiles played about her adorable little cherry lips. +Some strange perfume haunted the filmy dress, and completed the bewilderment of +the intended victim. +</p> + +<p> +“I have a letter of introduction to a Mr. Wyman in New York,” said +Montague. “Perhaps he is a relative of yours.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is he a railroad president?” asked she; and when he answered in +the affirmative, “Is he a railroad king?” she whispered, in a +mocking, awe-stricken voice, “Is he rich—oh, rich as +Solomon—and is he a terrible man, who eats people alive all the +time?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Montague—“that must be the one.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Betty, “he has done me the honour to be my +granddaddy; but don’t you take any letter of introduction to him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not?” asked he, perplexed. +</p> + +<p> +“Because he’ll eat <i>you</i>,” said the girl. “He +hates Ollie.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dear me,” said the other; and the girl asked, “Do you mean +that the boy hasn’t said a word about me?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Montague—“I suppose he left it for you to +do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Betty, “it’s like a fairy story. Do you +ever read fairy stories? In this story there was a princess—oh, the most +beautiful princess! Do you understand?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Montague. “She wore a red rose in her +hair.” +</p> + +<p> +“And then,” said the girl, “there was a young +courtier—very handsome and gay; and they fell in love with each other. +But the terrible old king—he wanted his daughter to wait a while, until +he got through conquering his enemies, so that he might have time to pick out +some prince or other, or maybe some ogre who was wasting his lands—do you +follow me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perfectly,” said he. “And then did the beautiful princess +pine away?” +</p> + +<p> +“Um—no,” said Betty, pursing her lips. “But she had to +dance terribly hard to keep from thinking about herself.” Then she +laughed, and exclaimed, “Dear me, we are getting poetical!” And +next, looking sober again, “Do you know, I was half afraid to talk to +you. Ollie tells me you’re terribly serious. Are you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” said Montague—but she broke in with a +laugh, “We were talking about you at dinner last night. They had some +whipped cream done up in funny little curliques, and Ollie said, ‘Now, if +my brother Allan were here, he’d be thinking about the man who fixed this +cream, and how long it took him, and how he might have been reading ‘The +Simple Life.’ Is that true?” +</p> + +<p> +“It involves a question of literary criticism”—said Montague. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want to talk about literature,” exclaimed the other. +In truth, she wanted nothing save to feel of his armour and find out if there +were any weak spots through which he could be teased. Montague was to find in +time that the adorable Miss Elizabeth was a very thorny species of +rose—she was more like a gay-coloured wasp, of predatory temperament. +</p> + +<p> +“Ollie says you want to go down town and work,” she went on. +“I think you’re awfully foolish. Isn’t it much nicer to spend +your time in an imitation castle like this?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps,” said he, “but I haven’t any castle.” +</p> + +<p> +“You might get one,” answered Betty. “Stay around awhile and +let us marry you to a nice girl. They will all throw themselves at your feet, +you know, for you have such a delicious melting voice, and you look romantic +and exciting.” (Montague made a note to inquire whether it was customary +in New York to talk about you so frankly to your face.) +</p> + +<p> +Miss Betty was surveying him quizzically meantime. “I don’t +know,” she said. “On second thoughts, maybe you’ll frighten +the girls. Then it’ll be the married women who’ll fall in love with +you. You’ll have to watch out.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve already been told that by my tailor,” said Montague, +with a laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“That would be a still quicker way of making your fortune,” said +she. “But I don’t think you’d fit in the rôle of a tame +cat.” +</p> + +<p> +“A <i>what?</i>” he exclaimed; and Miss Betty laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you know what that is? Dear me—how charmingly naïve! +But perhaps you’d better get Ollie to explain for you.” +</p> + +<p> +That brought the conversation to the subject of slang; and Montague, in a +sudden burst of confidence, asked for an interpretation of Miss Price’s +cryptic utterance. “She said”—he repeated +slowly—“that when I got to be pally with her, I’d conclude +she didn’t furnish.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes,” said Miss Wyman. “She just meant that when you +knew her, you’d be disappointed. You see, she picks up all the race-track +slang—one can’t help it, you know. And last year she took her coach +over to England, and so she’s got all the English slang. That makes it +hard, even for us.” +</p> + +<p> +And then Betty sailed in to entertain him with little sketches of other members +of the party. A phenomenon that had struck Montague immediately was the +extraordinary freedom with which everybody in New York discussed everybody +else. As a matter of fact, one seldom discussed anything else; and it made not +the least difference, though the person were one of your set,—though he +ate your bread and salt, and you ate his,—still you would amuse yourself +by pouring forth the most painful and humiliating and terrifying things about +him. +</p> + +<p> +There was poor Clarrie Mason: Clarrie, sitting in at bridge, with an expression +of feverish eagerness upon his pale face. Clarrie always lost, and it +positively broke his heart, though he had ten millions laid by on ice. Clarrie +went about all day, bemoaning his brother, who had been kidnapped. Had Montague +not heard about it? Well, the newspapers called it a marriage, but it was +really a kidnapping. Poor Larry Mason was good-natured and weak in the knees, +and he had been carried off by a terrible creature, three times as big as +himself, and with a temper like—oh, there were no words for it! She had +been an actress; and now she had carried Larry away in her talons, and was +building a big castle to keep him in—for he had ten millions too, alas! +</p> + +<p> +And then there was Bertie Stuyvesant, beautiful and winning—the boy who +had sat opposite Montague at dinner. Bertie’s father had been a coal man, +and nobody knew how many millions he had left. Bertie was gay; last week he had +invited them to a brook-trout breakfast—in November—and that had +been a lark! Somebody had told him that trout never really tasted good unless +you caught them yourself, and Bertie had suddenly resolved to catch them for +that breakfast. “They have a big preserve up in the Adirondacks,” +said Betty; “and Bertie ordered his private train, and he and Chappie de +Peyster and some others started that night; they drove I don’t know how +many miles the next day, and caught a pile of trout—and we had them for +breakfast the next morning! The best joke of all is that Chappie vows they were +so full they couldn’t fish, and that the trout were caught with nets! +Poor Bertie—somebody’ll have to separate him from that decanter +now!” +</p> + +<p> +From the hall there came loud laughter, with sounds of scuffling, and cries, +“Let me have it!”—“That’s Baby de Mille,” +said Miss Wyman. “She’s always wanting to rough-house it. Robbie +was mad the last time she was down here; she got to throwing sofa-cushions, and +upset a vase.” +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t that supposed to be good form?” asked Montague. +</p> + +<p> +“Not at Robbie’s,” said she. “Have you had a chance to +talk with Robbie yet? You’ll like him—he’s serious, like +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s he serious about?” +</p> + +<p> +“About spending his money,” said Betty. “That’s the +only thing he has to be serious about.” +</p> + +<p> +“Has he got so very much?” +</p> + +<p> +“Thirty or forty millions,” she replied; “but then, you see, +a lot of it’s in the inner companies of his railroad system, and it pays +him fabulously. And his wife has money, too—she was a Miss Mason, you +know, her father’s one of the steel crowd. We’ve a saying that +there are millionaires, and then multi-millionaires, and then Pittsburg +millionaires. Anyhow, the two of them spend all their income in entertaining. +It’s Robbie’s fad to play the perfect host—he likes to have +lots of people round him. He does put up good times—only he’s so +very important about it, and he has so many ideas of what is proper! I guess +most of his set would rather go to Mrs. Jack Warden’s any day; I’d +be there to-night, if it hadn’t been for Ollie.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who’s Mrs. Jack Warden?” asked Montague. +</p> + +<p> +“Haven’t you ever heard of her?” said Betty. “She used +to be Mrs. van Ambridge, and then she got a divorce and married Warden, the big +lumber man. She used to give ‘boy and girl’ parties, in the English +fashion; and when we went there we’d do as we please—play tag all +over the house, and have pillow-fights, and ransack the closets and get up +masquerades! Mrs. Warden’s as good-natured as an old cow. You’ll +meet her sometime—only don’t you let her fool you with those soft +eyes of hers. You’ll find she doesn’t mean it; it’s just that +she likes to have handsome men hanging round her.” +</p> + +<p> +At one o’clock a few of Robbie’s guests went to bed, Montague among +them. He left two tables of bridge fiends sitting immobile, the women with +flushed faces and feverish hands, and the men with cigarettes dangling from +their lips. There were trays and decanters beside each card-table; and in the +hall he passed three youths staggering about in each other’s arms and +feebly singing snatches of “coon songs.” Ollie and Betty had +strolled away together to parts unknown. +</p> + +<p> +Montague had entered his name in the order-book to be called at nine +o’clock. The man who awakened him brought him coffee and cream upon a +silver tray, and asked him if he would have anything stronger. He was +privileged to have his breakfast in his room, if he wished; but he went +downstairs, trying his best to feel natural in his elaborate hunting costume. +No one else had appeared yet, but he found the traces of last night cleared +away, and breakfast ready—served in English fashion, with urns of tea and +coffee upon the buffet. The grave butler and his satellites were in attendance, +ready to take his order for anything else under the sun that he fancied. +</p> + +<p> +Montague preferred to go for a stroll upon the terrace, and to watch the +sunlight sparkling upon the sea. The morning was beautiful—everything +about the place was so beautiful that he wondered how men and women could live +here and not feel the spell of it. +</p> + +<p> +Billy Price came down shortly afterward, clad in a khaki hunting suit, with +knee kilts and button-pockets and gun-pads and Cossack cartridge-loops. She +joined him in a stroll down the beach, and talked to him about the coming +winter season, with its leading personalities and events,—the Horse Show, +which opened next week, and the prospects for the opera, and Mrs. de +Graffenried’s opening entertainment. When they came back it was eleven +o’clock, and they found most of the guests assembled, nearly all of them +looking a little pale and uncomfortable in the merciless morning light. As the +two came in they observed Bertie Stuyvesant standing by the buffet, in the act +of gulping down a tumbler of brandy. “Bertie has taken up the ‘no +breakfast fad,’” said Billy with an ironical smile. +</p> + +<p> +Then began the hunt. The equipment of “Black Forest” included a +granite building, steam-heated and elaborately fitted, in which an English +expert and his assistants raised imported pheasants—magnificent +bronze-coloured birds with long, floating black tails. Just before the opening +of the season they were dumped by thousands into the covers—fat, and +almost tame enough to be fed by hand; and now came the “hunters.” +</p> + +<p> +First they drew lots, for they were to hunt in pairs, a man and a woman. +Montague drew Miss Vincent—“Little Raindrop in the +Mud-puddle.” Then Ollie, who was master of ceremonies, placed them in a +long line, and gave them the direction; and at a signal they moved through the +forest; Following each person were two attendants, to carry the extra guns and +reload them; and out in front were men to beat the bushes and scare the birds +into flight. +</p> + +<p> +Now Montague’s idea of hunting had been to steal through the bayou +forests, and match his eyes against those of the wild turkey, and shoot off +their heads with a rifle bullet. So, when one of these birds rose in front of +him, he fired, and the bird dropped; and he could have done it for ever, he +judged—only it was stupid slaughter, and it sickened him. However, if the +creatures were not shot, they must inevitably perish in the winter snows; and +he had heard that Robbie sent the game to the hospitals. Also, the score was +being kept, and Miss Vincent, who was something of a shot herself, was watching +him with eager excitement, being wild with desire to beat out Billy Price and +Chappie de Peyster, who were the champion shots of the company. Baby de Mille, +who was on his left, and who could not shoot at all, was blundering along, +puffing for breath and eyeing him enviously; and the attendants at his back +were trembling with delight and murmuring their applause. So he shot on, as +long as the drive lasted, and again on their way back, over a new stretch of +the country. Sometimes the birds would rise in pairs, and he would drop them +both; and twice when a blundering flock took flight in his direction he seized +a second gun and brought down a second pair. When the day’s sport came to +an end his score was fifteen better than his nearest competitor, and he and his +partner had won the day. +</p> + +<p> +They crowded round to congratulate him; first his partner, and then his rivals, +and his host and hostess. Montague found that he had suddenly become a person +of consequence. Some who had previously taken no notice of him now became aware +of his existence; proud society belles condescended to make conversation with +him, and Clarrie Mason, who hated de Peyster, made note of a way to annoy him. +As for Oliver, he was radiant with delight. “When it came to horses and +guns, I knew you’d make good,” he whispered. +</p> + +<p> +Leaving the game to be gathered up in carts, they made their way home, and +there the two victors received their prizes. The man’s consisted of a +shaving set in a case of solid gold, set with diamonds. Montague was simply +stunned, for the thing could not have cost less than one or two thousand +dollars. He could not persuade himself that he had a right to accept of such +hospitality, which he could never hope to return. He was to realize in time +that Robbie lived for the pleasure of thus humiliating his fellow-men. +</p> + +<p> +After luncheon, the party came to an end. Some set out to return as they had +come; and others, who had dinner engagements, went back with their host in his +private car, leaving their autos to be returned by the chauffeurs. Montague and +his brother were among these; and about dusk, when the swarms of working people +were pouring out of the city, they crossed the ferry and took a cab to their +hotel. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<p> +They found their apartments looking as if they had been struck by a +snowstorm—a storm of red and green and yellow, and all the colours that +lie between. All day the wagons of fashionable milliners and costumiers had +been stopping at the door, and their contents had found their way to +Alice’s room. The floors were ankle-deep in tissue paper and tape, and +beds and couches and chairs were covered with boxes, in which lay wonderful +symphonies of colour, half disclosed in their wrappings of gauze. In the midst +of it all stood the girl, her eyes shining with excitement. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Allan!” she cried, as they entered. “How am I ever to +thank you?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re not to thank me,” Montague replied. “This is +all Oliver’s doings.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oliver!” exclaimed the girl, and turned to him. “How in the +world could you do it?” she cried. “How will you ever get the money +to pay for it all?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s my problem,” said the man, laughing. “All you +have to think about is to look beautiful.” +</p> + +<p> +“If I don’t,” was her reply, “it won’t be for +lack of clothes. I never saw so many wonderful things in all my life as +I’ve seen to-day.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s quite a show of them,” admitted Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“And Reggie Mann! It was so queer, Allan! I never went shopping with a +man before. And he’s so—so matter-of-fact. You know, he bought +me—everything!” +</p> + +<p> +“That was what he was told to do,” said Oliver. “Did you like +him?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” said the girl. “He’s +queer—I never met a man like that before. But he was awfully kind; and +the people just turned their stores inside out for us—half a dozen people +hurrying about to wait on you at once!” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll get used to such things,” said Oliver; and then, +stepping toward the bed, “Let’s see what you got.” +</p> + +<p> +“Most of the things haven’t come,” said Alice. “The +gowns all have to be fitted.—That one is for to-night,” she added, +as he lifted up a beautiful object made of rose-coloured chiffon. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver studied it, and glanced once or twice at the girl. “I guess you +can carry it,” he said. “What sort of a cloak are you to +wear?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, the cloak!” cried Alice. “Oliver, I can’t believe +it’s really to belong to me. I didn’t know anyone but princesses +wore such things.” +</p> + +<p> +The cloak was in Mrs. Montague’s room, and one of the maids brought it +in. It was an opera-wrap of grey brocade, lined with unborn baby lamb—a +thing of a gorgeousness that made Montague literally gasp for breath. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you ever see anything like it in your life?” cried Alice. +“And Oliver, is it true that I have to have gloves and shoes and +stockings—and a hat—to match every gown?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course.” said Oliver. “If you were doing things right, +you ought to have a cloak to match each evening gown as well.” +</p> + +<p> +“It seems incredible,” said the girl. “Can it be right to +spend so much money for things to wear?” +</p> + +<p> +But Oliver was not discussing questions of ethics; he was examining sets of +tinted <i>crêpe de chine lingerie</i>, and hand-woven hose of spun silk. There +were boxes upon boxes, and bureau drawers and closet shelves already filled up +with hand-embroidered and lace-trimmed creations—chemises and +corset-covers, night-robes of “handkerchief linen” lawn, lace +handkerchiefs and veils, corsets of French <i>coutil</i>, dressing-jackets of +pale-coloured silks, and negligées of soft <i>batistes</i>, trimmed with +Valenciennes lace, or even with fur. +</p> + +<p> +“You must have put in a full day,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I never looked at so many things in my life,” said Alice. +“And Mr. Mann never stopped to ask the price of a thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t think to tell him to,” said Oliver, laughing. +</p> + +<p> +Then the girl went in to dress—and Oliver faced about to find his brother +sitting and staring hard at him. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me!” Montague exclaimed. “In God’s name, what is +all this to cost?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” said Oliver, impassively. “I +haven’t seen the bills. It’ll be fifteen or twenty thousand, I +guess.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague’s hands clenched involuntarily, and he sat rigid. “How +long will it all last her?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” said the other, “when she gets enough, it’ll +last her until spring, of course—unless she goes South during the +winter.” +</p> + +<p> +“How much is it going to take to dress her for a year?” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose thirty or forty thousand,” was the reply. “I +don’t expect to keep count.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague sat in silence. “You don’t want to shut her up and keep +her at home, do you?” inquired his brother, at last. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean that other women spend that much on clothes?” he +demanded. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course,” said Oliver, “hundreds of them. Some spend fifty +thousand—I know several who go over a hundred.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s monstrous!” Montague exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +“Fiddlesticks!” was the other’s response. “Why, +thousands of people live by it—wouldn’t know anything else to +do.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague said nothing to that. “Can you afford to have Alice compete with +such women indefinitely?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I have no idea of her doing it indefinitely,” was Oliver’s +reply. “I simply propose to give her a chance. When she’s married, +her bills will be paid by her husband.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said the other, “then this layout is just for her to be +exhibited in.” +</p> + +<p> +“You may say that,” answered Oliver,—“if you want to be +foolish. You know perfectly well that parents who launch their daughters in +Society don’t figure on keeping up the pace all their lifetimes.” +</p> + +<p> +“We hadn’t thought of marrying Alice off,” said Montague. +</p> + +<p> +To which his brother replied that the best physicians left all they could to +nature. “Suppose,” said he, “that we just introduce her in +the right set, and turn her loose and let her enjoy herself—and then +cross the next bridge when we come to it?” +</p> + +<p> +Montague sat with knitted brows, pondering. He was beginning to see a little +daylight now. “Oliver,” he asked suddenly, “are you sure the +stakes in this game aren’t too big?” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you mean?” asked the other. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you be able to stay in until the show-down? Until either Alice or +myself begins to bring in some returns?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never worry about that,” said the other, with a laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“But hadn’t you better take me into your confidence?” +Montague persisted. “How many weeks can you pay our rent in this place? +Have you got the money to pay for all these clothes?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got it,” laughed the other—“but that +doesn’t say I’m going to pay it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you have to pay your bills? Can we do all this upon +credit?” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver laughed again. “You go at me like a prosecuting attorney,” +he said. “I’m afraid you’ll have to inquire around and learn +some respect for your brother.” Then he added, seriously, “You see, +Allan, people like Reggie or myself are in position to bring a great deal of +custom to tradespeople, and so they are willing to go out of their way to +oblige us. And we have commissions of all sorts coming to us, so it’s +never any question of cash.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” exclaimed the other, opening his eyes, “I see! Is +<i>that</i> the way you make money?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s one of the ways we save it,” said Oliver. “It +comes to the same thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do people know it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, of course. Why not?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” said Montague. “It sounds a little +queer.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing of the kind,” said Oliver. “Some of the best people +in New York do it. Strangers come to the city, and they want to go to the right +places, and they ask me, and I send them. Or take Robbie Walling, who keeps up +five or six establishments, and spends several millions a year. He can’t +see to it all personally—if he did, he’d never do anything else. +Why shouldn’t he ask a friend to attend to things for him? Or again, a +new shop opens, and they want Mrs. Walling’s trade for the sake of the +advertising, and they offer her a discount and me a commission. Why +shouldn’t I get her to try them?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s quite intricate,” commented the other. “The +stores have more than one price, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“They have as many prices as they have customers,” was the answer. +“Why shouldn’t they? New York is full of raw rich people who value +things by what they pay. And why shouldn’t they pay high and be happy? +That opera-cloak that Alice has—Réval promised it to me for two thousand, +and I’ll wager you she’d charge some woman from Butte, Montana, +thirty-five hundred for one just like it.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague got up suddenly. “Stop,” he said, waving his hands. +“You take all the bloom off the butterfly’s wings!” +</p> + +<p> +He asked where they were going that evening, and Oliver said that they were +invited to an informal dinner-party at Mrs. Winnie Duval’s. Mrs. Winnie +was the young widow who had recently married the founder of the great +banking-house of Duval and Co.—so Oliver explained; she was a chum of +his, and they would meet an interesting set there. She was going to invite her +cousin, Charlie Carter—she wanted him to meet Alice. “Mrs. +Winnie’s always plotting to get Charlie to settle down,” said +Oliver, with a merry laugh. +</p> + +<p> +He telephoned for his man to bring over his clothes, and he and his brother +dressed. Then Alice came in, looking like the goddess of the dawn in the +gorgeous rose-coloured gown. The colour in her cheeks was even brighter than +usual; for she was staggered to find how low the gown was cut, and was afraid +she was committing a <i>faux pas</i>. “Tell me about it,” she +stammered. “Mammy Lucy says I’m surely supposed to wear some lace, +or a bouquet.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mammy Lucy isn’t a Paris costumier,” said Oliver, much +amused. “Dear me—wait until you have seen Mrs. Winnie!” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Winnie had kindly sent her limousine car for them, and it stood throbbing +in front of the hotel-entrance, its acetylenes streaming far up the street. +Mrs. Winnie’s home was on Fifth Avenue, fronting the park. It occupied +half a block, and had cost two millions to build and furnish. It was known as +the “Snow Palace,” being all of white marble. +</p> + +<p> +At the curb a man in livery opened the door of the car, and in the vestibule +another man in livery bowed the way. Lined up just inside the door was a corps +of imposing personages, clad in scarlet waistcoats and velvet knee-breeches, +with powdered wigs, and gold buttons, and gold buckles on their patent-leather +pumps. These splendid creatures took their wraps, and then presented to +Montague and Oliver a bouquet of flowers upon a silver salver, and upon another +salver a tiny envelope bearing the name of their partner at this strictly +“informal” dinner-party. Then the functionaries stood out of the +way and permitted them to view the dazzling splendour of the entrance hall of +the Snow Palace. There was a great marble staircase running up from the centre +of the hall, with a carved marble gallery above, and a marble fireplace below. +To decorate this mansion a real palace in the Punjab had been bought outright +and plundered; there were mosaics of jade, and wonderful black marble, and rare +woods, and strange and perplexing carvings. +</p> + +<p> +The head butler stood at the entrance to the salon, pronouncing their names; +and just inside was Mrs. Winnie. +</p> + +<p> +Montague never forgot that first vision of her; she might have been a real +princess out of the palace in the Punjab. She was a brunette, rich-coloured, +full-throated and deep-bosomed, with scarlet lips, and black hair and eyes. She +wore a court-gown of cloth of silver, with white kid shoes embroidered with +jewelled flowers. All her life she had been collecting large turquoises, and +these she had made into a tiara, and a neck ornament spreading over her chest, +and a stomacher. Each of these stones was mounted with diamonds, and set upon a +slender wire. So as she moved they quivered and shimmered, and the effect was +dazzling, barbaric. +</p> + +<p> +She must have seen that Montague was staggered, for she gave him a little extra +pressure of the hand, and said, “I’m so glad you came. Ollie has +told me all about you.” Her voice was soft and melting, not so forbidding +as her garb. +</p> + +<p> +Montague ran the gauntlet of the other guests: Charlie Carter, a beautiful, +dark-haired boy, having the features of a Greek god, but a sallow and +unpleasant complexion; Major “Bob” Venable, a stout little +gentleman with a red face and a heavy jowl; Mrs. Frank Landis, a merry-eyed +young widow with pink cheeks and auburn hair; Willie Davis, who had been a +famous half-back, and was now junior partner in the banking-house; and two +young married couples, whose names Montague missed. +</p> + +<p> +The name written on his card was Mrs. Alden. She came in just after him—a +matron of about fifty, of vigorous aspect and ample figure, approaching what he +had not yet learned to call <i>embonpoint</i>. She wore brocade, as became a +grave dowager, and upon her ample bosom there lay an ornament the size of a +man’s hand, and made wholly out of blazing diamonds—the most +imposing affair that Montague had ever laid eyes upon. She gave him her hand to +shake, and made no attempt to disguise the fact that she was looking him over +in the meantime. +</p> + +<p> +“Madam, dinner is served,” said the stately butler; and the +glittering procession moved into the dining-room—a huge state apartment, +finished in some lustrous jet-black wood, and with great panel paintings +illustrating the Romaunt de la Rose. The table was covered with a cloth of +French embroidery, and gleaming with its load of crystal and gold plate. At +either end there were huge candlesticks of solid gold, and in the centre a +mound of orchids and lilies of the valley, matching in colour the shades of the +candelabra and the daintily painted menu cards. +</p> + +<p> +“You are fortunate in coming to New York late in life,” Mrs. Alden +was saying to him. “Most of our young men are tired out before they have +sense enough to enjoy anything. Take my advice and look about +you—don’t let that lively brother of yours set the pace for +you.” +</p> + +<p> +In front of Mrs. Alden there was a decanter of Scotch whisky. “Will you +have some?” she asked, as she took it up. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I thank you,” said he, and then wondered if perhaps he should +not have said yes, as he watched the other select the largest of the half-dozen +wine-glasses clustered at her place, and pour herself out a generous libation. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you seen much of the city?” she asked, as she tossed it +off—without as much as a quiver of an eyelash. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said he. “They have not given me much time. They took +me off to the country—to the Robert Wallings’.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” said Mrs. Alden; and Montague, struggling to make +conversation, inquired, “Do you know Mr. Walling?” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite well,” said the other, placidly. “I used to be a +Walling myself, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said Montague, taken aback; and then added, “Before you +were married?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Mrs. Alden, more placidly than ever, “before I was +divorced.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a dead silence, and Montague sat gasping to catch his breath. Then +suddenly he heard a faint subdued chuckle, which grew into open laughter; and +he stole a glance at Mrs. Alden, and saw that her eyes were twinkling; and then +he began to laugh himself. They laughed together, so merrily that others at the +table began to look at them in perplexity. +</p> + +<p> +So the ice was broken between them; which filled Montague with a vast relief. +But he was still dimly touched with awe—for he realized that this must be +the great Mrs. Billy Alden, whose engagement to the Duke of London was now the +topic of the whole country. And that huge diamond ornament must be part of Mrs. +Alden’s million-dollar outfit of jewellery! +</p> + +<p> +The great lady volunteered not to tell on him; and added generously that when +he came to dinner with her she would post him concerning the company. +“It’s awkward for a stranger, I can understand,” said she; +and continued, grimly: “When people get divorces it sometimes means that +they have quarrelled—and they don’t always make it up afterward, +either. And sometimes other people quarrel—almost as bitterly as if they +had been married. Many a hostess has had her reputation ruined by not keeping +track of such things.” +</p> + +<p> +So Montague made the discovery that the great Mrs. Billy, though. forbidding of +aspect, was good-natured when she chose to be, and with a pretty wit. She was a +woman with a mind of her own—a hard-fighting character, who had +marshalled those about her, and taken her place at the head of the column. She +had always counted herself a personage enough to do exactly as she pleased; +through the course of the dinner she would take up the decanter of Scotch, and +make a pass to help Montague—and then, when he declined, pour out +imperturbably what she wanted. “I don’t like your brother,” +she said to him, a little later. “He won’t last; but he tells me +you’re different, so maybe I will like you. Come and see me sometime, and +let me tell you what not to do in New York.” +</p> + +<p> +Then Montague turned to talk with his hostess, who sat on his right. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you play bridge?” asked Mrs. Winnie, in her softest and most +gracious tone. +</p> + +<p> +“My brother has given me a book to study from,” he answered. +“But if he takes me about day and night, I don’t know how I’m +to manage it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come and let me teach you,” said Mrs. Winnie. “I mean it, +really,” she added. “I’ve nothing to do—at least that +I’m not tired of. Only I don’t believe you’d take long to +learn all that I know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Aren’t you a successful player?” he asked sympathetically. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t believe anyone wants me to learn,” said Mrs. +Winnie.—“They’d rather come and get my money. Isn’t +that true, Major?” +</p> + +<p> +Major Venable sat on her other hand, and he paused in the act of raising a +spoonful of soup to his lips, and laughed, deep down in his throat—a +queer little laugh that shook his fat cheeks and neck. “I may say,” +he said, “that I know several people to whom the <i>status quo</i> is +satisfactory.” +</p> + +<p> +“Including yourself,” said the lady, with a little <i>moue</i>. +“The wretched man won sixteen hundred dollars from me last night; and he +sat in his club window all afternoon, just to have the pleasure of laughing at +me as I went by. I don’t believe I’ll play at all +to-night—I’m going to make myself agreeable to Mr. Montague, and +let you win from Virginia Landis for a change.” +</p> + +<p> +And then the Major paused again in his attack upon the soup. “My dear +Mrs. Winnie,” he said, “I can live for much more than one day upon +sixteen hundred dollars!” +</p> + +<p> +The Major was a famous club-man and <i>bon vivant</i>, as Montague learned +later on. “He’s an uncle of Mrs. Bobbie Walling’s,” +said Mrs. Alden, in his ear. “And incidentally they hate each other like +poison.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is so that I won’t repeat my luckless question again?” +asked Montague, with a smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, they meet,” said the other. “You wouldn’t be +supposed to know that. Won’t you have any Scotch?” +</p> + +<p> +Montague’s thoughts were so much taken up with the people at this repast +that he gave little thought to the food. He noticed with surprise that they had +real spring lamb—it being the middle of November. But he could not know +that the six-weeks-old creatures from which it had come had been raised in +cotton-wool and fed on milk with a spoon—and had cost a dollar and a half +a pound. A little later, however, there was placed before him a delicately +browned sweetbread upon a platter of gold, and then suddenly he began to pay +attention. Mrs. Winnie had a coat of arms; he had noticed it upon her auto, and +again upon the great bronze gates of the Snow Palace, and again upon the +liveries of her footmen, and yet again upon the decanter of Scotch. And +now—incredible and appalling—he observed it branded upon the +delicately browned sweetbread! +</p> + +<p> +After that, who would not have watched? There were large dishes of rare fruits +upon the table—fruits which had been packed in cotton wool and shipped in +cold storage from every corner of the earth. There were peaches which had come +from South Africa (they had cost ten dollars apiece). There were bunches of +Hamburg grapes, dark purple and bursting fat, which had been grown in a +hot-house, wrapped in paper bags. There were nectarines and plums, and +pomegranates and persimmons from Japan, and later on, little dishes of plump +strawberries-raised in pots. There were quail which had come from Egypt, and a +wonderful thing called “crab-flake à la Dewey,” cooked in a +chafing-dish, and served with mushrooms that had been grown in the tunnels of +abandoned mines in Michigan. There was lettuce raised by electric light, and +lima beans that had come from Porto Rico, and artichokes brought from France at +a cost of one dollar each.—And all these extraordinary viands were washed +down by eight or nine varieties of wines, from the cellar of a man who had made +collecting them a fad for the last thirty years, who had a vineyard in France +for the growing of his own champagne, and kept twenty thousand quarts of claret +in storage all the time—and procured his Rhine wine from the cellar of +the German Emperor, at a cost of twenty-five dollars a quart! +</p> + +<p> +There were twelve people at dinner, and afterward they made two tables for +bridge, leaving Charlie Carter to talk to Alice, and Mrs. Winnie to devote +herself to Montague, according to her promise. “Everybody likes to see my +house,” she said. “Would you?” And she led the way from the +dining-room into the great conservatory, which formed a central court extending +to the roof of the building. She pressed a button, and a soft radiance streamed +down from above, in the midst of which Mrs. Winnie stood, with her shimmering +jewels a very goddess of the fire. +</p> + +<p> +The conservatory was a place in which he could have spent the evening; it was +filled with the most extraordinary varieties of plants. “They were +gathered from all over the world,” said Mrs. Winnie, seeing that he was +staring at them. “My husband employed a connoisseur to hunt them out for +him. He did it before we were married—he thought it would make me +happy.” +</p> + +<p> +In the centre of the place there was a fountain, twelve or fourteen feet in +height, and set in a basin of purest Carrara marble. By the touch of a button +the pool was flooded with submerged lights, and one might see scores of rare +and beautiful fish swimming about. +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t it fine!” said Mrs. Winnie, and added eagerly, +“Do you know, I come here at night, sometimes when I can’t sleep, +and sit for hours and gaze. All those living things; with their extraordinary +forms—some of them have faces, and look like human beings! And I wonder +what they think about, and if life seems as strange to them as it does to +me.” +</p> + +<p> +She seated herself by the edge of the pool, and gazed in. “These fish +were given to me by my cousin, Ned Carter. They call him Buzzie. Have you met +him yet?—No, of course not. He’s Charlie’s brother, and he +collects art things—the most unbelievable things. Once, a long time ago, +he took a fad for goldfish—some goldfish are very rare and beautiful, you +know—one can pay twenty-five and fifty dollars apiece for them. He got +all the dealers had, and when he learned that there were some they +couldn’t get, he took a trip to Japan and China on purpose to get them. +You know they raise them there, and some of them are sacred, and not allowed to +be sold or taken out of the country. And he had all sorts of carved ivory +receptacles for them, that he brought home with him—he had one beautiful +marble basin about ten feet long, that had been stolen from the Emperor.” +</p> + +<p> +Over Montague’s shoulder where he sat, there hung an orchid, a most +curious creation, an explosion of scarlet flame. “That is the +<i>odonto-glossum</i>,” said Mrs. Winnie. “Have you heard of +it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never,” said the man. +</p> + +<p> +“Dear me,” said the other. “Such is fame!” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it supposed to be famous?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Very,” she replied. “There was a lot in the newspapers about +it. You see Winton—that’s my husband, you know—paid +twenty-five thousand dollars to the man who created it; and that made a lot of +foolish talk—people come from all over to look at it. I wanted to have +it, because its shape is exactly like the coronet on my crest. Do you notice +that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Montague. “It’s curious.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m very proud of my crest,” continued Mrs. Winnie. +“Of course there are vulgar rich people who have them made to order, and +make them ridiculous; but ours is a real one. It’s my own—not my +husband’s; the Duvals are an old French family, but they’re not +noble. I was a Morris, you know, and our line runs back to the old French ducal +house of Montmorenci. And last summer, when we were motoring, I hunted up one +of their chateaux; and see! I brought over this.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Winnie pointed to a suit of armour, placed in a passage leading to the +billiard-room. “I have had the lights fixed,” she added. And she +pressed a button, and all illumination vanished, save for a faint red glow just +above the man in armour. +</p> + +<p> +“Doesn’t he look real?” said she. (He had his visor down, and +a battle-axe in his mailed hands.) “I like to imagine that he may have +been my twentieth great-grandfather. I come and sit here, and gaze at him and +shiver. Think what a terrible time it must have been to live in—when men +wore things like that! It couldn’t be any worse to be a crab.” +</p> + +<p> +“You seem to be fond of strange emotions,” said Montague, laughing. +</p> + +<p> +“Maybe I am,” said the other. “I like everything that’s +old and romantic, and makes you forget this stupid society world.” +</p> + +<p> +She stood brooding for a moment or two, gazing at the figure. Then she asked, +abruptly, “Which do you like best, pictures or swimming?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” replied the man, laughing and perplexed, “I like them +both, at times.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wondered which you’d rather see first,” explained his +escort; “the art gallery or the natatorium. I’m afraid you’ll +get tired before you’ve seen every thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose we begin with the art-gallery,” said he. +“There’s not much to see in a swimming-pool.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, but ours is a very special one,” said the +lady.—“And some day, if you’ll be very good, and promise not +to tell anyone, I’ll let you see my own bath. Perhaps they’ve told +you, I have one in my own apartments, cut out of a block of the most wonderful +green marble.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague showed the expected amount of astonishment. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course that gave the dreadful newspapers another chance to +gossip,” said Mrs. Winnie, plaintively. “People found out what I +had paid for it. One can’t have anything beautiful without that question +being asked.” +</p> + +<p> +And then followed a silence, while Mrs. Winnie waited for him to ask it. As he +forebore to do so, she added, “It was fifty thousand dollars.” +</p> + +<p> +They were moving towards the elevator, where a small boy in the wonderful +livery of plush and scarlet stood at attention. “Sometimes,” she +continued, “it seems to me that it is wicked to pay such prices for +things. Have you ever thought about it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Occasionally,” Montague replied. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course,” said she, “it makes work for people; and I +suppose they can’t be better employed than in making beautiful things. +But sometimes, when I think of all the poverty there is, I get unhappy. We have +a winter place down South—one of those huge country-houses that look like +exposition buildings, and have rooms for a hundred guests; and sometimes I go +driving by myself, down to the mill towns, and go through them and talk to the +children. I came to know some of them quite well—poor little +wretches.” +</p> + +<p> +They stepped out of the elevator, and moved toward the art-gallery. “It +used to make me so unhappy,” she went on. “I tried to talk to my +husband about it, but he wouldn’t have it. ‘I don’t see why +you can’t be like other people,’ he said—he’s always +repeating that to me. And what could I say?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not suggest that other people might be like you?” said the +man, laughing. +</p> + +<p> +“I wasn’t clever enough,” said she, +regretfully.—“It’s very hard for a woman, you know—with +no one to understand. Once I went down to a settlement, to see what that was +like. Do you know anything about settlements?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing at all,” said Montague. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, they are people who go to live among the poor, and try to reform +them. It takes a terrible lot of courage, I think. I give them money now and +then, but I am never sure if it does any good. The trouble with poor people, it +seems to me, is that there are so <i>many</i> of them.” +</p> + +<p> +“There are, indeed,” said Montague, thinking of the vision he had +seen from Oliver’s racing-car. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Winnie had seated herself upon a cushioned seat near the entrance to the +darkened gallery. “I haven’t been there for some time,” she +continued. “I’ve discovered something that I think appeals more to +my temperament. I have rather a leaning toward the occult and the mystical, +I’m afraid. Did you ever hear of the Babists?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Montague. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that’s a religious sect—from Persia, I think—and +they are quite the rage. They are priests, you understand, and they give +lectures, and teach you all about the immanence of the divine, and about +reincarnation, and Karma, and all that. Do you believe any of those +things?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t say that I know about them,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“It is very beautiful and strange,” added the other. “It +makes you realize what a perplexing thing life is. They teach you how the +universe is all one, and the soul is the only reality, and so bodily things +don’t matter. If I were a Babist, I believe that I could be happy, even +if I had to work in a cotton-mill.” +</p> + +<p> +Then Mrs. Winnie rose up suddenly. “You’d rather look at the +pictures, I know,” she said; and she pressed a button, and a soft +radiance flooded the great vaulted gallery. +</p> + +<p> +“This is our chief pride in life,” she said. “My +husband’s object has been to get one representative work of each of the +great painters of the world. We got their masterpiece whenever we could. Over +there in the corner are the old masters—don’t you love to look at +them?” +</p> + +<p> +Montague would have liked to look at them very much; but he felt that he would +rather it were some time when he did not have Mrs. Winnie by his side. Mrs. +Winnie must have had to show the gallery quite frequently; and now her mind was +still upon the Persian transcendentalists. +</p> + +<p> +“That picture of the saint is a Botticelli,” she said. “And +do you know, the orange-coloured robe always makes me think of the swami. That +is my teacher, you know—Swami Babubanana. And he has the most beautiful +delicate hands, and great big brown eyes, so soft and gentle—for all the +world like those of the gazelles in our place down South!” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Thus Mrs. Winnie, as she roamed from picture to picture, while the souls of the +grave old masters looked down upon her in silence. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> +<p> +Montague had now been officially pronounced complete by his tailor; and Réval +had sent home the first of Alice’s street gowns, elaborately plain, but +fitting her conspicuously, and costing accordingly. So the next morning they +were ready to be taken to call upon Mrs. Devon. +</p> + +<p> +Of course Montague had heard of the Devons, but he was not sufficiently +initiated to comprehend just what it meant to be asked to call. But when Oliver +came in, a little before noon, and proceeded to examine his costume and to put +him to rights, and insisted that Alice should have her hair done over, he began +to realize that this was a special occasion. Oliver was in quite a state of +excitement; and after they had left the hotel, and were driving up the Avenue, +he explained to them that their future in Society depended upon the outcome of +this visit. Calling upon Mrs. Devon, it seemed, was the American equivalent to +being presented at court. For twenty-five years this grand lady had been the +undisputed mistress of the Society of the metropolis; and if she liked them, +they would be invited to her annual ball, which took place in January, and then +for ever after their position would be assured. Mrs. Devon’s ball was the +one great event of the social year; about one thousand people were asked, while +ten thousand disappointed ones gnashed their teeth in outer darkness. +</p> + +<p> +All of which threw Alice into a state of trepidation. +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose we don’t suit her!” she said. +</p> + +<p> +To that the other replied that their way had been made smooth by Reggie Mann, +who was one of Mrs. Devon’s favourites. +</p> + +<p> +A century and more ago the founder of the Devon line had come to America, and +invested his savings in land on Manhattan Island. Other people had toiled and +built a city there, and generation after generation of the Devons had sat by +and collected the rents, until now their fortune amounted to four or five +hundred millions of dollars. They were the richest old family in America, and +the most famous; and in Mrs. Devon, the oldest member of the line, was centred +all its social majesty and dominion. She lived a stately and formal life, +precisely like a queen; no one ever saw her save upon her raised chair of +state, and she wore her jewels even at breakfast. She was the arbiter of social +destinies, and the breakwater against which the floods of new wealth beat in +vain. Reggie Mann told wonderful tales about the contents of her enormous +mail—about wives and daughters of mighty rich men who flung themselves at +her feet and pleaded abjectly for her favour—who laid siege to her house +for months, and intrigued and pulled wires to get near her, and even bought the +favour of her servants! If Reggie might be believed, great financial wars had +been fought, and the stock-markets of the world convulsed more than once, +because of these social struggles; and women of wealth and beauty had offered +to sell themselves for the privilege which was so freely granted to them. +</p> + +<p> +They came to the old family mansion and rang the bell, and the solemn butler +ushered them past the grand staircase and into the front reception-room to +wait. Perhaps five minutes later he came in and rolled back the doors, and they +stood up, and beheld a withered old lady, nearly eighty years of age, bedecked +with diamonds and seated upon a sort of throne. They approached, and Oliver +introduced them, and the old lady held out a lifeless hand; and then they sat +down. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Devon asked them a few questions as to how much of New York they had seen, +and how they liked it, and whom they had met; but most of the time she simply +looked them over, and left the making of conversation to Oliver. As for +Montague, he sat, feeling perplexed and uncomfortable, and wondering, deep down +in him, whether it could really be America in which this was happening. +</p> + +<p> +“You see,” Oliver explained to them, when they were seated in their +carriage again, “her mind is failing, and it’s really quite +difficult for her to receive.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m glad I don’t have to call on her more than once,” +was Alice’s comment. “When do we know the verdict?” +</p> + +<p> +“When you get a card marked ‘Mrs. Devon at home,’” said +Oliver. And he went on to tell them about the war which had shaken Society long +ago, when the mighty dame had asserted her right to be “Mrs. +Devon,” and the only “Mrs. Devon.” He told them also about +her wonderful dinner-set of china, which had cost thirty thousand dollars, and +was as fragile as a humming-bird’s wing. Each piece bore her crest, and +she had a china expert to attend to washing and packing it—no common hand +was ever allowed to touch it. He told them, also, how Mrs. Devon’s +housekeeper had wrestled for so long, trying to teach the maids to arrange the +furniture in the great reception-rooms precisely as the mistress ordered; until +finally a complete set of photographs had been taken, so that the maids might +do their work by chart. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Alice went back to the hotel, for Mrs. Robbie Walling was to call and take her +home to lunch; and Montague and his brother strolled round to Reggie +Mann’s apartments, to report upon their visit. +</p> + +<p> +Reggie received them in a pair of pink silk pyjamas, decorated with ribbons and +bows, and with silk-embroidered slippers, set with pearls—a present from +a feminine adorer. Montague noticed, to his dismay, that the little man wore a +gold bracelet upon one arm! He explained that he had led a cotillion the night +before—or rather this morning; he had got home at five o’clock. He +looked quite white and tired, and there were the remains of a breakfast of +brandy-and-soda on the table. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you see the old girl?” he asked. “And how does she hold +up?” +</p> + +<p> +“She’s game,” said Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“I had the devil’s own time getting you in,” said the other. +“It’s getting harder every day.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll excuse me,” Reggie added, “if I get ready. I +have an engagement.” And he turned to his dressing-table, which was +covered with an array of cosmetics and perfumes, and proceeded, in a +matter-of-fact way, to paint his face. Meanwhile his valet was flitting +silently here and there, getting ready his afternoon costume; and Montague, in +spite of himself, followed the man with his eyes. A haberdasher’s shop +might have been kept going for quite a while upon the contents of +Reggie’s dressers. His clothing was kept in a room adjoining the +dressing-room; Montague, who was near the door, could see the rosewood +wardrobes, each devoted to a separate article of clothing-shirts, for instance, +laid upon sliding racks, tier upon tier of them, of every material and colour. +There was a closet fitted with shelves and equipped like a little shoe +store—high shoes and low shoes, black ones, brown ones, and white ones, +and each fitted over a last to keep its shape perfect. These shoes were all +made to order according to Reggie’s designs, and three or four times a +year there was a cleaning out, and those which had gone out of fashion became +the prey of his “man.” There was a safe in one closet, in which +Reggie’s jewellery was kept. +</p> + +<p> +The dressing-room was furnished like a lady’s boudoir, the furniture +upholstered with exquisite embroidered silk, and the bed hung with curtains of +the same material. There was a huge bunch of roses on the centre-table, and the +odour of roses hung heavy in the room. +</p> + +<p> +The valet stood at attention with a rack of neckties, from which Reggie +critically selected one to match his shirt. “Are you going to take Alice +with you down to the Havens’s?” he was asking; and he added, +“You’ll meet Vivie Patton down there—she’s had another +row at home.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t say so!” exclaimed Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said the other. “Frank waited up all night for her, +and he wept and tore his hair and vowed he would kill the Count. Vivie told him +to go to hell.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good God!” said Oliver. “Who told you that?” +</p> + +<p> +“The faithful Alphonse,” said Reggie, nodding toward his valet. +“Her maid told him. And Frank vows he’ll sue—I half expected +to see it in the papers this morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“I met Vivie on the street yesterday,” said Oliver. “She +looked as chipper as ever.” +</p> + +<p> +Reggie shrugged his shoulders. “Have you seen this week’s +paper?” he asked. “They’ve got another of Ysabel’s +suppressed poems in.”—And then he turned toward Montague to explain +that “Ysabel” was the pseudonym of a young débutante who had fallen +under the spell of Baudelaire and Wilde, and had published a volume of poems of +such furious eroticism that her parents were buying up stray copies at fabulous +prices. +</p> + +<p> +Then the conversation turned to the Horse Show, and for quite a while they +talked about who was going to wear what. Finally Oliver rose, saying that they +would have to get a bite to eat before leaving for the Havens’s. +“You’ll have a good time,” said Reggie. “I’d have +gone myself, only I promised to stay and help Mrs. de Graffenried design a +dinner. So long!” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Montague had heard nothing about the visit to the Havens’s; but now, as +they strolled down the Avenue, Oliver explained that they were to spend the +weekend at Castle Havens. There was quite a party going up this Friday +afternoon, and they would find one of the Havens’s private cars waiting. +They had nothing to do meantime, for their valets would attend to their +packing, and Alice and her maid would meet them at the depot. +</p> + +<p> +“Castle Havens is one of the show places of the country,” Oliver +added. “You’ll see the real thing this time.” And while they +lunched, he went on to entertain his brother with particulars concerning the +place and its owners. John had inherited the bulk of the enormous Havens +fortune, and he posed as his father’s successor in the Steel Trust. Some +day some one of the big men would gobble him up; meantime he amused himself +fussing over the petty details of administration. Mrs. Havens had taken a fancy +to a rural life, and they had built this huge palace in the hills of +Connecticut, and she wrote verses in which she pictured herself as a simple +shepherdess—and all that sort of stuff. But no one minded that, because +the place was grand, and there was always so much to do. They had forty or +fifty polo ponies, for instance, and every spring the place was filled with +polo men. +</p> + +<p> +At the depot they caught sight of Charlie Carter, in his big red touring-car. +“Are you going to the Havens’s?” he said. “Tell them +we’re going to pick up Chauncey on the way.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s Chauncey Venable, the Major’s nephew,” said +Oliver, as they strolled to the train. “Poor Chauncey—he’s in +exile!” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you mean?” asked Montague. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, he daren’t come into New York,” said the other. +“Haven’t you read about it in the papers? He lost one or two +hundred thousand the other night in a gambling place, and the district +attorney’s trying to catch him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Does he want to put him in jail?” asked Montague. +</p> + +<p> +“Heavens, no!” said Oliver. “Put a Venable in jail? He wants +him for a witness against the gambler; and poor Chauncey is flitting about the +country hiding with his friends, and wailing because he’ll miss the Horse +Show.” +</p> + +<p> +They boarded the palatial private car, and were introduced to a number of other +guests. Among them was Major Venable; and while Oliver buried himself in the +new issue of the fantastic-covered society journal, which contained the poem of +the erotic “Ysabel,” his brother chatted with the Major. The latter +had taken quite a fancy to the big handsome stranger, to whom everything in the +city was so new and interesting. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me what you thought of the Snow Palace,” said he. +“I’ve an idea that Mrs. Winnie’s got quite a crush on you. +You’ll find her dangerous, my boy—she’ll make you pay for +your dinners before you get through!” +</p> + +<p> +After the train was under way, the Major got himself surrounded with some +apollinaris and Scotch, and then settled back to enjoy himself. “Did you +see the ‘drunken kid’ at the ferry?” he asked. +“(That’s what our abstemious district attorney terms my precious +young heir-apparent.) You’ll meet him at the Castle—the Havens are +good to him. They know how it feels, I guess; when John was a youngster his +piratical uncle had to camp in Jersey for six months or so, to escape the +strong arm of the law.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you know about it?” continued the Major, sipping at +his beverage. “<i>Sic transit gloria mundi!</i> That was when the great +Captain Kidd Havens was piling up the millions which his survivors are spending +with such charming <i>insouciance</i>. He was plundering a railroad, and the +original progenitor of the Wallings tried to buy the control away from him, and +Havens issued ten or twenty millions of new stock overnight, in the face of a +court injunction, and got away with most of his money. It reads like opera +bouffe, you know—they had a regular armed camp across the river for about +six months—until Captain Kidd went up to Albany with half a million +dollars’ worth of greenbacks in a satchel, and induced the legislature to +legalize the proceedings. That was just after the war, you know, but I remember +it as if it were yesterday. It seems strange to think that anyone +shouldn’t know about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know about Havens in a general way,” said Montague. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said the Major. “But I know in a particular way, +because I’ve carried some of that railroad’s paper all these years, +and it’s never paid any dividends since. It has a tendency to interfere +with my appreciation of John’s lavish hospitality.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague was reminded of the story of the Roman emperor who pointed out that +money had no smell. +</p> + +<p> +“Maybe not,” said the Major. “But all the same, if you were +superstitious, you might make out an argument from the Havens fortune. Take +that poor girl who married the Count.” +</p> + +<p> +And the Major went on to picture the dénouement of that famous international +alliance, which, many years ago, had been the sensation of two continents. All +Society had attended the gorgeous wedding, an archbishop had performed the +ceremony, and the newspapers had devoted pages to describing the gowns and the +jewels and the presents and all the rest of the magnificence. And the Count was +a wretched little degenerate, who beat and kicked his wife, and flaunted his +mistresses in her face, and wasted fourteen million dollars of her money in a +couple of years. The mind could scarcely follow the orgies of this half-insane +creature—he had spent two hundred thousand dollars on a banquet, and half +as much again for a tortoise-shell wardrobe in which Louis the Sixteenth had +kept his clothes! He had charged a diamond necklace to his wife, and taken two +of the four rows of diamonds out of it before he presented it to her! He had +paid a hundred thousand dollars a year to a jockey whom the Parisian populace +admired, and a fortune for a palace in Verona, which he had promptly torn down, +for the sake of a few painted ceilings. The Major told about one outdoor fête, +which he had given upon a sudden whim: ten thousand Venetian lanterns, ten +thousand metres of carpet; three thousand gilded chairs, and two or three +hundred waiters in fancy costumes; two palaces built in a lake, with sea-horses +and dolphins, and half a dozen orchestras, and several hundred +chorus—girls from the Grand Opera! And in between adventures such as +these, he bought a seat in the Chamber of Deputies, and made speeches and +fought duels in defence of the Holy Catholic Church—and wrote articles +for the yellow journals of America. “And that’s the fate of my lost +dividends!” growled the Major. +</p> + +<p> +There were several automobiles to meet the party at the depot, and they were +whirled through a broad avenue up a valley, and past a little lake, and so to +the gates of Castle Havens. +</p> + +<p> +It was a tremendous building, a couple of hundred feet long. One entered into a +main hall, perhaps fifty feet wide, with a great fireplace and staircase of +marble and bronze, and furniture of gilded wood and crimson velvet, and a huge +painting, covering three of the walls, representing the Conquest of Peru. Each +of the rooms was furnished in the style of a different period—one Louis +Quatorze, one Louis Quinze, one Marie Antoinette, and so on. There was a +drawing-room and a regal music-room; a dining-room in the Georgian style, and a +billiard-room, also in the English fashion, with high wainscoting and open +beams in the ceiling; and a library, and a morning-room and conservatory. +Upstairs in the main suite of rooms was a royal bedstead, which alone was +rumoured to have cost twenty-five thousand dollars; and you might have some +idea of the magnificence of things when you learned that underneath the gilding +of the furniture was the rare and precious Circassian walnut. +</p> + +<p> +All this was beautiful. But what brought the guests to Castle Havens was the +casino, so the Major had remarked. It was really a private athletic +club—with tan-bark hippodrome, having a ring the size of that in Madison +Square Garden, and a skylight roof, and thirty or forty arc-lights for night +events. There were bowling-alleys, billiard and lounging-rooms, hand-ball, +tennis and racket-courts, a completely equipped gymnasium, a shooting-gallery, +and a swimming-pool with Turkish and Russian baths. In this casino alone there +were rooms for forty guests. +</p> + +<p> +Such was Castle Havens; it had cost three or four millions of dollars, and +within the twelve-foot wall which surrounded its grounds lived two world-weary +people who dreaded nothing so much as to be alone. There were always guests, +and on special occasions there might be three or four score. They went whirling +about the country in their autos; they rode and drove; they played games, +outdoor and indoor, or gambled, or lounged and chatted, or wandered about at +their own sweet will. Coming to one of these places was not different from +staying at a great hotel, save that the company was selected, and instead of +paying a bill, you gave twenty or thirty dollars to the servants when you left. +</p> + +<p> +It was a great palace of pleasure, in which beautiful and graceful men and +women played together in all sorts of beautiful and graceful ways. In the +evenings great logs blazed in the fireplace in the hall, and there might be an +informal dance—there was always music at hand. Now and then there would +be a stately ball, with rich gowns and flashing jewels, and the grounds ablaze +with lights, and a full orchestra, and special trains from the city. Or a whole +theatrical company would be brought down to give an entertainment in the +theatre; or a minstrel show, or a troupe of acrobats, or a menagerie of trained +animals. Or perhaps there would be a great pianist, or a palmist, or a trance +medium. Anyone at all would be welcome who could bring a new thrill—it +mattered nothing at all, though the price might be several hundred dollars a +minute. +</p> + +<p> +Montague shook hands with his host and hostess, and with a number of others; +among them Billy Price who forthwith challenged him, and carried him off to the +shooting-gallery. Here he took a rifle, and proceeded to satisfy her as to his +skill. This brought him to the notice of Siegfried Harvey, who was a famous +cross-country rider and “polo-man.” Harvey’s father owned a +score of copper-mines, and had named him after a race-horse; he was a big +broad-shouldered fellow, a favourite of every one; and next morning, when he +found that Montague sat a horse like one who was born to it, he invited him to +come out to his place on Long Island, and see some of the fox-hunting. +</p> + +<p> +Then, after he had dressed for dinner, Montague came downstairs, and found +Betty Wyman, shining like Aurora in an orange-coloured cloud. She introduced +him to Mrs. Vivie Patton, who was tall and slender and fascinating, and had +told her husband to go to hell. Mrs. Vivie had black eyes that snapped and +sparkled, and she was a geyser of animation in a perpetual condition of +eruption. Montague wondered if she would have talked with him so gaily had she +known what he knew about her domestic entanglements. +</p> + +<p> +The company moved into the dining-room, where there was served another of those +elaborate and enormously expensive meals which he concluded he was fated to eat +for the rest of his life. Only, instead of Mrs. Billy Alden with her Scotch, +there was Mrs. Vivie, who drank champagne in terrifying quantities; and +afterward there was the inevitable grouping of the bridge fiends. +</p> + +<p> +Among the guests there was a long-haired and wild-looking foreign personage, +who was the “lion” of the evening, and sat with half a dozen +admiring women about him. Now he was escorted to the music-room, and revealed +the fact that he was a violin virtuoso. He played what was called “salon +music”—music written especially for ladies and gentlemen to listen +to after dinner; and also a strange contrivance called a <i>concerto</i>, put +together to enable the player to exhibit within a brief space the utmost +possible variety of finger gymnastics. To learn to perform these feats one had +to devote his whole lifetime to practising them, just like any circus acrobat; +and so his mind became atrophied, and a naïve and elemental vanity was all that +was left to him. +</p> + +<p> +Montague stood for a while staring; and then took to watching the company, who +chattered and laughed all through the performance. Afterward, he strolled into +the billiard-room, where Billy Price and Chauncey Venable were having an +exciting bout; and from there to the smoking-room, where the stout little Major +had gotten a group of young bloods about him to play “Klondike.” +This was a game of deadly hazards, which they played without limit; the players +themselves were silent and impassive, but the spectators who gathered about +were tense with excitement. +</p> + +<p> +In the morning Charlie Carter carried off Alice and Oliver and Betty in his +auto; and Montague spent his time in trying some of Havens’s jumping +horses. The Horse Show was to open in New York on Monday, and there was an +atmosphere of suppressed excitement because of this prospect; Mrs. Caroline +Smythe, a charming young widow, strolled about with him and told him all about +this Show, and the people who would take part in it. +</p> + +<p> +And in the afternoon Major Venable took him for a stroll and showed him the +grounds. He had been told what huge sums had been expended in laying them out; +but after all, the figures were nothing compared with an actual view. There +were hills and slopes, and endless vistas of green lawns and gardens, dotted +with the gleaming white of marble staircases and fountains and statuary. There +was a great Italian walk, leading by successive esplanades to an electric +fountain with a basin sixty feet across, and a bronze chariot and marble +horses. There were sunken gardens, with a fountain brought from the South of +France, and Greek peristyles, and seats of marble, and vases and other +treasures of art. +</p> + +<p> +And then there were the stables; a huge Renaissance building, with a perfectly +equipped theatre above. There was a model farm and dairy; a polo-field, and an +enclosed riding-ring for the children; and dog-kennels and pigeon-houses, +greenhouses and deer-parks—one was prepared for bear-pits and a +menagerie. Finally, on their way back, they passed the casino, where musical +chimes pealed out the quarter-hours. Montague stopped and gazed up at the tower +from which the sounds had come. +</p> + +<p> +The more he gazed, the more he found to gaze at. The roof of this building had +many gables, in the Queen Anne style; and from the midst of them shot up the +tower, which was octagonal and solid, suggestive of the Normans. It was +decorated with Christmas-wreaths in white stucco, and a few miscellaneous +ornaments like the gilded tassels one sees upon plush curtains. Overtopping all +of this was the dome of a Turkish mosque. Rising out of the dome was something +that looked like a dove-cot; and out of this rose the slender white steeple of +a Methodist country church. On top of that was a statue of Diana. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you looking at?” asked the Major. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing,” said Montague, as he moved on. “Has there ever +been any insanity in the Havens family?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” replied the other, puzzled. “They say +the old man never could sleep at night, and used to wander about alone in the +park. I suppose he had things on his conscience.” +</p> + +<p> +They strolled away; and the Major’s flood-gates of gossip were opened. +There was an old merchant in New York, who had been Havens’s private +secretary. And Havens was always in terror of assassination, and so whenever +they travelled abroad he and the secretary exchanged places. “The old man +is big and imposing,” said the Major, “and it’s funny to hear +him tell how he used to receive the visitors and be stared at by the crowds, +while Havens, who was little and insignificant, would pretend to make himself +useful. And then one day a wild-looking creature came into the Havens office, +and began tearing the wrappings off some package that shone like +metal—and quick as a flash he and Havens flung themselves down on the +floor upon their faces. Then, as nothing happened, they looked up, and saw the +puzzled stranger gazing over the railing at them. He had a patent churn, made +of copper, which he wanted Havens to market for him!” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Montague could have wished that this party might last for a week or two, +instead of only two days. He was interested in the life, and in those who lived +it; all whom he met were people prominent in the social world, and some in the +business world as well, and one could not have asked a better chance to study +them. +</p> + +<p> +Montague was taking his time and feeling his way slowly. But all the time that +he was playing and gossiping he never lost from mind his real purpose, which +was to find a place for himself in the world of affairs; and he watched for +people from whose conversation he could get a view of this aspect of things. So +he was interested when Mrs. Smythe remarked that among his fellow-guests was +Vandam, an official of one of the great life-insurance companies. +“Freddie” Vandam, as the lady called him, was a man of might in the +financial world; and Montague said to himself that in meeting him he would +really be accomplishing something. Crack shots and polo-players and +four-in-hand experts were all very well, but he had his living to earn, and he +feared that the problem was going to prove complicated. +</p> + +<p> +So he was glad when chance brought him and young Vandam together, and Siegfried +Harvey introduced them. And then Montague got the biggest shock which New York +had given him yet. +</p> + +<p> +It was not what Freddie Vandam said; doubtless he had a right to be interested +in the Horse Show, since he was to exhibit many fine horses, and he had no +reason to feel called upon to talk about anything more serious to a stranger at +a house party. But it was the manner of the man, his whole personality. For +Freddie was a man of fashion, with all the exaggerated and farcical mannerisms +of the dandy of the comic papers. He wore a conspicuous and foppish costume, +and posed with a little cane; he cultivated a waving pompadour, and his silky +moustache and beard were carefully trimmed to points, and kept sharp by his +active fingers. His conversation was full of French phrases and French +opinions; he had been reared abroad, and had a whole-souled contempt for all +things American—even dictating his business letters in French, and +leaving it for his stenographer to translate them. His shirts were embroidered +with violets and perfumed with violets—and there were bunches of violets +at his horses’ heads, so that he might get the odour as he drove! +</p> + +<p> +There was a cruel saying about Freddie Vandam—that if only he had had a +little more brains, he would have been half-witted. And Montague sat, and +watched his mannerisms and listened to his inanities, with his mind in a state +of bewilderment and dismay. When at last he got up and walked away, it was with +a new sense of the complicated nature of the problem that confronted him. Who +was there that could give him the key to this mystery—who could interpret +to him a world in which a man such as this was in control of four or five +hundred millions of trust funds? +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<p> +It was quite futile to attempt to induce anyone to talk about serious matters +just now—for the coming week all Society belonged to the horse. The +parties which went to church on Sunday morning talked about horses on the way, +and the crowds that gathered in front of the church door to watch them descend +from their automobiles, and to get “points” on their conspicuous +costumes—these would read about horses all afternoon in the Sunday +papers, and about the gowns which the women would wear at the show. +</p> + +<p> +Some of the party went up on Sunday evening; Montague went with the rest on +Monday morning, and had lunch with Mrs. Robbie Walling and Oliver and Alice. +They had arrayed him in a frock coat and silk hat and fancy +“spats”; and they took him and sat him in the front row of +Robbie’s box. +</p> + +<p> +There was a great tan-bark arena, in which the horses performed; and then a +railing, and a broad promenade for the spectators; and then, raised a few feet +above, the boxes in which sat all Society. For the Horse Show had now become a +great social function. Last year a visiting foreign prince had seen fit to +attend it, and this year “everybody” would come. +</p> + +<p> +Montague was rapidly getting used to things; he observed with a smile how easy +it was to take for granted embroidered bed and table linen, and mural +paintings, and private cars, and gold plate. At first it had seemed to him +strange to be waited upon by a white woman, and by a white man quite +unthinkable; but he was becoming accustomed to having silent and expressionless +lackeys everywhere about him, attending to his slightest want. So he presumed +that if he waited long enough, he might even get used to horses which had their +tails cut off to stumps, and their manes to rows of bristles, and which had +been taught to lift their feet in strange and eccentric ways, and were driven +with burred bits in their mouths to torture them and make them step lively. +</p> + +<p> +There were road-horses, coach-horses, saddle-horses and hunters, polo-ponies, +stud-horses—every kind of horse that is used for pleasure, over a hundred +different “classes” of them. They were put through their paces +about the ring, and there was a committee which judged them, and awarded blue +and red ribbons. Apparently their highly artificial kind of excellence was a +real thing to the people who took part in the show; for the spectators thrilled +with excitement, and applauded the popular victors. There was a whole set of +conventions which were generally understood—there was even a new +language. You were told that these “turnouts” were +“nobby” and “natty”; they were “swagger” +and “smart” and “swell.” +</p> + +<p> +However, the horse was really a small part of this show; before one had sat out +an afternoon he realized that the function was in reality a show of Society. +For six or seven hours during the day the broad promenade would be so packed +with human beings that one moved about with difficulty; and this throng gazed +towards the ring almost never—it stared up into the boxes. All the year +round the discontented millions of the middle classes read of the doings of the +“smart set”; and here they had a chance to come and see +them—alive, and real, and dressed in their showiest costumes. Here was +all the <i>grand monde</i>, in numbered boxes, and with their names upon the +programmes, so that one could get them straight. Ten thousand people from other +cities had come to New York on purpose to get a look. Women who lived in +boarding-houses and made their own clothes, had come to get hints; all the +dressmakers in town were present for the same purpose.. Society reporters had +come, with notebooks in hand; and next morning the imitators of Society all +over the United States would read about it, in such fashion as this: +“Mrs. Chauncey Venable was becomingly gowned in mauve cloth, made with an +Eton jacket trimmed with silk braid, and opening over a chemisette of lace. Her +hat was of the same colour, draped with a great quantity of mauve and orange +tulle, and surmounted with birds of paradise to match. Her furs were silver +fox.” +</p> + +<p> +The most intelligent of the great metropolitan dailies would print columns of +this sort of material; and as for the “yellow” journals, they would +have discussions of the costumes by “experts,” and half a page of +pictures of the most conspicuous of the box-holders. While Montague sat talking +with Mrs. Walling, half a dozen cameras were snapped at them; and once a young +man with a sketch-book placed himself in front of them and went placidly to +work.—Concerning such things the society dame had three different sets of +emotions: first, the one which she showed in public, that of bored and +contemptuous indifference; second, the one which she expressed to her friends, +that of outraged but helpless indignation; and third, the one which she really +felt, that of triumphant exultation over her rivals, whose pictures were not +published and whose costumes were not described. +</p> + +<p> +It was a great dress parade of society women. One who wished to play a proper +part in it would spend at least ten thousand dollars upon her costumes for the +week. It was necessary to have a different gown for the afternoon and evening +of each day; and some, who were adepts at quick changes and were proud of it, +would wear three or four a day, and so need a couple of dozen gowns for the +show. And of course there had to be hats and shoes and gloves to match. There +would be robes of priceless fur hung carelessly over the balcony to make a +setting; and in the evening there would be pyrotechnical displays of jewels. +Mrs. Virginia Landis wore a pair of simple pearl earrings, which she told the +reporters had cost twenty thousand dollars; and there were two women who +displayed four hundred thousand dollars’ worth of diamonds—and each +of them had hired a detective to hover about in the crowd and keep watch over +her! +</p> + +<p> +Nor must one suppose, because the horse was an inconspicuous part of the show, +that he was therefore an inexpensive part. One man was to be seen here driving +a four-in-hand of black stallions which had cost forty thousand; there were +other men who drove only one horse, and had paid forty thousand for that. Half +a million was a moderate estimate of the cost of the “string” which +some would exhibit. And of course these horses were useless, save for show +purposes, and to breed other horses like them. Many of them never went out of +their stables except for exercise upon a track; and the cumbrous and enormously +expensive coaches were never by any possibility used elsewhere—when they +were taken from place to place they seldom went upon their own wheels. +</p> + +<p> +And there were people here who made their chief occupation in life the winning +of blue ribbons at these shows. They kept great country estates especially for +the horses, and had private indoor exhibition rings. Robbie Walling and +Chauncey Venable were both such people; in the summer of next year another of +the Wallings took a string across the water to teach the horse-show game to +Society in London. He took twenty or thirty horses, under the charge of an +expert manager and a dozen assistants; he sent sixteen different kinds of +carriages, and two great coaches, and a ton of harness and other stuff. It +required one whole deck of a steamer, and the expedition enabled him to get rid +of six hundred thousand dollars. +</p> + +<p> +All through the day, of course, Robbie was down in the ring with his trainers +and his competitors, and Montague sat and kept his wife company. There was a +steady stream of visitors, who came to congratulate her upon their successes, +and to commiserate with Mrs. Chauncey Venable over the sufferings of the +unhappy victim of a notoriety-seeking district attorney. +</p> + +<p> +There was just one drawback to the Horse Show, as Montague gathered from the +conversation that went on among the callers: it was public, and there was no +way to prevent undesirable people from taking part. There were, it appeared, +hordes of rich people in New York who were not in Society, and of whose +existence Society was haughtily unaware; but these people might enter horses +and win prizes, and even rent a box and exhibit their clothes. And they might +induce the reporters to mention them—and of course the ignorant populace +did not know the difference, and stared at them just as hard as at Mrs. Robbie +or Mrs. Winnie. And so for a whole blissful week these people had all the +sensations of being in Society! “It won’t be very long before that +will kill the Horse Show,” said Mrs. Vivie Patton, with a snap of her +black eyes. +</p> + +<p> +There was Miss Yvette Simpkins, for instance; Society frothed at the mouth when +her name was mentioned. Miss Yvette was the niece of a stock-broker who was +wealthy, and she thought that she was in Society, and the foolish public +thought so, too. Miss Yvette made a speciality of newspaper publicity; you were +always seeing her picture, with some new “Worth creation,” and the +picture would be labelled “Miss Yvette Simpkins, the best-dressed woman +in New York,” or “Miss Yvette Simpkins, who is known as the best +woman whip in Society.” It was said that Miss Yvette, who was short and +stout, and had a rosy German face, had paid five thousand dollars at one clip +for photographs of herself in a new wardrobe; and her pictures were sent to the +newspapers in bundles of a dozen at a time. Miss Yvette possessed over a +million dollars’ worth of diamonds—the finest in the country, +according to the newspapers; she had spent a hundred and twenty-six thousand +dollars this year upon her clothes, and she gave long interviews, in which she +set forth the fact that a woman nowadays could not really be well dressed upon +less than a hundred thousand a year. It was Miss Yvette’s boast that she +had never ridden in a street-car in her life. +</p> + +<p> +Montague always had a soft spot in his heart for the unfortunate Miss Yvette, +who laboured so hard to be a guiding light; for it chanced to be while she was +in the ring, exhibiting her skill in driving tandem, that he met with a fateful +encounter. Afterward, when he came to look back upon these early days, it +seemed strange to him that he should have gone about this place, so careless +and unsuspecting, while the fates were weaving strange destinies about him. +</p> + +<p> +It was on Tuesday afternoon, and he sat in the box of Mrs. Venable, a +sister-in-law of the Major. The Major, who was a care-free bachelor, was there +himself, and also Betty Wyman, who was making sprightly comments on the +passers-by; and there strolled into the box Chappie de Peyster, accompanied by +a young lady. +</p> + +<p> +So many people had stopped and been introduced and then passed on, that +Montague merely glanced at her once. He noticed that she was tall and graceful, +and caught her name, Miss Hegan. +</p> + +<p> +The turnouts in the ring consisted of one horse harnessed in front of another; +and Montague was wondering what conceivable motive could induce a human being +to hitch and drive horses in that fashion. The conversation turned upon Miss +Yvette, who was in the ring; and Betty remarked upon the airy grace with which +she wielded the long whip she carried. “Did you see what the paper said +about her this morning?” she asked. “‘Miss Simpkins was +exquisitely clad in purple velvet,’ and so on! She looked for all the +world like the Venus at the Hippodrome!” +</p> + +<p> +“Why isn’t she in Society?” asked Montague, curiously. +</p> + +<p> +“She!” exclaimed Betty. “Why, she’s a travesty!” +</p> + +<p> +There was a moment’s pause, preceding a remark by their young lady +visitor. “I’ve an idea,” said she, “that the real +reason she never got into Society was that she was fond of her old +father.” +</p> + +<p> +And Montague gave a short glance at the speaker, who was gazing fixedly into +the ring. He heard the Major chuckle, and he thought that he heard Betty Wyman +give a little sniff. A few moments later the young lady arose, and with some +remark to Mrs. Venable about how well her costume became her, she passed on out +of the box. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is that?” asked Montague. +</p> + +<p> +“That,” the Major answered, “that’s Laura +Hegan—Jim Hegan’s daughter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” said Montague, and caught his breath. Jim +Hegan—Napoleon of finance—czar of a gigantic system of railroads, +and the power behind the political thrones of many states. +</p> + +<p> +“His only daughter, too,” the Major added. “Gad, what a juicy +morsel for somebody!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, she’ll make him pay for all he gets, whoever he is!” +retorted Betty, vindictively. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t like her?” inquired Montague; and Betty replied +promptly, “I do not!” +</p> + +<p> +“Her daddy and Betty’s granddaddy are always at swords’ +points,” put in Major Venable. +</p> + +<p> +“I have nothing to do with my granddaddy’s quarrels,” said +the young lady. “I have troubles enough of my own.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is the matter with Miss Hegan?” asked Montague, laughing. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s an idea she’s too good for the world she lives +in,” said Betty. “When you’re with her, you feel as you will +before the judgment throne.” +</p> + +<p> +“Undoubtedly a disturbing feeling,” put in the Major. +</p> + +<p> +“She never hands you anything but you find a pin hidden in it,” +went on the girl. “All her remarks are meant to be read backward, and my +life is too short to straighten out their kinks. I like a person to say what +they mean in plain English, and then I can either like them or not.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mostly not,” said the Major, grimly; and added, “Anyway, +she’s beautiful.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps,” said the other. “So is the Jungfrau; but I prefer +something more comfortable.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s Chappie de Peyster beauing her around for?” asked +Mrs. Venable. “Is he a candidate?” +</p> + +<p> +“Maybe his debts are troubling him again,” said Mistress Betty. +“He must be in a desperate plight.—Did you hear how Jack Audubon +proposed to her?” +</p> + +<p> +“Did Jack propose?” exclaimed the Major. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course he did,” said the girl. “His brother told +me.” Then, for Montague’s benefit, she explained, “Jack +Audubon is the Major’s nephew, and he’s a bookworm, and spends all +his time collecting scarabs.” +</p> + +<p> +“What did he say to her?” asked the Major, highly amused. +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” said Betty, “he told her he knew she didn’t love +him; but also she knew that he didn’t care anything about her money, and +she might like to marry him so that other men would let her alone.” +</p> + +<p> +“Gad!” cried the old gentleman, slapping his knee. “A +masterpiece!” +</p> + +<p> +“Does she have so many suitors?” asked Montague; and the Major +replied, “My dear boy—she’ll have a hundred million dollars +some day!” +</p> + +<p> +At this point Oliver put in appearance, and Betty got up and went for a stroll +with him; then Montague asked for light upon Miss Hegan’s remark. +</p> + +<p> +“What she said is perfectly true,” replied the Major; “only +it riled Betty. There’s many a gallant dame cruising the social seas who +has stowed her old relatives out of sight in the hold.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter with old Simpkins?” asked the other. +</p> + +<p> +“Just a queer boy,” was the reply. “He has a big pile, and +his one joy in life is the divine Yvette. It is really he who makes her +ridiculous—he has a regular press agent for her, a chap he loads up with +jewellery and cheques whenever he gets her picture into the papers.” +</p> + +<p> +The Major paused a moment to greet some acquaintance, and then resumed the +conversation. Apparently he could gossip in this intimate fashion about any +person whom you named. Old Simpkins had been very poor as a boy, it appeared, +and he had never got over the memory of it. Miss Yvette spent fifty thousand at +a clip for Paris gowns; but every day her old uncle would save up the lumps of +sugar which came with the expensive lunch he had brought to his office. And +when he had several pounds he would send them home by messenger! +</p> + +<p> +This conversation gave Montague a new sense of the complicatedness of the world +into which he had come. Miss Simpkins was “impossible”; and yet +there was—for instance—that Mrs. Landis whom he had met at Mrs. +Winnie Duval’s. He had met her several times at the show; and he heard +the Major and his sister-in-law chuckling over a paragraph in the society +journal, to the effect that Mrs. Virginia van Rensselaer Landis had just +returned from a successful hunting-trip in the far West. He did not see the +humour of this, at least not until they had told him of another paragraph which +had appeared some time before: stating that Mrs. Landis had gone to acquire +residence in South Dakota, taking with her thirty-five trunks and a poodle; and +that “Leanie” Hopkins, the handsome young stock-broker, had taken a +six months’ vow of poverty, chastity, and obedience. +</p> + +<p> +And yet Mrs. Landis was “in” Society! And moreover, she spent +nearly as much upon her clothes as Miss Yvette, and the clothes were quite as +conspicuous; and if the papers did not print pages about them, it was not +because Mrs. Landis was not perfectly willing. She was painted and made up +quite as frankly as any chorus-girl on the stage. She laughed a great deal, and +in a high key, and she and her friends told stories which made Montague wish to +move out of the way. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Landis had for some reason taken a fancy to Alice, and invited her home to +lunch with her twice during the show. And after they had got home in the +evening, the girl sat upon the bed in her fur-trimmed wrapper, and told +Montague and his mother and Mammy Lucy all about her visit. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t believe that woman has a thing to do or to think about in +the world except to wear clothes!” she said. “Why, she has +adjustable mirrors on ball-bearings, so that she can see every part of her +skirts! And she gets all her gowns from Paris, four times a year—she says +there are four seasons now, instead of two! I thought that my new clothes +amounted to something, but my goodness, when I saw hers!” +</p> + +<p> +Then Alice went on to describe the unpacking of fourteen trunks, which had just +come up from the custom-house that day. Mrs. Virginia’s +<i>coutourière</i> had her photograph and her colouring (represented in actual +paints) and a figure made up from exact measurements; and so every one of the +garments would fit her perfectly. Each one came stuffed with tissue paper and +held in place by a lattice-work of tape; and attached to each gown was a piece +of the fabric, from which her shoemaker would make shoes or slippers. There +were street-costumes and opera-wraps, <i>robes de chambre</i> and tea-gowns, +reception-dresses, and wonderful ball and dinner gowns. Most of these latter +were to be embroidered with jewellery before they were worn, and imitation +jewels were sewn on, to show how the real ones were to be placed. These +garments were made of real lace or Parisian embroidery, and the prices paid for +them were almost impossible to credit. Some of them were made of lace so filmy +that the women who made them had to sit in damp cellars, because the sunlight +would dry the fine threads and they would break; a single yard of the lace +represented forty days of labour. There was a pastel “<i>batiste de +soie</i>” Pompadour robe, embroidered with cream silk flowers, which had +cost one thousand dollars. There was a hat to go with it, which had cost a +hundred and twenty-five, and shoes of grey antelope-skin, buckled with +mother-of-pearl, which had cost forty. There was a gorgeous and intricate +ball-dress of pale green chiffon satin, with orchids embroidered in oxidized +silver, and a long court train, studded with diamonds—and this had cost +six thousand dollars without the jewels! And there was an auto-coat which had +cost three thousand; and an opera-wrap made in Leipsic, of white unborn baby +lamb, lined with ermine, which had cost twelve thousand—with a thousand +additional for a hat to match! Mrs. Landis thought nothing of paying +thirty-five dollars for a lace handkerchief, or sixty dollars for a pair of +spun silk hose, or two hundred dollars for a pearl and gold-handled parasol +trimmed with cascades of chiffon, and made, like her hats, one for each gown. +</p> + +<p> +“And she insists that these things are worth the money,” said +Alice. “She says it’s not only the material in them, but the ideas. +Each costume is a study, like a picture. ‘I pay for the creative genius +of the artist,’ she said to me—‘for his ability to catch my +ideas and apply them to my personality—my complexion and hair and eyes. +Sometimes I design my own costumes, and so I know what hard work it +is!’” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Landis came from one of New York’s oldest families, and she was +wealthy in her own right; she had a palace on Fifth Avenue, and now that she +had turned her husband out, she had nothing at all to put in it except her +clothes. Alice told about the places in which she kept them—it was like a +museum! There was a gown-room, made dust-proof, of polished hardwood, and with +tier upon tier of long poles running across, and padded skirt-supporters +hanging from them. Everywhere there was order and system—each skirt was +numbered, and in a chiffonier-drawer of the same number you would find the +waist—and so on with hats and stockings and gloves and shoes and +parasols. There was a row of closets, having shelves piled up with dainty +lace-trimmed and beribboned <i>lingerie;</i> there were two closets full of +hats and three of shoes. “When she went West,” said Alice, +“one of her maids counted, and found that she had over four hundred +pairs! And she actually has a cabinet with a card-catalogue to keep track of +them. And all the shelves are lined with perfumed silk sachets, and she has +tiny sachets sewed in every skirt and waist; and she has her own private +perfume—she gave me some. She calls it <i>Cœur de Jeannette</i>, and she +says she designed it herself, and had it patented!” +</p> + +<p> +And then Alice went on to describe the maid’s work-room, which was also +of polished hardwood, and dust-proof, and had a balcony for brushing clothes, +and wires upon which to hang them, and hot and cold water, and a big +ironing-table and an electric stove. “But there can’t be much work +to do,” laughed the girl, “for she never wears a gown more than two +or three times. Just think of paying several thousand dollars for a costume, +and giving it to your poor relations after you have worn it only twice! And the +worst of it is that Mrs. Landis says it’s all nothing unusual; +you’ll find such arrangements in every home of people who are socially +prominent. She says there are women who boast of never appearing twice in the +same gown, and there’s one dreadful personage in Boston who wears each +costume once, and then has it solemnly cremated by her butler!” +</p> + +<p> +“It is wicked to do such things,” put in old Mrs. Montague, when +she had heard this tale through. “I don’t see how people can get +any pleasure out of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what I said,” replied Alice. +</p> + +<p> +“To whom did you say that?” asked Montague. “To Mrs. +Landis?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Alice, “to a cousin of hers. I was downstairs +waiting for her, and this girl came in. And we got to talking about it, and I +said that I didn’t think I could ever get used to such things.” +</p> + +<p> +“What did she say?” asked the other. +</p> + +<p> +“She answered me strangely,” said the girl. “She’s +tall, and very stately, and I was a little bit afraid of her. She said, +‘You’ll get used to it. Everybody you know will be doing it, and if +you try to do differently they’ll take offence; and you won’t have +the courage to do without friends. You’ll be meaning every day to stop, +but you never will, and you’ll go on until you die.’” +</p> + +<p> +“What did you say to that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing,” answered Alice. “Just then Mrs. Landis came in, +and Miss Hegan went away.” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Hegan?” echoed Montague. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said the other. “That’s her name—Laura +Hegan. Have you met her?” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap08"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<p> +The Horse Show was held in Madison Square Garden, a building occupying a whole +city block. It seemed to Montague that during the four days he attended he was +introduced to enough people to fill it to the doors. Each one of the exquisite +ladies and gentlemen extended to him a delicately gloved hand, and remarked +what perfect weather they were having, and asked him how long he had been in +New York, and what he thought of it. Then they would talk about the horses, and +about the people who were present, and what they had on. +</p> + +<p> +He saw little of his brother, who was squiring the Walling ladies most of the +time; and Alice, too, was generally separated from him and taken care of by +others. Yet he was never alone—there was always some young matron ready +to lead him to her carriage and whisk him away to lunch or dinner. +</p> + +<p> +Many times he wondered why people should be so kind to him, a stranger, and one +who could do nothing for them in return. Mrs. Billy Alden undertook to explain +it to him, one afternoon, as he sat in her box. There had to be some people to +enjoy, it appeared, or there would be no fun in the game. “Everything is +new and strange to you,” said she, “and you’re delicious and +refreshing; you make these women think perhaps they oughtn’t to be so +bored after all! Here’s a woman who’s bought a great painting; +she’s told that it’s great, but she doesn’t understand it +herself—all she knows is that it cost her a hundred thousand dollars. And +now you come along, and to you it’s really a painting—and +don’t you see how gratifying that is to her?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oliver is always telling me it’s bad form to admire,” said +the man, laughing. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” said the other. “Well, don’t you let that +brother of yours spoil you. There are more than enough of <i>blasé</i> people +in town—you be yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +He appreciated the compliment, but added, “I’m afraid that when the +novelty is worn off, people will be tired of me.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll find your place,” said Mrs. Alden—“the +people you like and who like you.” And she went on to explain that here +he was being passed about among a number of very different “sets,” +with different people and different tastes. Society had become split up in that +manner of late—each set being jealous and contemptuous of all the other +sets. Because of the fact that they overlapped a little at the edges, it was +possible for him to meet here a great many people who never met each other, and +were even unaware of each other’s existence. +</p> + +<p> +And Mrs. Alden went on to set forth the difference between these +“sets”; they ran from the most exclusive down to the most +“yellow,” where they shaded off into the disreputable rich—of +whom, it seemed, there were hordes in the city. These included +“sporting” and theatrical and political people, some of whom were +very rich indeed; and these sets in turn shaded off into the criminals and the +<i>demi-monde</i>—who might also easily be rich. “Some day,” +said Mrs. Alden “you should get my brother to tell you about all these +people. He’s been in politics, you know, and he has a +racing-stable.” +</p> + +<p> +And Mrs. Alden told him about the subtle little differences in the conventions +of these various sets of Society. There was the matter of women smoking, for +instance. All women smoked, nowadays; but some would do it only in their own +apartments, with their women friends; and some would retire to an +out-of-the-way corner to do it; while others would smoke in their own +dining-rooms, or wherever the men smoked. All agreed however, in never smoking +“in public”—that is, where they would be seen by people not +of their own set. Such, at any rate, had always been the rule, though a few +daring ones were beginning to defy even that. +</p> + +<p> +Such rules were very rigid, but they were purely conventional, they had nothing +to do with right or wrong: a fact which Mrs. Alden set forth with her usual +incisiveness. A woman, married or unmarried, might travel with a man all over +Europe, and every one might know that she did it, but it would make no +difference, so long as she did not do it in America. There was one young matron +whom Montague would meet, a raging beauty, who regularly got drunk at dinner +parties, and had to be escorted to her carriage by the butler. She moved in the +most exclusive circles, and every one treated it as a joke. Unpleasant things +like this did not hurt a person unless they got “out”—that +is, unless they became a scandal in the courts or the newspapers. Mrs. Alden +herself had a cousin (whom she cordially hated) who had gotten a divorce from +her husband and married her lover forthwith and had for this been ostracized by +Society. Once when she came to some semi-public affair, fifty women had risen +at once and left the room! She might have lived with her lover, both before and +after the divorce, and every one might have known it, and no one would have +cared; but the <i>convenances</i> declared that she should not marry him until +a year had elapsed after the divorce. +</p> + +<p> +One thing to which Mrs. Alden could testify, as a result of a lifetime’s +observation, was the rapid rate at which these conventions, even the most +essential of them, were giving way, and being replaced by a general “do +as you please.” Anyone could see that the power of women like Mrs. Devon, +who represented the old régime, and were dignified and austere and exclusive, +was yielding before the onslaught of new people, who were bizarre and fantastic +and promiscuous and loud. And the younger sets cared no more about +anyone—nor about anything under heaven, save to have a good time in their +own harum-scarum ways. In the old days one always received a neatly-written or +engraved invitation to dinner, worded in impersonal and formal style; but the +other day Mrs. Alden had found a message which had been taken from the +telephone: “Please come to dinner, but don’t come unless you can +bring a man, or we’ll be thirteen at the table.” +</p> + +<p> +And along with this went a perfectly incredible increase in luxury and +extravagance. “You are surprised at what you see here to-day,” said +she—“but take my word for it, if you were to come back five years +later, you’d find all our present standards antiquated, and our present +pace-makers sent to the rear. You’d find new hotels and theatres opening, +and food and clothing and furniture that cost twice as much as they cost now. +Not so long ago a private car was a luxury; now it’s as much a necessity +as an opera-box or a private ball-room, and people who really count have +private trains. I can remember when our girls wore pretty muslin gowns in +summer, and sent them to wash; now they wear what they call <i>lingerie</i> +gowns, dimity <i>en princesse</i>, with silk embroidery and real lace and +ribbons, that cost a thousand dollars apiece and won’t wash. Years ago +when I gave a dinner, I invited a dozen friends, and my own chef cooked it and +my own servants served it. Now I have to pay my steward ten thousand a year, +and nothing that I have is good enough. I have to ask forty or fifty people, +and I call in a caterer, and he brings everything of his own, and my servants +go off and get drunk. You used to get a good dinner for ten dollars a plate, +and fifteen was something special; but now you hear of dinners that cost a +thousand a plate! And it’s not enough to have beautiful flowers on the +table—you have to have ‘scenery’; there must be a rural +landscape for a background, and goldfish in the finger-bowls, and five thousand +dollars’ worth of Florida orchids on the table, and floral favours of +roses that cost a hundred and fifty dollars a dozen. I attended a dinner at the +Waldorf last year that had cost fifty thousand dollars; and when I ask those +people to see me, I have to give them as good as I got. The other day I paid a +thousand dollars for a table-cloth!” +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you do it?” asked Montague, abruptly. +</p> + +<p> +“God knows,” said the other; “I don’t. I sometimes +wonder myself. I guess it’s because I’ve nothing else to do. +It’s like the story they tell about my brother—he was losing money +in a gambling-place in Saratoga, and some one said to him, ‘Davy, why do +you go there—don’t you know the game is crooked?’ ‘Of +course it’s crooked,’ said he, ‘but, damn it, it’s the +only game in town!’” +</p> + +<p> +“The pressure is more than anyone can stand,” said Mrs. Alden, +after a moment’s thought. “It’s like trying to swim against a +current. You have to float, and do what every one expects you to do—your +children and your friends and your servants and your tradespeople. All the +world is in a conspiracy against you.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s appalling to me,” said the man. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said the other, “and there’s never any end to +it. You think you know it all, but you find you really know very little. Just +think of the number of people there are trying to go the pace! They say there +are seven thousand millionaires in this country, but I say there are twenty +thousand in New York alone—or if they don’t own a million, +they’re spending the income of it, which amounts to the same thing. You +can figure that a man who pays ten thousand a year for rent is paying fifty +thousand to live; and there’s Fifth Avenue—two miles of it, if you +count the uptown and downtown parts; and there’s Madison Avenue, and half +a dozen houses adjoining on every side street; and then there are the hotels +and apartment houses, to say nothing of the West Side and Riverside Drive. And +you meet these mobs of people in the shops and the hotels and the theatres, and +they all want to be better dressed than you. I saw a woman here to-day that I +never saw in my life before, and I heard her say she’d paid two thousand +dollars for a lace handkerchief; and it might have been true, for I’ve +been asked to pay ten thousand for a lace shawl at a bargain. It’s a +common enough thing to see a woman walking on Fifth Avenue with twenty or +thirty thousand dollars’ worth of furs on her. Fifty thousand is often +paid for a coat of sable, and I know of one that cost two hundred thousand. I +know women who have a dozen sets of furs—ermine, chinchilla, black fox, +baby lamb, and mink and sable; and I know a man whose chauffeur quit him +because he wouldn’t buy him a ten-thousand-dollar fur coat! And once +people used to pack their furs away and take care of them; but now they wear +them about the street, or at the sea-shore, and you can fairly see them fade. +Or else their cut goes out of fashion, and so they have to have new +ones!” +</p> + +<p> +All that was material for thought. It was all true—there was no question +about that. It seemed to be the rule that whenever you questioned a tale of the +extravagances of New York, you would hear the next day of something several +times more startling. Montague was staggered at the idea of a +two-hundred-thousand-dollar fur coat; and yet not long afterward there arrived +in the city a titled Englishwoman, who owned a coat worth a million dollars, +which hard-headed insurance companies had insured for half a million. It was +made of the soft plumage of rare Hawaiian birds, and had taken twenty years to +make; each feather was crescent-shaped, and there were wonderful designs in +crimson and gold and black. Every day in the casual conversation of your +acquaintances you heard of similar incredible things; a tiny antique Persian +rug, which could be folded into an overcoat pocket, for ten thousand dollars; a +set of five “art fans,” each blade painted by a famous artist and +costing forty-three thousand dollars; a crystal cup for eighty thousand; an +<i>edition de luxe</i> of the works of Dickens for a hundred thousand; a ruby, +the size of a pigeon’s egg, for three hundred thousand. In some of these +great New York palaces there were fountains which cost a hundred dollars a +minute to run; and in the harbour there were yachts which cost twenty thousand +a month to keep in commission. +</p> + +<p> +And that same day, as it chanced, he learned of a brand-new kind of +squandering. He went home to lunch with Mrs. Winnie Duval, and there met Mrs. +Caroline Smythe, with whom he had talked at Castle Havens. Mrs. Smythe, whose +husband had been a well-known Wall Street plunger, was soft and mushy, and very +gushing in manner; and she asked him to come home to dinner with her, adding, +“I’ll introduce you to my babies.” +</p> + +<p> +From what Montague had so far seen, he judged that babies played a very small +part in the lives of the women of Society; and so he was interested, and asked, +“How many have you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Only two, in town,” said Mrs. Smythe. “I’ve just come +up, you see.” +</p> + +<p> +“How old are they?” he inquired politely; and when the lady added, +“About two years,” he asked, “Won’t they be in bed by +dinner time?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh my, no!” said Mrs. Smythe. “The dear little lambs wait up +for me. I always find them scratching at my chamber door and wagging their +little tails.” +</p> + +<p> +Then Mrs. Winnie laughed merrily and said, “Why do you fool him?” +and went on to inform Montague that Caroline’s “babies” were +<i>griffons Bruxelloises. Griffons</i> suggested to him vague ideas of dragons +and unicorns and gargoyles; but he said nothing more, save to accept the +invitation, and that evening he discovered that <i>griffons Bruxelloises</i> +were tiny dogs, long-haired, yellow, and fluffy; and that for her two priceless +treasures Mrs. Smythe had an expert nurse, to whom she paid a hundred dollars a +month, and also a footman, and a special cuisine in which their complicated +food was prepared. They had a regular dentist, and a physician, and gold plate +to eat from. Mrs. Smythe also owned two long-haired St. Bernards of a very rare +breed, and a fierce Great Dane, and a very fat Boston bull pup—the last +having been trained to go for an airing all alone in her carriage, with a +solemn coachman and footman to drive him. +</p> + +<p> +Montague, deftly keeping the conversation upon the subject of pets, learned +that all this was quite common. Many women in Society artificially made +themselves barren, because of the inconvenience incidental to pregnancy and +motherhood; and instead they lavished their affections upon cats and dogs. Some +of these animals had elaborate costumes, rivalling in expensiveness those of +their step-mothers. They wore tiny boots, which cost eight dollars a +pair—house boots, and street boots lacing up to the knees; they had +house-coats, walking-coats, dusters, sweaters, coats lined with ermine, and +automobile coats with head and chest-protectors and hoods and goggles—and +each coat fitted with a pocket for its tiny handkerchief of fine linen or lace! +And they had collars set with rubies and pearls and diamonds—one had a +collar that cost ten thousand dollars! Sometimes there would be a coat to match +every gown of the owner. There were dog nurseries and resting-rooms, in which +they might be left temporarily; and manicure parlours for cats, with a +physician in charge. When these pets died, there was an expensive cemetery in +Brooklyn especially for their interment; and they would be duly embalmed and +buried in plush-lined casket, and would have costly marble monuments. When one +of Mrs. Smythe’s best loved pugs had fallen ill of congestion of the +liver, she had had tan-bark put upon the street in front of her house; and when +in spite of this the dog died, she had sent out cards edged in black, inviting +her friends to a “memorial service.” Also she showed Montague a +number of books with very costly bindings, in which were demonstrated the +unity, simplicity, and immortality of the souls of cats and dogs. +</p> + +<p> +Apparently the sentimental Mrs. Smythe was willing to talk about these pets all +through dinner; and so was her aunt, a thin and angular spinster, who sat on +Montague’s other side. And he was willing to listen—he wanted to +know it all. There were umbrellas for dogs, to be fastened over their backs in +wet weather; there were manicure and toilet sets, and silver medicine-chests, +and jewel-studded whips. There were sets of engraved visiting-cards; there were +wheel-chairs in which invalid cats and dogs might be taken for an airing. There +were shows for cats and dogs, with pedigrees and prizes, and nearly as great +crowds as the Horse Show; Mrs. Smythe’s St. Bernards were worth seven +thousand dollars apiece, and there were bull-dogs worth twice that. There was a +woman who had come all the way from the Pacific coast to have a specialist +perform an operation upon the throat of her Yorkshire terrier! There was +another who had built for her dog a tiny Queen Anne cottage, with rooms papered +and carpeted and hung with lace curtains! Once a young man of fashion had come +to the Waldorf and registered himself and “Miss Elsie Cochrane”; +and when the clerk made the usual inquiries as to the relationship of the young +lady, it transpired that Miss Elsie was a dog, arrayed in a prim little +tea-gown, and requiring a room to herself. And then there was a tale of a cat +which had inherited a life-pension from a forty-thousand-dollar estate; it had +a two-floor apartment and several attendants, and sat at table and ate shrimps +and Italian chestnuts, and had a velvet couch for naps, and a fur-lined basket +for sleeping at night! +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Four days of horses were enough for Montague, and on Friday morning, when +Siegfried Harvey called him up and asked if he and Alice would come out to +“The Roost” for the week-end, he accepted gladly. Charlie Carter +was going, and volunteered to take them in his car; and so again they crossed +the Williamsburg Bridge—“the Jewish passover,” as Charlie +called it—and went out on Long Island. +</p> + +<p> +Montague was very anxious to get a “line” on Charlie Carter; for he +had not been prepared for the startling promptness with which this young man +had fallen at Alice’s feet. It was so obvious, that everybody was smiling +over it—he was with her every minute that he could arrange it, and he +turned up at every place to which she was invited. Both Mrs. Winnie and Oliver +were quite evidently complacent, but Montague was by no means the same. Charlie +had struck him as a good-natured but rather weak youth, inclined to melancholy; +he was never without a cigarette in his fingers, and there had been signs that +he was not quite proof against the pitfalls which Society set about him in the +shape of decanters and wine-cups: though in a world where the fragrance of +spirits was never out of one’s nostrils, and where people drank with such +perplexing frequency, it was hard to know where to draw a line. +</p> + +<p> +“You won’t find my place like Havens’s,” Siegfried +Harvey had said. “It is real country.” Montague found it the most +attractive of all the homes he had seen so far. It was a big rambling house, +all in rustic style, with great hewn logs outside, and rafters within, and a +winding oak stairway, and any number of dens and cosy corners, and broad +window-seats with mountains of pillows. Everything here was built for +comfort—there was a billiard-room and a smoking-room, and a real library +with readable books and great chairs in which one sank out of sight. There were +log fires blazing everywhere, and pictures on the walls that told of sport, and +no end of guns and antlers and trophies of all sorts. But you were not to +suppose that all this elaborate rusticity would be any excuse for the absence +of attendants in livery, and a chef who boasted the <i>cordon bleu</i>, and a +dinner-table resplendent with crystal and silver and orchids and ferns. After +all, though the host called it a “small” place, he had invited +twenty guests, and he had a hunter in his stables for each one of them. +</p> + +<p> +But the most wonderful thing about “The Roost” was the fact that, +at a touch of a button, all the walls of the lower rooms vanished into the +second story, and there was one huge, log-lighted room, with violins tuning up +and calling to one’s feet. They set a fast pace here—the dancing +lasted until three o’clock, and at dawn again they were dressed and +mounted, and following the pink-coated grooms and the hounds across the +frost-covered fields. +</p> + +<p> +Montague was half prepared for a tame fox, but this was spared him. There was a +real game, it seemed; and soon the pack gave tongue, and away went the hunt. It +was the wildest ride that Montague ever had taken—over ditches and +streams and innumerable rail-fences, and through thick coverts and densely +populated barnyards; but he was in at the death, and Alice was only a few yards +behind, to the immense delight of the company. This seemed to Montague the +first real life he had met, and he thought to himself that these full-blooded +and high-spirited men and women made a “set” into which he would +have been glad to fit—save only that he had to earn his living, and they +did not. +</p> + +<p> +In the afternoon there was more riding, and walks in the crisp November air; +and indoors, bridge and rackets and ping-pong, and a fast and furious game of +roulette, with the host as banker. “Do I look much like a professional +gambler?” he asked of Montague; and when the other replied that he had +not yet met any New York gamblers, young Harvey went on to tell how he had gone +to buy this apparatus (the sale of which was forbidden by law) and had been +asked by the dealer how “strong” he wanted it! +</p> + +<p> +Then in the evening there was more dancing, and on Sunday another hunt. That +night a gambling mood seemed to seize the company—there were two bridge +tables, and in another room the most reckless game of poker that Montague had +ever sat in. It broke up at three in the morning, and one of the company wrote +him a cheque for sixty-five hundred dollars; but even that could not entirely +smooth his conscience, nor reconcile him to the fever that was in his blood. +</p> + +<p> +Most important to him, however, was the fact that during the game he at last +got to know Charlie Carter. Charlie did not play, for the reason that he was +drunk, and one of the company told him so and refused to play with him; which +left poor Charlie nothing to do but get drunker. This he did, and came and hung +over the shoulders of the players, and told the company all about himself. +</p> + +<p> +Montague was prepared to allow for the “wild oats” of a youngster +with unlimited money, but never in his life had he heard or dreamed of anything +like this boy. For half an hour he wandered about the table, and poured out a +steady stream of obscenities; his mind was like a swamp, in which dwelt +loathsome and hideous serpents which came to the surface at night and showed +their flat heads and their slimy coils. In the heavens above or the earth +beneath there was nothing sacred to him; there was nothing too revolting to be +spewed out. And the company accepted the performance as an old story—the +men would laugh, and push the boy away, and say, “Oh, Charlie, go to the +devil!” +</p> + +<p> +After it was all over, Montague took one of the company aside and asked him +what it meant; to which the man replied: “Good God! Do you mean that +nobody has told you about Charlie Carter?” +</p> + +<p> +It appeared that Charlie was one of the “gilded youths” of the +Tenderloin, whose exploits had been celebrated in the papers. And after the +attendants had bundled him off to bed, several of the men gathered about the +fire and sipped hot punch, and rehearsed for Montague’s benefit some of +his leading exploits. +</p> + +<p> +Charlie was only twenty-three, it seemed; and when he was ten his father had +died and left eight or ten millions in trust for him, in the care of a poor, +foolish aunt whom he twisted about his finger. At the age of twelve he was a +cigarette fiend, and had the run of the wine-cellar. When he went to a rich +private school he took whole trunks full of cigarettes with him, and finally +ran away to Europe, to acquire the learning of the brothels of Paris. And then +he came home and struck the Tenderloin; and at three o’clock one morning +he walked through a plate-glass window, and so the newspapers took him up. That +had suddenly opened a new vista in life for Charlie—he became a devotee +of fame; everywhere he went he was followed by newspaper reporters and a +staring crowd. He carried wads as big round as his arm, and gave away +hundred-dollar tips to bootblacks, and lost forty thousand dollars in a game of +poker. He gave a fête to the <i>demi-monde</i>, with a jewelled Christmas tree +in midsummer, and fifty thousand dollars’ worth of splendour. But the +greatest stroke of all was the announcement that he was going to build a +submarine yacht and fill it with chorus-girls!—Now Charlie had sunk out +of public attention, and his friends would not see him for days; he would be +lying in a “sporting house” literally wallowing in champagne. +</p> + +<p> +And all this, Montague realized, his brother must have known! And he had said +not a word about it—because of the eight or ten millions which Charlie +would have when he was twenty-five! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap09"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<p> +In the morning they went home with others of the party by train. They could not +wait for Charlie and his automobile, because Monday was the opening night of +the Opera, and no one could miss that. Here Society would appear in its most +gorgeous raiment, and, there would be a show of jewellery such as could be seen +nowhere else in the world. +</p> + +<p> +General Prentice and his wife had opened their town-house, and had invited them +to dinner and to share their box; and so at about half-past nine o’clock +Montague found himself seated in a great balcony of the shape of a horseshoe, +with several hundred of the richest people in the city. There was another tier +of boxes above, and three galleries above that, and a thousand or more people +seated and standing below him. Upon the big stage there was an elaborate and +showy play, the words of which were sung to the accompaniment of an orchestra. +</p> + +<p> +Now Montague had never heard an opera, and he was fond of music. The second act +had just begun when he came in, and all through it he sat quite spellbound, +listening to the most ravishing strains that ever he had heard in his life. He +scarcely noticed that Mrs. Prentice was spending her time studying the +occupants of the other boxes through a jewelled lorgnette, or that Oliver was +chattering to her daughter. +</p> + +<p> +But after the act was over, Oliver got him alone outside the box, and +whispered, “For God’s sake, Allan, don’t make a fool of +yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, what’s the matter?” asked the other. +</p> + +<p> +“What will people think,” exclaimed Oliver, “seeing you +sitting there like a man in a dope dream?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” laughed the other, “they’ll think I’m +listening to the music.” +</p> + +<p> +To which Oliver responded, “People don’t come to the Opera to +listen to the music.” +</p> + +<p> +This sounded like a joke, but it was not. To Society the Opera was a great +state function, an exhibition of far more exclusiveness and magnificence than +the Horse Show; and Society certainly had the right to say, for it owned the +opera-house and ran it. The real music-lovers who came, either stood up in the +back, or sat in the fifth gallery, close to the ceiling, where the air was foul +and hot. How much Society cared about the play was sufficiently indicated by +the fact that all of the operas were sung in foreign languages, and sung so +carelessly that the few who understood the languages could make but little of +the words. Once there was a world-poet who devoted his life to trying to make +the Opera an art; and in the battle with Society he all but starved to death. +Now, after half a century, his genius had triumphed, and Society consented to +sit for hours in darkness and listen to the domestic disputes of German gods +and goddesses. But what Society really cared for was a play with beautiful +costumes and scenery and dancing, and pretty songs to which one could listen +while one talked; the story must be elemental and passionate, so that one could +understand it in pantomime—say the tragic love of a beautiful and +noble-minded courtesan for a gallant young man of fashion. +</p> + +<p> +Nearly every one who came to the Opera had a glass, by means of which he could +bring each gorgeously-clad society dame close to him, and study her at leisure. +There were said to be two hundred million dollars’ worth of diamonds in +New York, and those that were not in the stores were very apt to be at this +show; for here was where they could accomplish the purpose for which they +existed—here was where all the world came to stare at them. There were +nine prominent Society women, who among them displayed five million +dollars’ worth of jewels. You would see stomachers which looked like a +piece of a coat of mail, and were made wholly of blazing diamonds. You would +see emeralds and rubies and diamonds and pearls made in tiaras—that is to +say, imitation crowns and coronets—and exhibited with a stout and solemn +dowager for a pediment. One of the Wallings had set this fashion, and now every +one of importance wore them. One lady to whom Montague was introduced made a +speciality of pearls—two black pearl ear-rings at forty thousand dollars, +a string at three hundred thousand, a brooch of pink pearls at fifty thousand, +and two necklaces at a quarter of a million each! +</p> + +<p> +This incessant repetition of the prices of things came to seem very sordid; but +Montague found that there was no getting away from it. The people in Society +who paid these prices affected to be above all such considerations, to be +interested only in the beauty and artistic excellence of the things themselves; +but one found that they always talked about the prices which other people had +paid, and that somehow other people always knew what they had paid. They took +care also to see that the public and the newspapers knew what they had paid, +and knew everything else that they were doing. At this Opera, for instance, +there was a diagram of the boxes printed upon the programme, and a list of all +the box-holders, so that anyone could tell who was who. You might see these +great dames in their gorgeous robes coming from their carriages, with crowds +staring at them and detectives hovering about. And the bosom of each would be +throbbing with a wild and wonderful vision of the moment when she would enter +her box, and the music would be forgotten, and all eyes would be turned upon +her; and she would lay aside her wraps, and flash upon the staring throngs, a +vision of dazzling splendour. +</p> + +<p> +Some of these jewels were family treasures, well known to New York for +generations; and in such cases it was becoming the fashion to leave the real +jewels in the safe-deposit vault, and to wear imitation stones exactly like +them. From homes where the jewels were kept, detectives were never absent, and +in many cases there were detectives watching the detectives; and yet every once +in a while the newspapers would be full of a sensational story of a robbery. +Then the unfortunates who chanced to be suspected would be seized by the police +and subjected to what was jocularly termed the “third degree,” and +consisted of tortures as elaborate and cruel as any which the Spanish +Inquisition had invented. The advertising value of this kind of thing was found +to be so great that famous actresses also had costly jewels, and now and then +would have them stolen. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +That night, when they had got home, Montague had a talk with his cousin about +Charlie Carter. He discovered a peculiar situation. It seemed that Alice +already knew that Charlie had been “bad.” He was sick and +miserable; and her beauty and innocence had touched him and made him ashamed of +himself, and he had hinted darkly at dreadful evils. Thus carefully veiled, and +tinged with mystery and romance, Montague could understand how Charlie made an +interesting and appealing figure. “He says I’m different from any +girl he ever met,” said Alice—a remark of such striking originality +that her cousin could not keep back his smile. +</p> + +<p> +Alice was not the least bit in love with him, and had no idea of being; and she +said that she would accept no invitations, and never go alone with him; but she +did not see how she could avoid him when she met him at other people’s +houses. And to this Montague had to assent. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +General Prentice had inquired kindly as to what Montague had seen in New York, +and how he was getting along. He added that he had talked about him to Judge +Ellis, and that when he was ready to get to work, the Judge would perhaps have +some suggestions to make to him. He approved, however, of Montague’s plan +of getting his bearings first; and said that he would introduce him and put him +up at a couple of the leading clubs. +</p> + +<p> +All this remained in Montague’s mind; but there was no use trying to +think of it at the moment. Thanksgiving was at hand, and in countless country +mansions there would be gaieties under way. Bertie Stuyvesant had planned an +excursion to his Adirondack camp, and had invited a score or so of young +people, including the Montagues. This would be a new feature of the +city’s life, worth knowing about. +</p> + +<p> +Their expedition began with a theatre-party. Bertie had engaged four boxes, and +they met there, an hour or so after the performance had begun. This made no +difference, however, for the play was like the opera-a number of songs and +dances strung together, and with only plot enough to provide occasion for +elaborate scenery and costumes. From the play they were carried to the Grand +Central Station, and a little before midnight Bertie’s private train set +out on its journey. +</p> + +<p> +This train was a completely equipped hotel. There was a baggage compartment and +a dining-car and kitchen; and a drawing-room and library-car; and a +bedroom-car—not with berths, such as the ordinary sleeping-car provides, +but with comfortable bedrooms, furnished in white mahogany, and provided with +running water and electric light. All these cars were built of steel, and +automatically ventilated: and they were furnished in the luxurious fashion of +everything with which Bertie Stuyvesant had anything to do. In the library-car +there were velvet carpets upon the floor, and furniture of South American +mahogany, and paintings upon the walls over which great artists had laboured +for years. +</p> + +<p> +Bertie’s chef and servants were on board, and a supper was ready in the +dining-car, which they ate while watching the Hudson by moonlight. And the next +morning they reached their destination, a little station in the mountain +wilderness. The train lay upon a switch, and so they had breakfast at their +leisure, and then, bundled in furs, came out into the crisp pine-laden air of +the woods. There was snow upon the ground, and eight big sleighs waiting; and +for nearly three hours they drove in the frosty sunlight, through most +beautiful mountain scenery. A good part of the drive was in Bertie’s +“preserve,” and the road was private, as big signs notified one +every hundred yards or so. +</p> + +<p> +So at last they reached a lake, winding like a snake among towering hills, and +with a huge baronial castle standing out upon the rocky shore. This imitation +fortress was the “camp.” +</p> + +<p> +Bertie’s father had built it, and visited it only half a dozen times in +his life. Bertie himself had only been here twice, he said. The deer were so +plentiful that in the winter they died in scores. Nevertheless there were +thirty game-keepers to guard the ten thousand acres of forest, and prevent +anyone’s hunting in it. There were many such “preserves” in +this Adirondack wilderness, so Montague was told; one man had a whole mountain +fenced about with heavy iron railing, and had moose and elk and even wild boar +inside. And as for the “camps,” there were so many that a new style +of architecture had been developed here—to say nothing of those which +followed old styles, like this imported Rhine castle. One of Bertie’s +crowd had a big Swiss chalet; and one of the Wallings had a Japanese palace to +which he came every August—a house which had been built from plans drawn +in Japan, and by labourers imported especially from Japan. It was full of +Japanese ware—furniture, tapestry, and mosaics; and the guides remembered +with wonder the strange silent, brown-skinned little men who had laboured for +days at carving a bit of wood, and had built a tiny pagoda-like tea-house with +more bits of wood in it than a man could count in a week. +</p> + +<p> +They had a luncheon of fresh venison and partridges and trout, and in the +afternoon a hunt. The more active set out to track the deer in the snow; but +most prepared to watch the lake-shore, while the game-keepers turned loose the +dogs back in the hills. This “hounding” was against the law, but +Bertie was his own law here—and at the worst there could simply be a +small fine, imposed upon some of the keepers. They drove eight or ten deer to +water; and as they fired as many as twenty shots at one deer, they had quite a +lively time. Then at dusk they came back, in a fine glow of excitement, and +spent the evening before the blazing logs, telling over their adventures. +</p> + +<p> +The party spent two days and a half here, and on the last evening, which was +Thanksgiving, they had a wild turkey which Bertie had shot the week before in +Virginia, and were entertained by a minstrel show which had been brought up +from New York the night before. The next afternoon they drove back to the +train. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +In the morning, when they reached the city, Alice found a note from Mrs. Winnie +Duval, begging her and Montague to come to lunch and attend a private lecture +by the Swami Babubanana, who would tell them all about the previous states of +their souls. They went—though not without a protest from old Mrs. +Montague, who declared it was “worse than Bob Ingersoll.” +</p> + +<p> +And then, in the evening, came Mrs. de Graffenried’s opening +entertainment, which was one of the great events of the social year. In the +general rush of things Montague had not had a chance properly to realize it; +but Reggie Mann and Mrs. de Graffenried had been working over it for weeks. +When the Montagues arrived, they found the Riverside mansion—which was +decorated in imitation of an Arabian palace—turned into a jungle of +tropical plants. +</p> + +<p> +They had come early at Reggie’s request, and he introduced them to Mrs. +de Graffenried, a tall and angular lady with a leathern complexion painfully +painted; Mrs. de Graffenried was about fifty years of age, but like all the +women of Society she was made up for thirty. Just at present there were beads +of perspiration upon her forehead; something had gone wrong at the last moment, +and so Reggie would have no time to show them the favours, as he had intended. +</p> + +<p> +About a hundred and fifty guests were invited to this entertainment. A supper +was served at little tables in the great ball-room, and afterward the guests +wandered about the house while the tables were whisked out of the way and the +room turned into a play-house. A company from one of the Broadway theatres +would be bundled into cabs at the end of the performance, and by midnight they +would be ready to repeat the performance at Mrs. de Graffenried’s. +Montague chanced to be near when this company arrived, and he observed that the +guests had crowded up too close, and not left room enough for the actors. So +the manager had placed them in a little ante-room, and when Mrs. de Graffenried +observed this, she rushed at the man, and swore at him like a dragoon, and +ordered the bewildered performers out into the main room. +</p> + +<p> +But this was peering behind the scenes, and he was supposed to be watching the +play. The entertainment was another “musical comedy” like the one +he had seen a few nights before. On that occasion, however, Bertie +Stuyvesant’s sister had talked to him the whole time, while now he was +let alone, and had a chance to watch the performance. +</p> + +<p> +This was a very popular play; it had had a long run, and the papers told how +its author had an income of a couple of hundred thousand dollars a year. And +here was an audience of the most rich and influential people in the city; and +they laughed and clapped, and made it clear that they were enjoying themselves +heartily. And what sort of a play was it? +</p> + +<p> +It was called “The Kaliph of Kamskatka.” It had no shred of a plot; +the Kaliph had seventeen wives, and there was an American drummer who wanted to +sell him another—but then you did not need to remember this, for nothing +came of it. There was nothing in the play which could be called a +character—there was nothing which could be connected with any real +emotion ever felt by human beings. Nor could one say that there was any +incident—at least nothing happened because of anything else. Each event +was a separate thing, like the spasmodic jerking in the face of an idiot. Of +this sort of “action” there was any quantity—at an +instant’s notice every one on the stage would fall simultaneously into +this condition of idiotic jerking. There was rushing about, shouting, laughing, +exclaiming; the stage was in a continual uproar of excitement, which was +without any reason or meaning. So it was impossible to think of the actors in +their parts; one kept thinking of them as human beings—thinking of the +awful tragedy of full-grown men and women being compelled by the pressure of +hunger to dress up and paint themselves, and then come out in public and dance, +stamp, leap about, wring their hands, make faces, and otherwise be +“lively.” +</p> + +<p> +The costumes were of two sorts: one fantastic, supposed to represent the East, +and the other a kind of <i>reductio ad absurdum</i> of fashionable garb. The +leading man wore a “natty” outing-suit, and strutted with a little +cane; his stock-in-trade was a jaunty air, a kind of perpetual flourish, and a +wink that suggested the cunning of a satyr. The leading lady changed her +costume several times in each act; but it invariably contained the elements of +bare arms and bosom and back, and a skirt which did not reach her knees, and +bright-coloured silk stockings, and slippers with heels two inches high. Upon +the least provocation she would execute a little pirouette, which would reveal +the rest of her legs, surrounded by a mass of lace ruffles. It is the nature of +the human mind to seek the end of things; if this woman had worn a suit of +tights and nothing else, she would have been as uninteresting as an underwear +advertisement in a magazine; but this incessant not-quite-revealing of herself +exerted a subtle fascination. At frequent intervals the orchestra would start +up a jerky little tune, and the two “stars” would begin to sing in +nasal voices some words expressive of passion; then the man would take the +woman about the waist and dance and swing her about and bend her backward and +gaze into her eyes—actions all vaguely suggestive of the relationship of +sex. At the end of the verse a chorus would come gliding on, clad in any sort +of costume which admitted of colour and the display of legs; the painted women +of this chorus were never still for an instant—if they were not actually +dancing, they were wriggling their legs, and jerking their bodies from side to +side, and nodding their heads, and in all other possible ways being +“lively.” +</p> + +<p> +But it was not the physical indecency of this show that struck Montague so much +as its intellectual content. The dialogue of the piece was what is called +“smart”; that is, it was full of a kind of innuendo which implied a +secret understanding of evil between the actor and his audience—a sort of +countersign which passed between them. After all, it would have been an error +to say that there were no ideas in the play—there was one idea upon which +all the interest of it was based; and Montague strove to analyze this idea and +formulate it to himself. There are certain life principles—one might call +them moral axioms—which are the result of the experience of countless +ages of the human race, and upon the adherence to which the continuance of the +race depends. And here was an audience by whom all these principles +were—not questioned, nor yet disputed, nor yet denied—but to whom +the denial was the axiom, something which it would be too banal to state +flatly, but which it was elegant and witty to take for granted. In this +audience there were elderly people, and married men and women, and young men +and maidens; and a perfect gale of laughter swept through it at a story of a +married woman whose lover had left her when he got married:— +</p> + +<p> +“She must have been heartbroken,” said the leading lady. +</p> + +<p> +“She was desperate,” said the leading man, with a grin. +</p> + +<p> +“What did she do?” asked the lady “Go and shoot +herself?” +</p> + +<p> +“Worse than that,” said the man. “She, went back to her +husband and had a baby!” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +But to complete your understanding of the significance of this play, you must +bring yourself to realize that it was not merely a play, but a <i>kind</i> of a +play; it had a name—a “musical comedy”—the meaning of +which every one understood. Hundreds of such plays were written and produced, +and “dramatic critics” went to see them and gravely discussed them, +and many thousands of people made their livings by travelling over the country +and playing them; stately theatres were built for them, and hundreds of +thousands of people paid their money every night to see them. And all this no +joke and no nightmare—but a thing that really existed. Men and women were +doing these things—actual flesh-and-blood human beings. +</p> + +<p> +Montague wondered, in an awestricken sort of way, what kind of human being it +could be who had flourished the cane and made the grimaces in that play. Later +on, when he came to know the “Tenderloin,” he met this same actor, +and he found that he had begun life as a little Irish “mick” who +lived in a tenement, and whose mother stood at the head of the stairway and +defended him with a rolling-pin against a policeman who was chasing him. He had +discovered that he could make a living by his comical antics; but when he came +home and told his mother that he had been offered twenty dollars a week by a +show manager, she gave him a licking for lying to her. Now he was making three +thousand dollars a week—more than the President of the United States and +his Cabinet; but he was not happy, as he confided to Montague, because he did +not know how to read, and this was a cause of perpetual humiliation. The secret +desire of this little actor’s heart was to play Shakespeare; he had +“Hamlet” read to him, and pondered how to act it—all the time +that he was flourishing his little cane and making his grimaces! He had chanced +to be on the stage when a fire had broken out, and five or six hundred victims +of greed were roasted to death. The actor had pleaded with the people to keep +their seats, but all in vain; and all his life thereafter he went about with +this vision of horror in his mind, and haunted by the passionate conviction +that he had failed because of his lack of education—that if only he had +been a man of culture, he would have been able to think of something to say to +hold those terror-stricken people! +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +At three o’clock in the morning the performance came to an end, and then +there were more refreshments; and Mrs. Vivie Patton came and sat by him, and +they had a nice comfortable gossip. When Mrs. Vivie once got started at talking +about people, her tongue ran on like a windmill. +</p> + +<p> +There was Reggie Mann, meandering about and simpering at people. Reggie was in +his glory at Mrs. de Graffenried’s affairs. Reggie had arranged all +this—he did the designing and the ordering, and contracted for the shows +with the agents. You could bet that he had got his commission on them, +too—though sometimes Mrs. de Graffenried got the shows to come for +nothing, because of the advertising her name would bring. Commissions were +Reggie’s speciality—he had begun life as an auto agent. Montague +didn’t know what that was? An auto agent was a man who was for ever +begging his friends to use a certain kind of car, so that he might make a +living; and Reggie had made about thirty thousand a year in that way. He had +come from Boston, where his reputation had been made by the fact that early one +morning, as they were driving home from a celebration, he had dared a young +society matron to take off her shoes and stockings, and get out and wade in the +public fountain; and she had done it, and he had followed her. On the strength +of the eclat of this he had been taken up by Mrs. Devon; and one day Mrs. Devon +had worn a white gown, and asked him what he thought of it. “It needs but +one thing to make it perfect,” said Reggie, and taking a red rose, he +pinned it upon her corsage. The effect was magical; every one exclaimed with +delight, and so Reggie’s reputation as an authority upon dress was made +for ever. Now he was Mrs. de Graffenried’s right-hand man, and they made +up their pranks together. Once they had walked down the street in Newport with +a big rag doll between them. And Reggie had given a dinner at which the guest +of honour had been a monkey—surely Montague had heard of that, for it had +been the sensation of the season. It was really the funniest thing imaginable; +the monkey wore a suit of broad-cloth with collar and cuffs, and he shook hands +with all the guests, and behaved himself exactly like a gentleman—except +that he did not get drunk. +</p> + +<p> +And then Mrs. Vivie pointed out the great Mrs. Ridgley-Clieveden, who was +sitting with one of her favourites, a grave, black-bearded gentleman who had +leaped into fame by inheriting fifty million dollars. “Mrs. R.-C.” +had taken him up, and ordered his engagement book for him, and he was solemnly +playing the part of a social light. He had purchased an old New York mansion, +upon the decoration of which three million dollars had been spent; and when he +came down to business from Tuxedo, his private train waited all day for him +with steam up. Mrs. Vivie told an amusing tale of a woman who had announced her +engagement to him, and borrowed large sums of money upon the strength of it, +before his denial came out. That had been a source of great delight to Mrs. de +Graffenried, who was furiously jealous of “Mrs. R. C.” +</p> + +<p> +From the anecdotes that people told, Montague judged that Mrs. de Graffenried +must be one of those new leaders of Society, who, as Mrs. Alden said, were +inclined to the bizarre and fantastic. Mrs. de Graffenried spent half a million +dollars every season to hold the position of leader of the Newport set, and you +could always count upon her for new and striking ideas. Once she had given away +as cotillion favours tiny globes with goldfish in them; again she had given a +dance at which everybody got themselves up as different vegetables. She was +fond of going about at Newport and inviting people haphazard to +lunch—thirty or forty at a time—and then surprising them with a +splendid banquet. Again she would give a big formal dinner, and perplex people +by offering them something which they really cared to eat. “You +see,” explained Mrs. Vivie, “at these dinners we generally get +thick green turtle soup, and omelettes with some sort of Florida water poured +over them, and mushrooms cooked under glass, and real hand-made desserts; but +Mrs. de Graffenried dares to have baked ham and sweet potatoes, or even real +roast beef. You saw to-night that she had green corn; she must have arranged +for that months ahead—we can never get it from Porto Rico until January. +And you see this little dish of wild strawberries—they were probably +transplanted and raised in a hothouse, and every single one wrapped separately +before they were shipped.” +</p> + +<p> +All these labours had made Mrs. de Graffenried a tremendous power in the social +world. She had a savage tongue, said Mrs. Vivie, and every one lived in terror +of her; but once in a while she met her match. Once she had invited a comic +opera star to sing for her guests, and all the men had crowded round this +actress, and Mrs. de Graffenried had flown into a passion and tried to drive +them away; and the actress, lolling back in her chair, and gazing up idly at +Mrs. de Graffenried, had drawled, “<i>Ten years older than +God!</i>” Poor Mrs. de Graffenried would carry that saying with her until +she died. +</p> + +<p> +Something reminiscent of this came under Montague’s notice that same +evening. At about four o’clock Mrs. Vivie wished to go home, and asked +him to find her escort, the Count St. Elmo de Champignon—the man, by the +way, for whom her husband was gunning. Montague roamed all about the house, and +finally went downstairs, where a room had been set apart for the theatrical +company to partake of refreshments. Mrs. de Graffenried’s secretary was +on guard at the door; but some of the boys had got into the room, and were +drinking champagne and “making dates” with the chorus-girls. And +here was Mrs. de Graffenried herself, pushing them bodily out of the room, a +score and more of them—and among them Mrs. Vivie’s Count! +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Montague delivered his message, and then went upstairs to wait until his own +party should be ready to leave. In the smoking-room were a number of men, also +waiting; and among them he noticed Major Venable, in conversation with a man +whom he did not know. “Come over here,” the Major called; and +Montague obeyed, at the same time noticing the stranger. +</p> + +<p> +He was a tall, loose-jointed, powerfully built man, a small head and a very +striking face: a grim mouth with drooping corners tightly set, and a hawk-like +nose, and deep-set, peering eyes. “Have you met Mr. Hegan?” said +the Major. “Hegan, this is Mr. Allan Montague.” Jim Hegan! Montague +repressed a stare and took the chair which they offered him. “Have a +cigar,” said Hegan, holding out his case. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Montague has just come to New York,” said the Major. “He +is a Southerner, too.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed?” said Hegan, and inquired what State he came from. +Montague replied, and added, “I had the pleasure of meeting your daughter +last week, at the Horse Show.” +</p> + +<p> +That served to start a conversation; for Hegan came from Texas, and when he +found that Montague knew about horses—real horses—he warmed to him. +Then the Major’s party called him away, and the other two were left to +carry on the conversation. +</p> + +<p> +It was very easy to chat with Hegan; and yet underneath, in the other’s +mind, there lurked a vague feeling of trepidation, as he realized that he was +chatting with a hundred millions of dollars. Montague was new enough at the +game to imagine that there ought to be something strange, some atmosphere of +awe and mystery, about a man who was master of a dozen railroads and of the +politics of half a dozen States. He was simple and very kindly in his manner, a +plain man, interested in plain things. There was about him, as he talked, a +trace of timidity, almost of apology, which Montague noticed and wondered at. +It was only later, when he had time to think about it, that he realized that +Hegan had begun as a farmer’s boy in Texas, a “poor white”; +and could it be that after all these years an instinct remained in him, so that +whenever he met a gentleman of the old South he stood by with a little +deference, seeming to beg pardon for his hundred millions of dollars? +</p> + +<p> +And yet there was the power of the man. Even chatting about horses, you felt +it; you felt that there was a part of him which did not chat, but which sat +behind and watched. And strangest of all, Montague found himself fancying that +behind the face that smiled was another face, that did not smile, but that was +grim and set. It was a strange face, with its broad, sweeping eyebrows and its +drooping mouth; it haunted Montague and made him feel ill at ease. +</p> + +<p> +There came Laura Hegan, who greeted them in her stately way; and Mrs. Hegan, +bustling and vivacious, costumed <i>en grande dame</i>. “Come and see me +some time,” said the man. “You won’t be apt to meet me +otherwise, for I don’t go about much.” And so they took their +departure; and Montague sat alone and smoked and thought. The face still stayed +with him; and now suddenly, in a burst of light, it came to him what it was: +the face of a bird of prey—of the great wild, lonely eagle! You have seen +it, perhaps, in a menagerie; sitting high up, submitting patiently, biding its +time. But all the while the soul of the eagle is far away, ranging the wide +spaces, ready for the lightning swoop, and the clutch with the cruel talons! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap10"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<p> +The next week was a busy one for the Montagues. The Robbie Wallings had come to +town and opened their house, and the time drew near for the wonderful débutante +dance at which Alice was to be formally presented to Society. And of course +Alice must have a new dress for the occasion, and it must be absolutely the +most beautiful dress ever known. In an idle moment her cousin figured out that +it was to cost her about five dollars a minute to be entertained by the +Wallings! +</p> + +<p> +What it would cost the Wallings, one scarcely dared to think. Their ballroom +would be turned into a flower-garden; and there would be a supper for a hundred +guests, and still another supper after the dance, and costly favours for every +figure. The purchasing of these latter had been entrusted to Oliver, and +Montague heard with dismay what they were to cost. “Robbie couldn’t +afford to do anything second-rate,” was the younger brother’s only +reply to his exclamations. +</p> + +<p> +Alice divided her time between the Wallings and her costumiers, and every +evening she came home with a new tale of important developments. Alice was new +at the game, and could afford to be excited; and Mrs. Robbie liked to see her +bright face, and to smile indulgently at her eager inquiries. Mrs. Robbie +herself had given her orders to her steward and her florist and her secretary, +and went on her way and thought no more about it. That was the way of the great +ladies—or, at any rate, it was their pose. +</p> + +<p> +The town-house of the Robbies was a stately palace occupying a block upon Fifth +Avenue—one of the half-dozen mansions of the Walling family which were +among the show places of the city. It would take a catalogue to list the +establishments maintained by the Wallings—there was an estate in North +Carolina, and another in the Adirondacks, and others on Long Island and in New +Jersey. Also there were several in Newport—one which was almost never +occupied, and which Mrs. Billy Alden sarcastically described as “a +three-million-dollar castle on a desert.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague accompanied Alice once or twice, and had an opportunity to study Mrs. +Robbie at home. There were thirty-eight servants in her establishment; it was a +little state all in itself, with Mrs. Robbie as queen, and her housekeeper as +prime minister, and under them as many different ranks and classes and castes +as in a feudal principality. There had to be six separate dining-rooms for the +various kinds of servants who scorned each other; there were servants’ +servants and servants of servants’ servants. There were only three to +whom the mistress was supposed to give orders—the butler, the steward, +and the housekeeper; she did not even know the names of many of them, and they +were changed so often, that, as she declared, she had to leave it to her +detective to distinguish between employees and burglars. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Robbie was quite a young woman, but it pleased her to pose as a care-worn +matron, weary of the responsibilities of her exalted station. The ignorant +looked on and pictured her as living in the lap of ease, endowed with every +opportunity: in reality the meanest kitchen-maid was freer—she was quite +worn thin with the burdens that fell upon her. The huge machine was for ever +threatening to fall to pieces, and required the wisdom of Solomon and the +patience of Job to keep it running. One paid one’s steward a fortune, and +yet he robbed right and left, and quarrelled with the chef besides. The butler +was suspected of getting drunk upon rare and costly vintages, and the new +parlour-maid had turned out to be a Sunday reporter in disguise. The man who +had come every day for ten years to wind the clocks of the establishment was +dead, and the one who took care of the bric-à-brac was sick, and the +housekeeper was in a panic over the prospect of having to train another. +</p> + +<p> +And even suppose that you escaped from these things, the real problems of your +life had still to be faced. It was not enough to keep alive; you had your +career—your duties as a leader of Society. There was the daily mail, with +all the pitiful letters from people begging money—actually in one single +week there were demands for two million dollars. There were geniuses with +patent incubators and stove-lifters, and every time you gave a ball you stirred +up swarms of anarchists and cranks. And then there were the letters you really +had to answer, and the calls that had to be paid. These latter were so many +that people in the same neighbourhood had arranged to have the same day at +home; thus, if you lived on Madison Avenue you had Thursday; but even then it +took a whole afternoon to leave your cards. And then there were invitations to +be sent and accepted; and one was always making mistakes and offending +somebody—people would become mortal enemies overnight, and expect all the +world to know it the next morning. And now there were so many divorces and +remarryings, with consequent changing of names; and some men knew about their +wives’ lovers and didn’t care, and some did care, but didn’t +know—altogether it was like carrying a dozen chess games in your head. +And then there was the hairdresser and the manicurist and the masseuse, and the +tailor and the bootmaker and the jeweller; and then one absolutely had to +glance through a newspaper, and to see one’s children now and then. +</p> + +<p> +All this Mrs. Robbie explained at luncheon; it was the rich man’s burden, +about which common people had no conception whatever. A person with a lot of +money was like a barrel of molasses—all the flies in the neighbourhood +came buzzing about. It was perfectly incredible, the lengths to which people +would go to get invited to your house; not only would they write and beg you, +they might attack your business interests, and even bribe your friends. And on +the other hand, when people thought you needed them, the time you had to get +them to come! “Fancy,” said Mrs. Robbie, “offering to give a +dinner to an English countess, and having her try to charge you for +coming!” And incredible as it might seem, some people had actually +yielded to her, and the disgusting creature had played the social celebrity for +a whole season, and made quite a handsome income out of it. There seemed to be +no limit to the abjectness of some of the tuft-hunters in Society. +</p> + +<p> +It was instructive to hear Mrs. Robbie denounce such evils; and yet—alas +for human frailty—the next time that Montague called, the great lady was +blazing with wrath over the tidings that a new foreign prince was coming to +America, and that Mrs. Ridgely-Clieveden had stolen a march upon her and +grabbed him. He was to be under her tutelage the entire time, and all the +effulgence of his magnificence would be radiated upon that upstart house. Mrs. +Robbie revenged herself by saying as many disagreeable things about Mrs. +Ridgley-Clieveden as she could think of; winding up with the declaration that +if she behaved with this prince as she had with the Russian grand duke, Mrs. +Robbie Walling, for one, would cut her dead. And truly the details which Mrs. +Robbie cited were calculated to suggest that her rival’s hospitality was +a reversion to the customs of primitive savagery. +</p> + +<p> +The above is a fair sample of the kind of conversation that one heard whenever +one visited any of the Wallings. Perhaps, as Mrs. Robbie said, it may have been +their millions that made necessary their attitude toward other people; certain +it was, at any rate, that Montague found them all most disagreeable people to +know. There was always some tempest in a teapot over the latest machinations of +their enemies. And then there was the whole dead mass of people who sponged +upon them and toadied to them; and finally the barbarian hordes outside the +magic circle of their acquaintance—some specimens of whom came up every +day for ridicule. They had big feet and false teeth; they ate mush and +molasses; they wore ready-made ties; they said: “Do you wish that I +should do it?” Their grandfathers had been butchers and pedlars and other +abhorrent things. Montague tried his best to like the Wallings, because of what +they were doing for Alice; but after he had sat at their lunch-table and +listened to a conversation such as this, he found himself in need of fresh air. +</p> + +<p> +And then he would begin to wonder about his own relation to these people. If +they talked about every one else behind their backs, certainly they must talk +about him behind his. And why did they go out of their way to make him at home, +and why were they spending their money to launch Alice in Society? In the +beginning he had assumed that they did it out of the goodness of their hearts; +but now that he had looked into their hearts, he rejected the explanation. It +was not their way to shower princely gifts upon strangers; in general, the +attitude of all the Wallings toward a stranger was that of the London +hooligan—“‘Eave a ’arf a brick at ’im!” +They considered themselves especially appointed by Providence to protect +Society from the vulgar newly rich who poured into the city, seeking for +notoriety and recognition. They prided themselves upon this attitude—they +called it their “exclusiveness”; and the exclusiveness of the +younger generations of Wallings had become a kind of insanity. +</p> + +<p> +Nor could the reason be that Alice was beautiful and attractive. One could have +imagined it if Mrs. Robbie had been like—say, Mrs. Winnie Duval. It was +easy to think of Mrs. Winnie taking a fancy to a girl, and spending half her +fortune upon her. But from a hundred little things that he had seen, Montague +had come to realize that the Robbie Wallings, with all their wealth and power +and grandeur, were actually quite stingy. While all the world saw them +scattering fortunes in their pathway, in reality they were keeping track of +every dollar. And Robbie himself was liable to panic fits of economy, in which +he went to the most absurd excesses—Montague once heard him haggling over +fifty cents with a cabman. Lavish hosts though they both were, it was the +literal truth that they never spent money upon anyone but themselves—the +end and aim of their every action was the power and prestige of the Robbie +Wallings. +</p> + +<p> +“They do it because they are friends of mine,” said Oliver, and +evidently wished that to satisfy his brother. But it only shifted the problem +and set him to watching Robbie and Oliver, and trying to make out the basis of +their relationship. There was a very grave question concerned in this. Oliver +had come to New York comparatively poor, and now he was rich—or, at any +rate, he lived like a rich man. And his brother, whose scent was growing keener +with every day of his stay in New York, had about made up his mind that Oliver +got his money from Robbie Walling. +</p> + +<p> +Here, again, the problem would have been simple, if it had been another person +than Robbie; Montague would have concluded that his brother was a +“hanger-on.” There were many great families whose establishments +were infested with such parasites. Siegfried Harvey, for instance, was a man +who had always half a dozen young chaps hanging about him; good-looking and +lively fellows, who hunted and played bridge, and amused the married women +while their husbands were at work, and who, if ever they dropped a hint that +they were hard up, might be reasonably certain of being offered a cheque. But +if the Robbie Wallings were to write cheques, it must be for value received. +And what could the value be? +</p> + +<p> +“Ollie” was rather a little god among the ultra-swagger; his taste +was a kind of inspiration. And yet his brother noticed that in such questions +he always deferred instantly to the Wallings; and surely the Wallings were not +people to be persuaded that they needed anyone to guide them in matters of +taste. Again, Ollie was the very devil of a wit, and people were heartily +afraid of him; and Montague had noticed that he never by any chance made fun of +Robbie—that the fetiches of the house of Walling were always treated with +respect. So he had wondered if by any chance Robbie was maintaining his brother +in princely state for the sake of his ability to make other people +uncomfortable. But he realized that the Robbies, in their own view of it, could +have no more need of wit than a battleship has need of popguns. Oliver’s +position, when they were about, was rather that of the man who hardly ever +dared to be as clever as he might, because of the restless jealousy of his +friend. +</p> + +<p> +It was a mystery; and it made the elder brother very uncomfortable. Alice was +young and guileless, and a pleasant person to patronize; but he was a man of +the world, and it was his business to protect her. He had always paid his own +way through life, and he was very loath to put himself under obligations to +people like the Wallings, whom he did not like, and who, he felt instinctively, +could not like him. +</p> + +<p> +But of course there was nothing he could do about it. The date for the great +festivity was set; and the Wallings were affable and friendly, and Alice all +a-tremble with excitement. The evening arrived, and with it came the enemies of +the Wallings, dressed in their jewels and fine raiment. They had been asked +because they were too important to be skipped, and they had come because the +Wallings were too powerful to be ignored. They revenged themselves by consuming +many courses of elaborate and costly viands; and they shook hands with Alice +and beamed upon her, and then discussed her behind her back as if she were a +French doll in a show-case. They decided unanimously that her elder cousin was +a “stick,” and that the whole family were interlopers and shameless +adventurers; but it was understood that since the Robbie Wallings had seen fit +to take them up, it would be necessary to invite them about. +</p> + +<p> +At any rate, that was the way it all seemed to Montague, who had been brooding. +To Alice it was a splendid festivity, to which exquisite people came to take +delight in each other’s society. There were gorgeous costumes and +sparkling gems; there was a symphony of perfumes, intoxicating the senses, and +a golden flood of music streaming by; there were laughing voices and admiring +glances, and handsome partners with whom one might dance through the portals of +fairyland.—And then, next morning, there were accounts in all the +newspapers, with descriptions of one’s costume and then some of those +present, and even the complete menus of the supper, to assist in preserving the +memories of the wonderful occasion. +</p> + +<p> +Now they were really in Society. A reporter called to get Alice’s photo +for the Sunday supplement; and floods of invitations came—and with them +all the cares and perplexities about which Mrs. Robbie had told. Some of these +invitations had to be declined, and one must know whom it was safe to offend. +Also, there was a long letter from a destitute widow, and a proposal from a +foreign count. Mrs. Robbie’s secretary had a list of many hundreds of +these professional beggars and blackmailers. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Conspicuous at the dance was Mrs. Winnie, in a glorious electric-blue silk +gown. And she shook her fan at Montague, exclaiming, “You wretched +man—you promised to come and see me!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been out of town,” Montague protested. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, come to dinner to-morrow night,” said Mrs. Winnie. +“There’ll be some bridge fiends.” +</p> + +<p> +“You forget I haven’t learned to play,” he objected. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, come anyhow,” she replied. “We’ll teach you. +I’m no player myself, and my husband will be there, and he’s +good-natured; and my brother Dan—he’ll have to be whether he likes +it or not.” +</p> + +<p> +So Montague visited the Snow Palace again, and met Winton Duval, the +banker,—a tall, military-looking man of about fifty, with a big grey +moustache, and bushy eyebrows, and the head of a lion. His was one of the +city’s biggest banking-houses, and in alliance with powerful interests in +the Street. At present he was going in for mines in Mexico and South America, +and so he was very seldom at home. He was a man of most rigid habits—he +would come back unexpectedly after a month’s trip, and expect to find +everything ready for him, both at home and in his office, as if he had just +stepped round the corner. Montague observed that he took his menu-card and +jotted down his comments upon each dish, and then sent it down to the chef. +Other people’s dinners he very seldom attended, and when his wife gave +her entertainments, he invariably dined at the club. +</p> + +<p> +He pleaded a business engagement for the evening; and as brother Dan did not +appear, Montague did not learn any bridge. The other four guests settled down +to the game, and Montague and Mrs. Winnie sat and chatted, basking before the +fireplace in the great entrance-hall. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you seen Charlie Carter?” was the first question she asked +him. +</p> + +<p> +“Not lately,” he answered; “I met him at +Harvey’s.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know that,” said she. “They tell me he got drunk.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid he did,” said Montague. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor boy!” exclaimed Mrs. Winnie. “And Alice saw him! He +must be heartbroken!” +</p> + +<p> +Montague said nothing. “You know,” she went on, “Charlie +really means well. He has honestly an affectionate nature.” +</p> + +<p> +She paused; and Montague Said, vaguely, “I suppose so.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t like him,” said the other. “I can see that. +And I suppose now Alice will have no use for him, either. And I had it all +fixed up for her to reform him!” +</p> + +<p> +Montague smiled in spite of himself. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I know,” said she. “It wouldn’t have been easy. +But you’ve no idea what a beautiful boy Charlie used to be, until all the +women set to work to ruin him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can imagine it,” said Montague; but he did not warm to the +subject. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re just like my husband,” said Mrs. Winnie, sadly. +“You have no use at all for anything that’s weak or +unfortunate.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a pause. “And I suppose,” she said finally, +“you’ll be turning into a business man also—with no time for +anybody or anything. Have you begun yet?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not yet,” he answered. “I’m still looking +round.” +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t the least idea about business,” she confessed. +“How does one begin at it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t say I know that myself as yet,” said Montague, +laughing. +</p> + +<p> +“Would you like to be a protégé of my husband’s?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +The proposition was rather sudden, but he answered, with a smile, “I +should have no objections. What would he do with me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know that. But he can do whatever he wants down town. And +he’d show you how to make a lot of money if I asked him to.” Then +Mrs. Winnie added, quickly, “I mean it—he could do it, +really.” +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t the least doubt of it,” responded Montague. +</p> + +<p> +“And what’s more,” she went on, “you don’t want +to be shy about taking advantage of the opportunities that come to you. +You’ll find you won’t get along in New York unless you go right in +and grab what you can. People will be quick enough to take advantage of +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“They have all been very kind to me so far,” said he. “But +when I get ready for business, I’ll harden my heart.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Winnie sat lost in meditation. “I think business is dreadful,” +she said. “So much hard work and worry! Why can’t men learn to get +along without it?” +</p> + +<p> +“There are bills that have to be paid,” Montague replied. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s our dreadfully extravagant way of life,” exclaimed the +other. “Sometimes I wish I had never had any money in my life.” +</p> + +<p> +“You would soon tire of it,” said he. “You would miss this +house.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should not miss it a bit,” said Mrs. Winnie, promptly. +“That is really the truth—I don’t care for this sort of thing +at all. I’d like to live simply, and without so many cares and +responsibilities. And some day I’m going to do it, too—I really am. +I’m going to get myself a little farm, away off somewhere in the country. +And I’m going there to live and raise chickens and vegetables, and have +my own flower-gardens, that I can take care of myself. It will all be plain and +simple—” and then Mrs. Winnie stopped short, exclaiming, “You +are laughing at me!” +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all!” said Montague. “But I couldn’t help +thinking about the newspaper reporters—” +</p> + +<p> +“There you are!” said she. “One can never have a beautiful +dream, or try to do anything sensible—because of the newspaper +reporters!” +</p> + +<p> +If Montague had been meeting Mrs. Winnie Duval for the first time, he would +have been impressed by her yearnings for the simple life; he would have thought +it an important sign of the times. But alas, he knew by this time that his +charming hostess had more flummery about her than anybody else he had +encountered—and all of her own devising! Mrs. Winnie smoked her own +private brand of cigarettes, and when she offered them to you, there were the +arms of the old ducal house of Montmorenci on the wrappers! And when you got a +letter from Mrs. Winnie, you observed a three-cent stamp upon the +envelope—for lavender was her colour, and two-cent stamps were an +atrocious red! So one might feel certain that it Mrs. Winnie ever went in for +chicken-raising, the chickens would be especially imported from China or +Patagonia, and the chicken-coops would be precise replicas of those in the old +Chateau de Montmorenci which she had visited in her automobile. +</p> + +<p> +But Mrs. Winnie was beautiful, and quite entertaining to talk to, and so he was +respectfully sympathetic while she told him about her pastoral intentions. And +then she told him about Mrs. Caroline Smythe, who had called a meeting of her +friends at one of the big hotels, and organized a society and founded the +“Bide-a-Wee Home” for destitute cats. After that she switched off +into psychic research—somebody had taken her to a seance, where grave +college professors and ladies in spectacles sat round and waited for ghosts to +materialize. It was Mrs. Winnie’s first experience at this, and she was +as excited as a child who has just found the key to the jam-closet. “I +hardly knew whether to laugh or to be afraid,” she said. “What +would you think?” +</p> + +<p> +“You may have the pleasure of giving me my first impressions of +it,” said Montague, with a laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said she, “they had table-tipping—and it was +the most uncanny thing to see the table go jumping about the room! And then +there were raps—and one can’t imagine how strange it was to see +people who really believed they were getting messages from ghosts. It +positively made my flesh creep. And then this woman—Madame +Somebody-or-other—went into a trance—ugh! Afterward I talked with +one of the men, and he told me about how his father had appeared to him in the +night and told him he had just been drowned at sea. Have you ever heard of such +a thing?” +</p> + +<p> +“We have such a tradition in our family,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“Every family seems to have,” said Mrs. Winnie. “But, dear +me, it made me so uncomfortable—I lay awake all night expecting to see my +own father. He had the asthma, you know; and I kept fancying I heard him +breathing.” +</p> + +<p> +They had risen and were strolling into the conservatory; and she glanced at the +man in armour. “I got to fancying that his ghost might come to see +me,” she said. “I don’t think I shall attend any more +séances. My husband was told that I promised them some money, and he was +furious—he’s afraid it’ll get into the papers.” And +Montague shook with inward laughter, picturing what a time the aristocratic and +stately old banker must have, trying to keep his wife out of the papers! +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Winnie turned on the lights in the fountain, and sat by the edge, gazing +at her fish. Montague was half expecting her to inquire whether he thought that +they had ghosts; but she spared him this, going off on another line. +</p> + +<p> +“I asked Dr. Parry about it,” she said. “Have you met +him?” +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Parry was the rector of St. Cecilia’s, the fashionable Fifth Avenue +church which most of Montague’s acquaintances attended. “I +haven’t been in the city over Sunday yet,” he answered. “But +Alice has met him.” +</p> + +<p> +“You must go with me some time,” said she. “But about the +ghosts—” +</p> + +<p> +“What did he say?” +</p> + +<p> +“He seemed to be shy of them,” laughed Mrs. Winnie. “He said +it had a tendency to lead one into dangerous fields. But oh! I forgot—I +asked my swami also, and it didn’t startle him. They are used to ghosts; +they believe that souls keep coming back to earth, you know. I think if it was +his ghost, I wouldn’t mind seeing it—for he has such beautiful +eyes. He gave me a book of Hindu legends—and there was such a sweet story +about a young princess who loved in vain, and died of grief; and her soul went +into a tigress; and she came in the night-time where her lover lay sleeping by +the firelight, and she carried him off into the ghost-world. It was a most +creepy thing—I sat out here and read it, and I could imagine the terrible +tigress lurking in the shadows, with its stripes shining in the firelight, and +its green eyes gleaming. You know that poem—we used to read it in +school—‘Tiger, tiger, burning bright!’” +</p> + +<p> +It was not very easy for Montague to imagine a tigress in Mrs. Winnie’s +conservatory; unless, indeed, one were willing to take the proposition in a +metaphorical sense. There are wild creatures which sleep in the heart of man, +and which growl now and then, and stir their tawny limbs, and cause one to +start and turn cold. Mrs. Winnie wore a dress of filmy softness, trimmed with +red flowers which paled beside her own intenser colouring. She had a perfume of +her own, with a strange exotic fragrance which touched the chorus of memory as +only an odour can. She leaned towards him, speaking eagerly, with her soft +white arms lying upon the basin’s rim. So much loveliness could not be +gazed at without pain; and a faint trembling passed through Montague, like a +breeze across a pool. Perhaps it touched Mrs. Winnie also, for she fell +suddenly silent, and her gaze wandered off into the darkness. For a minute or +two there was stillness, save for the pulse of the fountain, and the heaving of +her bosom keeping time with it. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +And then in the morning Oliver inquired, “Where were you, last +night?” And when his brother answered, “At Mrs. +Winnie’s,” he smiled and said, “Oh!” Then he added, +gravely, “Cultivate Mrs. Winnie—you can’t do better at +present.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap11"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + +<p> +Montague accepted his friend’s invitation to share her pew at St. +Cecilia’s, and next Sunday morning he and Alice went, and found Mrs. +Winnie with her cousin. Poor Charlie had evidently been scrubbed and shined, +both physically and morally, and got ready to appeal for “one more +chance.” While he shook hands with Alice, he was gazing at her with dumb +and pleading eyes; he seemed to be profoundly grateful that she did not refuse +to enter the pew with him. +</p> + +<p> +A most interesting place was St. Cecilia’s. Church-going was another of +the customs of men and women which Society had taken up, like the Opera, and +made into a state function. Here was a magnificent temple, with carved marble +and rare woods, and jewels gleaming decorously in a dim religious light. At the +door of this edifice would halt the carriages of Society, and its wives and +daughters would alight, rustling with new silk petticoats and starched and +perfumed linen, each one a picture, exquisitely gowned and bonneted and gloved, +and carrying a demure little prayer-book. Behind them followed the patient men, +all in new frock-coats and shiny silk hats; the men of Society were always +newly washed and shaved, newly groomed and gloved, but now they seemed to be +more so—they were full of the atmosphere of Sunday. Alas for those +unregenerate ones, the infidels and the heathen who scoff in outer darkness, +and know not the delicious <i>feeling</i> of Sunday—the joy of being +washed and starched and perfumed, and made to be clean and comfortable and +good, after all the really dreadful wickedness of six days of fashionable +life!—And afterward the parade upon the Avenue, with the congregations of +several score additional churches, and such a show of stylish costumes that +half the city came to see! +</p> + +<p> +Amid this exquisite assemblage at St. Cecilia’s, the revolutionary +doctrines of the Christian religion produced neither perplexity nor alarm. The +chance investigator might have listened in dismay to solemn pronouncements of +everlasting damnation, to statements about rich men and the eyes of needles, +and the lilies of the field which did not spin. But the congregation of St. +Cecilia’s understood that these things were to be taken in a quixotic +sense; sharing the view of the French marquis that the Almighty would think +twice before damning a gentleman like him. +</p> + +<p> +One had heard these phrases ever since childhood, and one accepted them as a +matter of course. After all, these doctrines had come from the lips of a divine +being, whom it would be presumptuous in a mere mortal to attempt to imitate. +Such points one could but leave to those whose business it was to interpret +them—the doctors and dignitaries of the church; and when one met them, +one’s heart was set at rest—for they were not iconoclasts and +alarmists, but gentlemen of culture and tact. The bishop who presided in this +metropolitan district was a stately personage, who moved in the best Society +and belonged to the most exclusive clubs. +</p> + +<p> +The pews in St. Cecilia’s were rented, and they were always in great +demand; it was one of the customs of those who hung upon the fringe of Society +to come every Sunday, and bow and smile, and hope against hope for some chance +opening. The stranger who came was dependent upon hospitality; but there were +soft-footed and tactful ushers, who would find one a seat, if one were a +presentable person. The contingency of an unpresentable person seldom arose, +for the proletariat did not swarm at the gates of St. Cecilia’s. Out of +its liberal income the church maintained a “mission” upon the East +Side, where young curates wrestled with the natural depravity of the lower +classes—meantime cultivating a soul-stirring tone, and waiting until they +should be promoted to a real church. Society was becoming deferential to its +religious guides, and would have been quite shocked at the idea that it exerted +any pressure upon them; but the young curates were painfully aware of a process +of unnatural selection, whereby those whose manner and cut of coat were not +pleasing were left a long time in the slums.—On one occasion there had +been an amusing blunder; a beautiful new church was built at Newport, and an +eloquent young minister was installed, and all Society attended the opening +service—and sat and listened in consternation to an arraignment of its +own follies and vices! The next Sunday, needless to say, Society was not +present; and within half a year the church was stranded, and had to be +dismantled and sold! +</p> + +<p> +They had elaborate music at St. Cecilia’s, so beautiful that Alice felt +uncomfortable, and thought that it was perilously “high.” At this +Mrs. Winnie laughed, offering to take her to an afternoon service around the +corner, where they had a full orchestra, and a harp, and opera music, and +incense and genuflexions and confessionals. There were people, it seemed, who +like to thrill themselves by dallying with the wickedness of +“Romanism”; somewhat as a small boy tries to see how near he can +walk to the edge of a cliff. The “father” at this church had a +jewelled robe with a train so many yards long, and which had cost some +incredible number of thousands of dollars; and every now and then he marched in +a stately procession through the aisles, so that all the spectators might have +a good look at it. There was a fierce controversy about these things in the +church, and libraries of pamphlets were written, and intrigues and social wars +were fought over them. +</p> + +<p> +But Montague and Alice did not attend this service—they had promised +themselves the very plebeian diversion of a ride in the subway; for so far they +had not seen this feature of the city. People who lived in Society saw Madison +and Fifth Avenues, where their homes were, with the churches and hotels +scattered along them; and the shopping district just below, and the theatre +district at one side, and the park to the north. Unless one went automobiling, +that was all of the city one need ever see. When visitors asked about the +Aquarium, and the Stock Exchange, and the Museum of Art, and Tammany Hall, and +Ellis Island, where the immigrants came, the old New Yorkers would look +perplexed, and say: “Dear me, do you really want to see those things? +Why, I have been here all my life, and have never seen them!” +</p> + +<p> +For the hordes of sightseers there had been provided a special contrivance, a +huge automobile omnibus which seated thirty or forty people, and went from the +Battery to Harlem with a young man shouting through a megaphone a description +of the sights. The irreverent had nicknamed this the “yap-wagon”; +and declared that the company maintained a fake “opium-joint” in +Chinatown, and a fake “dive” in the Bowery, and hired tough-looking +individuals to sit and be stared at by credulous excursionists from Oklahoma +and Kalamazoo. Of course it would never have done for people who had just been +passed into Society to climb upon a “yap-wagon”; but they were +permitted to get into the subway, and were whirled with a deafening clatter +through a long tunnel of steel and stone. And then they got out and climbed a +steep hill like any common mortals, and stood and gazed at Grant’s tomb: +a huge white marble edifice upon a point overlooking the Hudson. +Architecturally it was not a beautiful structure—but one was consoled by +reflecting that the hero himself would not have cared about that. It might have +been described as a soap-box with a cheese-box on top of it; and these homely +and familiar articles were perhaps not altogether out of keeping with the +character of the humblest great man who ever lived. +</p> + +<p> +The view up the river was magnificent, quite the finest which the city had to +offer; but it was ruined by a hideous gas-tank, placed squarely in the middle +of it. And this, again, was not inappropriate—it was typical of all the +ways of the city. It was a city which had grown up by accident, with nobody to +care about it or to help it; it was huge and ungainly, crude, uncomfortable, +and grotesque. There was nowhere in it a beautiful sight upon which a man could +rest his eyes, without having them tortured by something ugly near by. At the +foot of the slope of the River Drive ran a hideous freight-railroad; and across +the river the beautiful Palisades were being blown to pieces to make paving +stone—and meantime were covered with advertisements of land-companies. +And if there was a beautiful building, there, was sure to be a tobacco +advertisement beside it; if there was a beautiful avenue, there were trucks and +overworked horses toiling in the harness; if there was a beautiful park, it was +filled with wretched, outcast men. Nowhere was any order or +system—everything was struggling for itself, and jarring and clashing +with everything else; and this broke the spell of power which the Titan city +would otherwise have produced. It seemed like a monstrous heap of wasted +energies; a mountain in perpetual labour, and producing an endless series of +abortions. The men and women in it were wearing themselves out with toil; but +there was a spell laid upon them, so that, struggle as they might, they +accomplished nothing. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Coming out of the church, Montague had met Judge Ellis; and the Judge had said, +“I shall soon have something to talk over with you.” So Montague +gave him his address, and a day or two later came an invitation to lunch with +him at his club. +</p> + +<p> +The Judge’s club took up a Fifth Avenue block, and was stately and +imposing. It had been formed in the stress of the Civil War days; lean and +hungry heroes had come home from battle and gone into business, and those who +had succeeded had settled down here to rest. To see them now, dozing in huge +leather-cushioned arm-chairs, you would have had a hard time to guess that they +had ever been lean and hungry heroes. They were diplomats and statesmen, +bishops and lawyers, great merchants and financiers—the men who had made +the city’s ruling-class for a century. Everything here was decorous and +grave, and the waiters stole about with noiseless feet. +</p> + +<p> +Montague talked with the Judge about New York and what he had seen of it, and +the people he had met; and about his father, and the war; and about the recent +election and the business outlook. And meantime they ordered luncheon; and when +they had got to the cigars, the Judge coughed and said, “And now I have a +matter of business to talk over with you.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague settled himself to listen. “I have a friend,” the Judge +explained—“a very good friend, who has asked me to find him a +lawyer to undertake an important case. I talked the matter over with General +Prentice, and he agreed with me that it would be a good idea to lay the matter +before you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am very much obliged to you,” said Montague. +</p> + +<p> +“The matter is a delicate one,” continued the other. “It has +to do with life insurance. Are you familiar with the insurance business?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all.” +</p> + +<p> +“I had supposed not,” said the Judge. “There are some +conditions which are not generally known about, but which I may say, to put it +mildly, are not altogether satisfactory. My friend is a large policy-holder in +several companies, and he is not satisfied with the management of them. The +delicacy of the situation, so far as I am concerned, is that the company with +which he has the most fault to find is one in which I myself am a director. You +understand?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perfectly,” said Montague. “What company is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“The Fidelity,” replied the other—and his companion thought +in a flash of Freddie Vandam, whom he had met at Castle Havens! For the +Fidelity was Freddie’s company. +</p> + +<p> +“The first thing that I have to ask you,” continued the Judge, +“is that, whether you care to take the case or not, you will consider my +own intervention in the matter absolutely <i>entre nous</i>. My position is +simply this: I have protested at the meetings of the directors of the company +against what I consider an unwise policy—and my protests have been +ignored. And when my friend asked me for advice, I gave it to him; but at the +same time I am not in a position to be publicly quoted in connexion with the +matter. You follow me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perfectly,” said the other. “I will agree to what you +ask.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good. Now then, the condition is, in brief, this: the companies are +accumulating an enormous surplus, which, under the law, belongs to the +policy-holders; but the administrations of the various companies are +withholding these dividends, for the sake of the banking-power which these +accumulated funds afford to them and their associates. This is, as I hold, a +very manifest injustice, and a most dangerous condition of affairs.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should say so!” responded Montague. He was amazed at such a +statement, coming from such a source. “How could this continue?” he +asked. +</p> + +<p> +“It has continued for a long time,” the Judge answered. +</p> + +<p> +“But why is it not known?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is perfectly well known to every one in the insurance +business,” was the answer. “The matter has never been taken up or +published, simply because the interests involved have such enormous and widely +extended power that no one has ever dared to attack them.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague sat forward, with his eyes riveted upon the Judge. “Go +on,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“The situation is simply this,” said the other. “My friend, +Mr. Hasbrook, wishes to bring a suit against the Fidelity Company to compel it +to pay to him his proper share of its surplus. He wishes the suit pressed, and +followed to the court of last resort.” +</p> + +<p> +“And do you mean to tell me,” asked Montague, “that you would +have any difficulty to find a lawyer in New York to undertake such a +case?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said the other, “not exactly that. There are lawyers in +New York who would undertake anything. But to find a lawyer of standing who +would take it, and withstand all the pressure that would be brought to bear +upon him—that might take some time.” +</p> + +<p> +“You astonish me, Judge.” +</p> + +<p> +“Financial interests in this city are pretty closely tied together, Mr. +Montague. Of course there are law firms which are identified with interests +opposed to those who control the company. It would be very easy to get them to +take the case, but you can see that in that event my friend would be accused of +bringing the suit in their interest; whereas he wishes it to appear, as it +really is, a suit of an independent person, seeking the rights of the vast body +of the policy-holders. For that reason, he wished to find a lawyer who was +identified with no interest of any sort, and who was free to give his undivided +attention to the issue. So I thought of you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will take the case,” said Montague instantly. +</p> + +<p> +“It is my duty to warn you,” said the Judge, gravely, “that +you will be taking a very serious step. You must be prepared to face powerful, +and, I am afraid, unscrupulous enemies. You may find that you have made it +impossible for other and very desirable clients to deal with you. You may find +your business interests, if you have any, embarrassed—your credit +impaired, and so on. You must be prepared to have your character assailed, and +your motives impugned in the public press. You may find that social pressure +will be brought to bear on you. So it is a step from which most young men who +have their careers to make would shrink.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague’s face had turned a shade paler as he listened. “I am +assuming,” he said, “that the facts are as you have stated them to +me—that an unjust condition exists.” +</p> + +<p> +“You may assume that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well.” And Montague clenched his hand, and put it down upon +the table. “I will take the case,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +For a few moments they sat in silence. +</p> + +<p> +“I will arrange,” said the Judge, at last, “for you and Mr. +Hasbrook to meet. I must explain to you, as a matter of fairness, that he is a +rich man, and will be able to pay you for your services. He is asking a great +deal of you, and he should expect to pay for it.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague sat in thought. “I have not really had time to get my bearings +in New York,” he said at last. “I think I had best leave it to you +to say what I should charge him.” +</p> + +<p> +“If I were in your position,” the Judge answered, “I think +that I should ask a retaining-fee of fifty thousand dollars. I believe he will +expect to pay at least that.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague could scarcely repress a start. Fifty thousand dollars! The words made +his head whirl round. But then, all of a sudden, he recalled his half-jesting +resolve to play the game of business sternly. So he nodded his head gravely, +and said, “Very well; I am much obliged to you.” +</p> + +<p> +After a pause, he added, “I hope that I may prove able to handle the case +to your friend’s satisfaction.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your ability remains for you to prove,” said the Judge. “I +have only been in position to assure him of your character.” +</p> + +<p> +“He must understand, of course,” said Montague, “that I am a +stranger, and that it will take me a while to study the situation.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course he knows that. But you will find that Mr. Hasbrook knows a +good deal about the law himself. And he has already had a lot of work done. You +must understand that it is very easy to get legal <i>advice</i> about such a +matter—what is sought is some one to take the conduct of the case.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see,” said Montague; and the Judge added, with a smile, +“Some one to get up on horseback, and draw the fire of the enemy!” +</p> + +<p> +And then the great man was, as usual, reminded of a story; and then of more +stories; until at last they rose from the table, and shook hands upon their +bargain, and parted. +</p> + +<p> +Fifty thousand dollars! <i>Fifty thousand dollars!</i> It was all Montague +could do to keep from exclaiming it aloud on the street. He could hardly +believe that it was a reality—if it had been a less-known person than +Judge Ellis, he would have suspected that some one must be playing a joke upon +him. Fifty thousand dollars was more than many a lawyer made at home in a +lifetime; and simply as a retaining-fee in one case! The problem of a living +had weighed on his soul ever since the first day in the city, and now suddenly +it was solved; all in a few minutes, the way had been swept clear before him. +He walked home as if upon air. +</p> + +<p> +And then there was the excitement of telling the family about it. He had an +idea that his brother might be alarmed if he were told about the seriousness of +the case; and so he simply said that the Judge had brought him a rich client, +and that it was an insurance case. Oliver, who knew and cared nothing about +law, asked no questions, and contented himself with saying, “I told you +how easy it was to make money in New York, if only you knew the right +people!” As for Alice, she had known all along that her cousin was a +great man, and that clients would come to him as soon as he hung out his sign. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +His sign was not out yet, by the way; that was the next thing to be attended +to. He must get himself an office at once, and some books, and begin to read up +insurance law; and so, bright and early the next morning, he took the subway +down town. +</p> + +<p> +And here, for the first time, Montague saw the real New York. All the rest was +mere shadow—the rest was where men slept and played, but here was where +they fought out the battle of their lives. Here the fierce intensity of it +smote him in the face—he saw the cruel waste and ruin of it, the wreckage +of the blind, haphazard strife. +</p> + +<p> +It was a city caught in a trap. It was pent in at one end of a narrow little +island. It had been no one’s business to foresee that it must some day +outgrow this space; now men were digging a score of tunnels to set it free, but +they had not begun these until the pressure had become unendurable, and now it +had reached its climax. In the financial district, land had been sold for as +much as four dollars a square inch. Huge blocks of buildings shot up to the sky +in a few months—fifteen, twenty, twenty-five stories of them, and with +half a dozen stories hewn out of the solid rock beneath; there was to be one +building of forty-two stories, six hundred and fifty feet in height. And +between them were narrow chasms of streets, where the hurrying crowds +overflowed the sidewalks. Yet other streets were filled with trucks and heavy +vehicles, with electric cars creeping slowly along, and little swirls and +eddies of people darting across here and there. +</p> + +<p> +These huge buildings were like beehives, swarming with life and activity, with +scores of elevators shooting through them at bewildering speed. Everywhere was +the atmosphere of rush; the spirit of it seized hold of one, and he began to +hurry, even though he had no place to go. The man who walked slowly and looked +about him was in the way—he was jostled here and there, and people eyed +him with suspicion and annoyance. +</p> + +<p> +Elsewhere on the island men did the work of the city; here they did the work of +the world. Each room in these endless mazes of buildings was a cell in a mighty +brain; the telephone wires were nerves, and by the whole huge organism the +thinking and willing of a continent were done. It was a noisy place to the +physical ear; but to the ear of the mind it roared with the roaring of a +thousand Niagaras. Here was the Stock Exchange, where the scales of trade were +held before the eyes of the country. Here was the clearing-house, where +hundreds of millions of dollars were exchanged every day. Here were the great +banks, the reservoirs into which the streams of the country’s wealth were +poured. Here were the brains of the great railroad systems, of the telegraph +and telephone systems, of mines and mills and factories. Here were the centres +of the country’s trade; in one place the shipping trade, in another the +jewellery trade, the grocery trade, the leather trade. A little farther up town +was the clothing district, where one might see the signs of more Hebrews than +all Jerusalem had ever held; in yet other districts were the newspaper offices, +and the centre of the magazine and book-publishing business of the whole +country. One might climb to the top of one of the great +“sky-scrapers,” and gaze down upon a wilderness of houses, with +roofs as innumerable as tree-tops, and people looking like tiny insects below. +Or one might go out into the harbour late upon a winter afternoon, and see it +as a city of a million lights, rising like an incantation from the sea. Round +about it was an unbroken ring of docks, with ferry-boats and tugs darting +everywhere, and vessels which had come from every port in the world, emptying +their cargoes into the huge maw of the Metropolis. +</p> + +<p> +And of all this, nothing had been planned! All lay just as it had fallen, and +men bore the confusion and the waste as best they could. Here were huge steel +vaults, in which lay many billions of dollars’ worth of securities, the +control of the finances of the country; and a block or two in one direction +were warehouses and gin-mills, and in another direction cheap lodging-houses +and sweating-dens. And at a certain hour all this huge machine would come to a +halt, and its millions of human units would make a blind rush for their homes. +Then at the entrances to bridges and ferries and trams, would be seen sights of +madness and terror; throngs of men and women swept hither and thither, pushing +and struggling, shouting, cursing—fighting, now and then, in sudden panic +fear. All decency was forgotten here—people would be mashed into cars +like football players in a heap, and guards and policemen would jam the gates +tight—or like as not be swept away themselves in the pushing, grunting, +writhing mass of human beings. Women would faint and be trampled; men would +come out with clothing torn to shreds, and sometimes with broken arms or ribs. +And thinking people would gaze at the sight and shudder, wondering—how +long a city could hold together, when the masses of its population were thus +forced back, day after day, habitually, upon the elemental brute within them. +</p> + +<p> +In this vast business district Montague would have felt utterly lost and +helpless, if it had not been for that fifty thousand dollars, and the sense of +mastery which it gave him. He sought out General Prentice, and under his +guidance selected his suite of rooms, and got his furniture and books in +readiness. And a day or two later, by appointment, came Mr. Hasbrook. +</p> + +<p> +He was a wiry, nervous little man, who did not impress one as much of a +personality; but he had the insurance situation at his fingers’ +ends—his grievance had evidently wrought upon him. Certainly, if half of +what he alleged were true, it was time that the courts took hold of the affair. +</p> + +<p> +Montague spent the whole day in consultation, going over every aspect of the +case, and laying out his course of procedure. And then, at the end, Mr. +Hasbrook remarked that it would be necessary for them to make some financial +arrangement. And the other set his teeth together, and took a tight grip upon +himself, and said, “Considering the importance of the case, and all the +circumstances, I think I should have a retainer of fifty thousand +dollars.” +</p> + +<p> +And the little man never turned a hair! “That will be perfectly +satisfactory,” he said. “I will attend to it at once.” And +the other’s heart gave a great leap. +</p> + +<p> +And sure enough, the next morning’s mail brought the money, in the shape +of a cashier’s cheque from one of the big banks. Montague deposited it to +his own account, and felt that the city was his! +</p> + +<p> +And so he flung himself into the work. He went to his office every day, and he +shut himself up in his own rooms in the evening. Mrs. Winnie was in despair +because he would not come and learn bridge, and Mrs. Vivie Patton sought him in +vain for a week-end party. He could not exactly say that while the others slept +he was toiling upward in the night, for the others did not sleep in the night; +but he could say that while they were feasting and dancing, he was delving into +insurance law. Oliver argued in vain to make him realize that he could not live +for ever upon one client; and that it was as important for a lawyer to be a +social light as to win his first big case. Montague was so absorbed that he +even failed to be thrilled when one morning he opened an invitation envelope, +and read the fateful legend: “Mrs. Devon requests the honour of your +company”—telling him that he had “passed” on that +critical examination morning, and that he was definitely and irrevocably in +Society! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap12"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + +<p> +Montague was now a capitalist, and therefore a keeper of the gates of +opportunity. It seemed as though the seekers for admission must have had some +occult way of finding it out; almost immediately they began to lay siege to +him. +</p> + +<p> +About a week after his cheque arrived, Major Thorne, whom he had met the first +evening at the Loyal Legion, called him up and asked to see him; and he came to +Montague’s room that evening, and after chatting awhile about old times, +proceeded to unfold a business proposition. It seemed that the Major had a +grandson, a young mechanical engineer, who had been labouring for a couple of +years at a very important invention, a device for loading coal upon steamships +and weighing it automatically in the process. It was a very complicated +problem, needless to say, but it had been solved successfully, and patents had +been applied for, and a working model constructed. But it had proved +unexpectedly difficult to interest the officials of the great steamship +companies in the device. There was no doubt about the practicability of the +machine, or the economies it would effect; but the officials raised trivial +objections, and caused delays, and offered prices that were ridiculously +inadequate. So the young inventor had conceived the idea of organizing a +company to manufacture the machines, and rent them upon a royalty. “I +didn’t know whether you would have any money,” said Major Thorne, +“—but I thought you might be in touch with others who could be got +to look into the matter. There is a fortune in it for those who take it +up.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague was interested, and he looked over the plans and descriptions which +his friend had brought, and said that he would see the working model, and talk +the proposition over with others. And so the Major took his departure. +</p> + +<p> +The first person Montague spoke to about it was Oliver, with whom he chanced to +be lunching, at the latter’s club. This was the “All Night” +club, a meeting-place of fast young Society men and millionaire Bohemians, who +made a practice of going to bed at daylight, and had taken for their motto the +words of Tennyson—“For men may come and men may go, but I go on for +ever.” It was not a proper club for his brother to join, Oliver +considered; Montague’s “game” was the heavy respectable, and +the person to put him up was General Prentice. But he was permitted to lunch +there with his brother to chaperon him—and also Reggie Mann, who happened +in, fresh from talking over the itinerary of the foreign prince with Mrs. +Ridgley-Clieveden, and bringing a diverting account of how Mrs. R.-C. had had a +fisticuffs with her maid. +</p> + +<p> +Montague mentioned the invention casually, and with no idea that his brother +would have an opinion one way or the other. But Oliver had quite a vigorous +opinion: “Good God, Allan, you aren’t going to let yourself be +persuaded into a thing like that!” +</p> + +<p> +“But what do you know about it?” asked the other. “It may be +a tremendous thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course!” cried Oliver. “But what can you tell about it? +You’ll be like a child in other people’s hands, and they’ll +be certain to rob you. And why in the world do you want to take risks when you +don’t have to?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have to put my money somewhere,” said Montague. +</p> + +<p> +“His first fee is burning a hole in his pocket!” put in Reggie +Mann, with a chuckle. “Turn it over to me, Mr. Montague; and let me spend +it in a gorgeous entertainment for Alice; and the prestige of it will bring you +more cases than you can handle in a lifetime!” +</p> + +<p> +“He had much better spend it all for soda water than buy a lot of coal +chutes with it,” said Oliver: “Wait awhile, and let me find you +some place to put your money, and you’ll see that you don’t have to +take any risks.” +</p> + +<p> +“I had no idea of taking it up until I’d made certain of it,” +replied the other. “And those whose judgment I took would, of course, go +in also.” +</p> + +<p> +The younger man thought for a moment. “You are going to dine with Major +Venable to-night, aren’t you?” he asked; and when the other +answered in the affirmative, he continued, “Very well, then, ask him. The +Major’s been a capitalist for forty years, and if you can get him to take +it up, why, you’ll know you’re safe.” +</p> + +<p> +Major Venable had taken quite a fancy to Montague—perhaps the old +gentleman liked to have somebody to gossip with, to whom all his anecdotes were +new. He had seconded Montague’s name at the +“Millionaires’,” where he lived, and had asked him there to +make the acquaintance of some of the other members. Before Montague parted with +his brother, he promised that he would talk the matter over with the Major. +</p> + +<p> +The Millionaires’ was the show club of the city, the one which the +ineffably rich had set apart for themselves. It was up by the park, in a +magnificent white marble palace which had cost a million dollars. Montague felt +that he had never really known the Major until he saw him here. The Major was +excellent at all times and places, but in this club he became an <i>edition de +luxe</i> of himself. He made his headquarters here, keeping his suite of rooms +all the year round; and the atmosphere and surroundings of the place seemed to +be a part of him. +</p> + +<p> +Montague thought that the Major’s face grew redder every day, and the +purple veins in it purpler; or was it that the old gentleman’s shirt +bosom gleamed more brightly in the glare of the lights? The Major met him in +the stately entrance hall, fifty feet square and all of Numidian marble, with a +ceiling of gold, and a great bronze stairway leading to the gallery above. He +apologized for his velvet slippers and for his hobbling walk—he was +getting his accursed gout again. But he limped around and introduced his friend +to the other millionaires—and then told scandal about them behind their +backs. +</p> + +<p> +The Major was the very type of a blue-blooded old aristocrat; he was all +<i>noblesse oblige</i> to those within the magic circle of his +intimacy—but alas for those outside it! Montague had never heard anyone +bully servants as the Major did. “Here you!” he would cry, when +something went wrong at the table. “Don’t you know any better than +to bring me a dish like that? Go and send me somebody who knows how to set a +table!” And, strange to say, the servants all acknowledged his perfect +right to bully them, and flew with terrified alacrity to do his bidding. +Montague noticed that the whole staff of the club leaped into activity whenever +the Major appeared; and when he was seated at the table, he led off in this +fashion—“Now I want two dry Martinis. And I want them at +once—do you understand me? Don’t stop to get me any butter plates +or finger-bowls—I want two cock-tails, just as quick as you can carry +them!” +</p> + +<p> +Dinner was an important event to Major Venable—the most important in +life. The younger man humbly declined to make any suggestions, and sat and +watched while his friend did all the ordering. They had some very small +oysters, and an onion soup, and a grouse and asparagus, with some wine from the +Major’s own private store, and then a romaine salad. Concerning each one +of these courses, the Major gave special injunctions, and throughout his +conversation he scattered comments upon them: “This is good thick +soup—lots of nourishment in onion soup. Have the rest of this?—I +think the Burgundy is too cold. Sixty-five is as cold as Burgundy ought ever to +be. I don’t mind sherry as low as sixty.—They always cook a bird +too much—Robbie Walling’s chef is the only person I know who never +makes a mistake with game.” +</p> + +<p> +All this, of course, was between comments upon the assembled millionaires. +There was Hawkins, the corporation lawyer; a shrewd fellow, cold as a corpse. +He was named for an ambassadorship—a very efficient man. Used to be old +Wyman’s confidential adviser and buy aldermen for him.—And the man +at table with him was Harrison, publisher of the <i>Star;</i> administration +newspaper, sound and conservative. Harrison was training for a cabinet +position. He was a nice little man, and would make a fine splurge in +Washington.—And that tall man coming in was Clarke, the steel magnate; +and over there was Adams, a big lawyer also—prominent +reformer—civic righteousness and all that sort of stuff. Represented the +Oil Trust secretly, and went down to Trenton to argue against some reform +measure, and took along fifty thousand dollars in bills in his valise. “A +friend of mine got wind of what he was doing, and taxed him with it,” +said the Major, and laughed gleefully over the great lawyer’s +reply—“How did I know but I might have to pay for my own +lunch?”—And the fat man with him—that was Jimmie +Featherstone, the chap who had inherited a big estate. “Poor +Jimmie’s going all to pieces,” the Major declared. “Goes down +town to board meetings now and then—they tell a hair-raising story about +him and old Dan Waterman. He had got up and started a long argument, when +Waterman broke in, ‘But at the earlier meeting you argued directly to the +contrary, Mr. Featherstone!’ ‘Did I?’ said Jimmie, looking +bewildered. ‘I wonder why I did that?’ ‘Well, Mr. +Featherstone, since you ask me, I’ll tell you,’ said old +Dan—he’s savage as a wild boar, you know, and won’t be +delayed at meetings. ‘The reason is that the last time you were drunker +than you are now. If you would adopt a uniform standard of intoxication for the +directors’ meetings of this road, it would expedite matters +considerably.’” +</p> + +<p> +They had got as far as the romaine salad. The waiter came with a bowl of +dressing—and at the sight of it, the old gentleman forgot Jimmie +Featherstone. “Why are you bringing me that stuff?” he cried. +“I don’t want that! Take it away and get me some vinegar and +oil.” +</p> + +<p> +The waiter fled in dismay, while the Major went on growling under his breath. +Then from behind him came a voice: “What’s the matter with you this +evening, Venable? You’re peevish!” +</p> + +<p> +The Major looked up. “Hello, you old cormorant,” said he. +“How do you do these days?” +</p> + +<p> +The old cormorant replied that he did very well. He was a pudgy little man, +with a pursed-up, wrinkled face. “My friend Mr. Montague—Mr. +Symmes,” said the Major. +</p> + +<p> +“I am very pleased to meet you, Mr. Montague,” said Mr. Symmes, +peering over his spectacles. +</p> + +<p> +“And what are you doing with yourself these days?” asked the Major. +</p> + +<p> +The other smiled genially. “Nothing much,” said he. “Seducing +my friends’ wives, as usual.” +</p> + +<p> +“And who’s the latest?” +</p> + +<p> +“Read the newspapers, and you’ll find out,” laughed Symmes. +“I’m told I’m being shadowed.” +</p> + +<p> +He passed on down the room, chuckling to himself; and the Major said, +“That’s Maltby Symmes. Have you heard of him?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Montague. +</p> + +<p> +“He gets into the papers a good deal. He was up in supplementary +proceedings the other day—couldn’t pay his liquor bill.” +</p> + +<p> +“A member of the Millionaires’?” laughed Montague. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, the papers made quite a joke out of it,” said the other. +“But you see he’s run through a couple of fortunes; the last was +his mother’s—eleven millions, I believe. He’s been a pretty +lively old boy in his time.” +</p> + +<p> +The vinegar and oil had now arrived, and the Major set to work to dress the +salad. This was quite a ceremony, and Montague took it with amused interest. +The Major first gathered all the necessary articles together, and looked them +all over and grumbled at them. Then he mixed the vinegar and the pepper and +salt, a tablespoonful at a time, and poured it over the salad. Then very slowly +and carefully the oil had to be poured on, the salad being poked and turned +about so that it would be all absorbed. Perhaps it was because he was so busy +narrating the escapades of Maltby Symmes that the old gentleman kneaded it +about so long; all the time fussing over it like a hen-partridge with her +chicks, and interrupting himself every sentence or two: “It was Lenore, +the opera star, and he gave her about two hundred thousand dollars’ worth +of railroad shares. (Really, you know, romaine ought not to be served in a bowl +at all, but in a square, flat dish, so that one could keep the ends quite dry.) +And when they quarrelled, she found the old scamp had fooled her—the +shares had never been transferred. (One is not supposed to use a fork at all, +you know.) But she sued him, and he settled with her for about half the value. +(If this dressing were done properly, there ought not to be any oil in the +bottom of the dish at all.)” +</p> + +<p> +This last remark meant that the process had reached its climax—that the +long, crisp leaves were receiving their final affectionate overturnings. While +the waiter stood at respectful attention, two or three pieces at a time were +laid carefully upon the little silver plate intended for Montague. “And +now,” said the triumphant host, “try it! If it’s good, it +ought to be neither sweet nor bitter, but just right.”—And he +watched anxiously while Montague tasted it, saying, “If it’s the +least bit bitter, say so; and we’ll send it out. I’ve told them +about it often enough before.” +</p> + +<p> +But it was not bitter, and so the Major proceeded to help himself, after which +the waiter whisked the bowl away. “I’m told that salad is the one +vegetable we have from the Romans,” said the old boy, as he munched at +the crisp green leaves. “It’s mentioned by Horace, you +know.—As I was saying, all this was in Symmes’s early days. But +since his son’s been grown up, he’s married another +chorus-girl.” +</p> + +<p> +After the salad the Major had another cocktail. In the beginning Montague had +noticed that his hands shook and his eyes were watery; but now, after these +copious libations, he was vigorous, and, if possible, more full of anecdotes +than ever. Montague thought that it would be a good time to broach his inquiry, +and so when the coffee had been served, he asked, “Have you any +objections to talking business after dinner?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not with you,” said the Major. “Why? What is it?” +</p> + +<p> +And then Montague told him about his friend’s proposition, and described +the invention. The other listened attentively to the end; and then, after a +pause, Montague asked him, “What do you think of it?” +</p> + +<p> +“The invention’s no good,” said the Major, promptly. +</p> + +<p> +“How do you know?” asked the other. +</p> + +<p> +“Because, if it had been, the companies would have taken it long ago, +without paying him a cent.” +</p> + +<p> +“But he has it patented,” said Montague. +</p> + +<p> +“Patented hell!” replied the other. “What’s a patent to +lawyers of concerns of that size? They’d have taken it and had it in use +from Maine to Texas; and when he sued, they’d have tied the case up in so +many technicalities and quibbles that he couldn’t have got to the end of +it in ten years—and he’d have been ruined ten times over in the +process.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is that really done?” asked Montague. +</p> + +<p> +“Done!” exclaimed the Major. “It’s done so often you +might say it’s the only thing that’s done.—The people are +probably trying to take you in with a fake.” +</p> + +<p> +“That couldn’t possibly be so,” responded the other. +“The man is a friend—” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve found it an excellent rule never to do business with +friends,” said the Major, grimly. +</p> + +<p> +“But listen,” said Montague; and he argued long enough to convince +his companion that that could not be the true explanation. Then the Major sat +for a minute or two and pondered; and suddenly he exclaimed, “I have it! +I see why they won’t touch it!” +</p> + +<p> +“What is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s the coal companies! They’re giving the steamships short +weight, and they don’t want the coal weighed truly!” +</p> + +<p> +“But there’s no sense in that,” said Montague. +“It’s the steamship companies that won’t take the +machine.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said the Major; “naturally, their officers are sharing +the graft.” And he laughed heartily at Montague’s look of +perplexity. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know anything about the business?” Montague asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing whatever,” said the Major. “I am like the German who +shut himself up in his inner consciousness and deduced the shape of an elephant +from first principles. I know the game of big business from A to Z, and +I’m telling you that if the invention is good and the companies +won’t take it, that’s the reason; and I’ll lay you a wager +that if you were to make an investigation, some such thing as that is what +you’d find! Last winter I went South on a steamer, and when we got near +port, I saw them dumping a ton or two of good food overboard; and I made +inquiries, and learned that one of the officials of the company ran a farm, and +furnished the stuff—and the orders were to get rid of so much every +trip!” +</p> + +<p> +Montague’s jaw had fallen. “What could Major Thorne do against such +a combination?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” said the Major, shrugging his shoulders. +“It’s a case to take to a lawyer—one who knows the ropes. +Hawkins over there would know what to tell you. I should imagine the thing +he’d advise would be to call a strike of the men who handle the coal, and +tie up the companies and bring them to terms.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re joking now!” exclaimed the other. +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all,” said the Major, laughing again. “It’s +done all the time. There’s a building trust in this city, and the way it +put all its rivals out of business was by having strikes called on their +jobs.” +</p> + +<p> +“But how could it do that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Easiest thing in the world. A labour leader is a man with a great deal +of power, and a very small salary to live on. And even if he won’t sell +out—there are other ways. I could introduce you to a man right in this +room who had a big strike on at an inconvenient time, and he had the president +of the union trapped in a hotel with a woman, and the poor fellow gave in and +called off the strike.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should think the strikers might sometimes get out of hand,” said +Montague. +</p> + +<p> +“Sometimes they do,” smiled the other. “There is a regular +procedure for that case. Then you hire detectives and start violence, and call +out the militia and put the strike leaders into jail.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague could think of nothing to say to that. The programme seemed to be +complete. +</p> + +<p> +“You see,” the Major continued, earnestly, “I’m +advising you as a friend, and I’m taking the point of view of a man who +has money in his pocket. I’ve had some there always, but I’ve had +to work hard to keep it there. All my life I’ve been surrounded by people +who wanted to do me good; and the way they wanted to do it was to exchange my +real money for pieces of paper which they’d had printed with fancy +scroll-work and eagles and flags. Of course, if you want to look at the thing +from the other side, why, then the invention is most ingenious, and trade is +booming just now, and this is a great country, and merit is all you need in +it—and everything else is just as it ought to be. It makes all the +difference in the world, you know, whether a man is buying a horse or selling +him!” +</p> + +<p> +Montague had observed with perplexity that such incendiary talk as this was one +of the characteristics of people in these lofty altitudes. It was one of the +liberties accorded to their station. Editors and bishops and statesmen and all +the rest of their retainers had to believe in the respectabilities, even in the +privacy of their clubs—the people’s ears were getting terribly +sharp these days! But among the real giants of business you might have thought +yourself in a society of revolutionists; they would tear up the mountain tops +and hurl them at each other. When one of these old war-horses once got started, +he would tell tales of deviltry to appall the soul of the hardiest muck-rake +man. It was always the other fellow, of course; but then, if you pinned your +man down, and if he thought that he could trust you—he would acknowledge +that he had sometimes fought the enemy with the enemy’s own weapons! +</p> + +<p> +But of course one must understand that all this radicalism was for +conversational purposes only. The Major, for instance, never had the slightest +idea of doing anything about all the evils of which he told; when it came to +action, he proposed to do just what he had done all his life—to sit tight +on his own little pile. And the Millionaires’ was an excellent place to +learn to do it! +</p> + +<p> +“See that old money-bags over there in the corner,” said the Major. +“He’s a man you want to fix in your mind—old Henry S. Grimes. +Have you heard of him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Vaguely,” said the other. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s Laura Hegan’s uncle. She’ll have his money also +some day—but Lord, how he does hold on to it meantime! It’s quite +tragic, if you come to know him—he’s frightened at his own shadow. +He goes in for slum tenements, and I guess he evicts more people in a month +than you could crowd into this building!” +</p> + +<p> +Montague looked at the solitary figure at the table, a man with a wizened-up +little face like a weasel’s, and a big napkin tied around his neck. +“That’s so as to save his shirt-front for to-morrow,” the +Major explained. “He’s really only about sixty, but you’d +think he was eighty. Three times every day he sits here and eats a bowl of +graham crackers and milk, and then goes out and sits rigid in an arm-chair for +an hour. That’s the regimen his doctors have put him on—angels and +ministers of grace defend us!” +</p> + +<p> +The old gentleman paused, and a chuckle shook his scarlet jowls. “Only +think!” he said—“they tried to do that to me! But no, +sir—when Bob Venable has to eat graham crackers and milk, he’ll put +in arsenic instead of sugar! That’s the way with many a one of these rich +fellows, though—you picture him living in Capuan luxury, when, as a +matter of fact, he’s a man with a torpid liver and a weak stomach, who is +put to bed at ten o’clock with a hot-water bag and a flannel +night-cap!” +</p> + +<p> +The two had got up and were strolling toward the smoking-room; when suddenly at +one side a door opened, and a group of men came out. At the head of them was an +extraordinary figure, a big powerful body with a grim face. +“Hello!” said the Major. “All the big bugs are here to-night. +There must be a governors’ meeting.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who is that?” asked his companion; and he answered, “That? +Why, that’s Dan Waterman.” +</p> + +<p> +Dan Waterman! Montague stared harder than ever, and now he identified the face +with the pictures he had seen. Waterman, the Colossus of finance, the Croesus +of copper and gold! How many trusts had Waterman organized! And how many puns +had been made upon that name of his! +</p> + +<p> +“Who are the other men?” Montague asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, they’re just little millionaires,” was the reply. +</p> + +<p> +The “little millionaires” were following as a kind of body-guard; +one of them, who was short and pudgy, was half running, to keep up with +Waterman’s heavy stride. When they came to the coat-room, they crowded +the attendants away, and one helped the great man on with his coat, and another +held his hat, and another his stick, and two others tried to talk to him. And +Waterman stolidly buttoned his coat, and then seized his hat and stick, and +without a word to anyone, bolted through the door. +</p> + +<p> +It was one of the funniest sights that Montague had ever seen in his life, and +he laughed all the way into the smoking-room. And, when Major Venable had +settled himself in a big chair and bitten off the end of a cigar and lighted +it, what floodgates of reminiscence were opened! +</p> + +<p> +For Dan Waterman was one of the Major’s own generation, and he knew all +his life and his habits. Just as Montague had seen him there, so he had been +always; swift, imperious, terrible, trampling over all opposition; the most +powerful men in the city quailed before the glare of his eyes. In the old days +Wall Street had reeled in the shock of the conflicts between him and his most +powerful rival. +</p> + +<p> +And the Major went on to tell about Waterman’s rival, and his life. He +had been the city’s traction-king, old Wyman had been made by him. He was +the prince among political financiers; he had ruled the Democratic party in +state and nation. He would give a quarter of a million at a time to the boss of +Tammany Hall, and spend a million in a single campaign; on +“dough-day,” when the district leaders came to get the election +funds, there would be a table forty feet long completely covered with +hundred-dollar bills. He would have been the richest man in America, save that +he spent his money as fast as he got it. He had had the most famous +racing-stable in America; and a house on Fifth Avenue that was said to be the +finest Italian palace in the world. Over three millions had been spent in +decorating it; all the ceilings had been brought intact from palaces abroad, +which he had bought and demolished! The Major told a story to show how such a +man lost all sense of the value of money; he had once been sitting at lunch +with him, when the editor of one of his newspapers had come in and remarked, +“I told you we would need eight thousand dollars, and the check you send +is for ten.” “I know it,” was the smiling +answer—“but somehow I thought eight seemed harder to write than +ten!” +</p> + +<p> +“Old Waterman’s quite a spender, too, when it comes to that,” +the Major went on. “He told me once that it cost him five thousand +dollars a day for his ordinary expenses. And that doesn’t include a +million-dollar yacht, nor even the expenses of it. +</p> + +<p> +“And think of another man I know of who spent a million dollars for a +granite pier, so that he could land and see his mistress!—It’s a +fact, as sure as God made me! She was a well-known society woman, but she was +poor, and he didn’t dare to make her rich for fear of the scandal. So she +had to live in a miserable fifty-thousand-dollar villa; and when other +people’s children would sneer at her children because they lived in a +fifty-thousand-dollar villa, the answer would be, ‘But you haven’t +got any pier!’ And if you don’t believe that—” +</p> + +<p> +But here suddenly the Major turned, and observed a boy who had brought him some +cigars, and who was now standing near by, pretending to straighten out some +newspapers upon the table. “Here, sir!” cried the Major, +“what do you mean—listening to what I’m saying! Out of the +room with you now, you rascal!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap13"></a>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> + +<p> +Another week-end came, and with it an invitation from the Lester Todds to visit +them at their country place in New Jersey. Montague was buried in his books, +but his brother routed him out with strenuous protests. His case be +damned—was he going to ruin his career for one case? At all hazards, he +must meet people—“people who counted.” And the Todds were +such, a big money crowd, and a power in the insurance world; if Montague were +going to be an insurance lawyer, he could not possibly decline their +invitation. Freddie Vandam would be a guest—and Montague smiled at the +tidings that Betty Wyman would be there also. He had observed that his +brother’s week-end visits always happened at places where Betty was, and +where Betty’s granddaddy was not. +</p> + +<p> +So Montague’s man packed his grips, and Alice’s maid her trunks; +and they rode with a private-car party to a remote Jersey suburb, and were +whirled in an auto up a broad shell road to a palace upon the top of a +mountain. Here lived the haughty Lester Todds, and scattered about on the +neighbouring hills, a set of the ultra-wealthy who had withdrawn to this +seclusion. They were exceedingly “classy”; they affected to regard +all the Society of the city with scorn, and had their own all-the-year-round +diversions—an open-air horse show in summer, and in the fall fox-hunting +in fancy uniforms. +</p> + +<p> +The Lester Todds themselves were ardent pursuers of all varieties of game, and +in various clubs and private preserves they followed the seasons, from Florida +and North Carolina to Ontario, with occasional side trips to Norway, and New +Brunswick, and British Columbia. Here at home they had a whole mountain of +virgin forest, carefully preserved; and in the Renaissance palace at the +summit—which they carelessly referred to as a +“lodge”—you would find such <i>articles de vertu</i> as a +ten-thousand-dollar table with a set of two-thousand-dollar chairs, and quite +ordinary-looking rugs at ten and twenty thousand dollars each.—All these +prices you might ascertain without any difficulty at all, because there were +many newspaper articles describing the house to be read in an album in the +hall. On Saturday afternoons Mrs. Todd welcomed the neighbours in a pastel grey +reception-gown, the front of which contained a peacock embroidered in silk, +with jewels in every feather, and a diamond solitaire for an eye; and in the +evening there was a dance, and she appeared in a gown with several hundred +diamonds sewn upon it, and received her guests upon a rug set with jewels to +match. +</p> + +<p> +All together, Montague judged this the “fastest” set he had yet +encountered; they ate more and drank more and intrigued more openly. He had +been slowly acquiring the special lingo of Society, but these people had so +much more slang that he felt all lost again. A young lady who was gossiping to +him about those present remarked that a certain youth was a +“spasm”; and then, seeing the look of perplexity upon his face, she +laughed, “I don’t believe you know what I mean!” Montague +replied that he had ventured to infer that she did not like him. +</p> + +<p> +And then there was Mrs. Harper, who came from Chicago by way of London. Ten +years ago Mrs. Harper had overwhelmed New York with the millions brought from +her great department-store; and had then moved on, sighing for new worlds to +conquer. When she had left Chicago, her grammar had been unexceptionable; but +since she had been in England, she said “you ain’t” and +dropped all her g’s; and when Montague brought down a bird at long range, +she exclaimed, condescendingly, “Why, you’re quite a dab at +it!” He sat in the front seat of an automobile, and heard the great lady +behind him referring to the sturdy Jersey farmers, whose ancestors had fought +the British and Hessians all over the state, as “your peasantry.” +</p> + +<p> +It was an extraordinary privilege to have Mrs. Harper for a guest; “at +home” she moved about in state recalling that of Queen Victoria, with +flags and bunting on the way, and crowds of school children cheering. She kept +up half a dozen establishments, and had a hundred thousand acres of game +preserves in Scotland. She made a speciality of collecting jewels which had +belonged to the romantic and picturesque queens of history. She appeared at the +dance in a breastplate of diamonds covering the entire front of her bodice, so +that she was literally clothed in light; and with her was her English friend, +Mrs. Percy, who had accompanied her in her triumph through the courts and camps +of Europe, and displayed a famous lorgnette-chain, containing one specimen of +every rare and beautiful jewel known. Mrs. Percy wore a gown of cloth of gold +tissue, covered with a fortune in Venetian lace, and made a tremendous +sensation—until the rumour spread that it was a rehash of the costume +which Mrs. Harper had worn at the Duchess of London’s ball. The Chicago +lady herself never by any chance appeared in the same costume twice. +</p> + +<p> +Alice had a grand time at the Todds’; all the men fell in love with +her—one in particular, a young chap named Fayette, quite threw himself at +her feet. He was wealthy, but unfortunately he had made his money by eloping +with a rich girl (who was one of the present party), and so, from a practical +point of view, his attentions were not desirable for Alice. +</p> + +<p> +Montague was left with the task of finding these things out for himself, for +his brother devoted himself exclusively to Betty Wyman. The way these two +disappeared between meals was a jest of the whole company; so that when they +were on their way home, Montague felt called upon to make paternal inquiries. +</p> + +<p> +“We’re as much engaged as we dare to be,” Oliver answered +him. +</p> + +<p> +“And when do you expect to marry her?” +</p> + +<p> +“God knows,” said he, “I don’t. The old man +wouldn’t give her a cent.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you couldn’t support her?” +</p> + +<p> +“I? Good heavens, Allan—do you suppose Betty would consent to be +poor?” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you asked her?” inquired Montague. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want to ask her, thank you! I’ve not the least +desire to live in a hovel with a girl who’s been brought up in a +palace.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then what do you expect to do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Betty has a rich aunt in a lunatic asylum. And then I’m +making money, you know—and the old boy will have to relent in the end. +And we’re having a very good time in the meanwhile, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t be very much in love,” said Montague—to +which his brother replied cheerfully that they were as much in love as they +felt like being. +</p> + +<p> +This was on the train Monday morning. Oliver observed that his brother relapsed +into a brown study, and remarked, “I suppose you’re going back now +to bury yourself in your books. You’ve got to give me one evening this +week for a dinner that’s important.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s that?” asked the other. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it’s a long story,” said Oliver. “I’ll +explain it to you some time. But first we must have an understanding about next +week, also—I suppose you’ve not overlooked the fact that it’s +Christmas week. And you won’t be permitted to do any work then.” +</p> + +<p> +“But that’s impossible!” exclaimed the other. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing else is possible,” said Oliver, firmly. “I’ve +made an engagement for you with the Eldridge Devons up the Hudson—” +</p> + +<p> +“For the whole week?” +</p> + +<p> +“The whole week. And it’ll be the most important thing you’ve +done. Mrs. Winnie’s going to take us all in her car, and you will make no +end of indispensable acquaintances.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oliver, I don’t see how in the world I can do it!” the other +protested in dismay, and went on for several minutes arguing and explaining +what he had to do. But Oliver contented himself with the assurance that where +there’s a will, there’s a way. One could not refuse an invitation +to spend Christmas with the Eldridge Devons! +</p> + +<p> +And sure enough, there was a way. Mr. Hasbrook had mentioned to him that he had +had considerable work done upon the case, and would have the papers sent round. +And when Montague reached his office that morning, he found them there. There +was a package of several thousand pages; and upon examining them, he found to +his utter consternation that they contained a complete bill of complaint, with +all the necessary references and citations, and a preliminary draught of a +brief—in short, a complete and thoroughgoing preparation of his case. +There could not have been less than ten or fifteen thousand dollars’ +worth of work in the papers; and Montague sat quite aghast, turning over the +neatly typewritten sheets. He could indeed afford to attend Christmas house +parties, if all his clients were to treat him like this! +</p> + +<p> +He felt a little piqued about it—for he had noted some of these points +for himself, and felt a little proud about them. Apparently he was to be +nothing but a figure-head in the case! And he turned to the phone and called up +Mr. Hasbrook, and asked him what he expected him to do with these papers. There +was the whole case here; and was he simply to take them as they stood? +</p> + +<p> +No one could have replied more considerately than did Mr. Hasbrook. The papers +were for Montague’s benefit—he would do exactly as he pleased with +them. He might use them as they stood, or reject them altogether, or make them +the basis for his own work—anything that appealed to his judgment would +be satisfactory. And so Montague turned about and wrote an acceptance to the +formal invitation which had come from the Eldridge Devons. +</p> + +<p> +Later on in the day Oliver called up, and said that he was to go out to dinner +the following evening, and that he would call for him at eight. +“It’s with the Jack Evanses,” Oliver added. “Do you +know them?” +</p> + +<p> +Montague had heard the name, as that of the president of a chain of Western +railroads. “Do you mean him?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said the other. “They’re a rum crowd, but +there’s money in it. I’ll call early and explain it to you.” +</p> + +<p> +But it was explained sooner than that. During the next afternoon Montague had a +caller—none other than Mrs. Winnie Duval. Some one had left Mrs. Winnie +some more money, it appeared; and there was a lot of red tape attached to it, +which she wanted the new lawyer to attend to. Also, she said, she hoped that he +would charge her a lot of money by way of encouraging himself. It was a mere +bagatelle of a hundred thousand or so, from some forgotten aunt in the West. +</p> + +<p> +The business was soon disposed of, and then Mrs. Winnie asked Montague if he +had any place to go to for dinner that evening: which was the occasion of his +mentioning the Jack Evanses. “O dear me!” said Mrs. Winnie, with a +laugh. “Is Ollie going to take you there? What a funny time you’ll +have!” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know them?” asked the other. +</p> + +<p> +“Heavens, no!” was the answer. “Nobody knows them; but +everybody knows about them. My husband meets old Evans in business, of course, +and thinks he’s a good sort. But the family—dear me!” +</p> + +<p> +“How much of it is there?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, there’s the old lady, and two grown daughters and a son. The +son’s a fine chap, they say—the old man took him in hand and put +him at work in the shops. But I suppose he thought that daughters were too much +of a proposition for him, and so he sent them to a fancy school—and, I +tell you, they’re the most highly polished human specimens that ever you +encountered!” +</p> + +<p> +It sounded entertaining. “But what does Oliver want with them?” +asked Montague, wonderingly. +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t that he wants them—they want him. They’re +climbers, you know—perfectly frantic. They’ve come to town to get +into Society.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you mean that they pay Oliver?” asked Montague. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know that,” said the other, with a laugh. +“You’ll have to ask Ollie. They’ve a number of the little +brothers of the rich hanging round them, picking up whatever plunder’s in +sight.” +</p> + +<p> +A look of pain crossed Montague’s face; and she saw it, and put out her +hand with a sudden gesture. “Oh!” she exclaimed, “I’ve +offended you!” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said he, “it’s not that exactly—I +wouldn’t be offended. But I’m worried about my brother.” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“He gets a lot of money somehow, and I don’t know what it +means.” +</p> + +<p> +The woman sat for a few moments in silence, watching him. “Didn’t +he have any when he came here?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Not very much,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“Because,” she went on, “if he didn’t, he certainly +managed it very cleverly—we all thought he had.” +</p> + +<p> +Again there was a pause; then suddenly Mrs. Winnie said: “Do you know, +you feel differently about money from the way we do in New York. Do you realize +it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not sure,” said he. “How do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“You look at it in an old-fashioned sort of way—a person has to +earn it—it’s a sign of something he’s done. It came to me +just now, all in a flash—we don’t feel that way about money. We +haven’t any of us earned ours; we’ve just got it. And it never +occurs to us to expect other people to earn it—all we want to know is if +they have it.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague did not tell his companion how very profound a remark he considered +that; he was afraid it would not be delicate to agree with her. He had heard a +story of a negro occupant of the “mourners’ bench,” who was +voluble in confession of his sins, but took exception to the fervour with which +the congregation said “Amen!” +</p> + +<p> +“The Evanses used to be a lot funnier than they are now,” continued +Mrs. Winnie, after a while. “When they came here last year, they were +really frightful. They had an English chap for social secretary—a younger +son of some broken-down old family. My brother knew a man who had been one of +their intimates in the West, and he said it was perfectly +excruciating—this fellow used to sit at the table and give orders to the +whole crowd: ‘Your ice-cream fork should be at your right hand, Miss +Mary.—One never asks for more soup, Master Robert.—And Miss Anna, +always move your soup-spoon <i>from</i> you—that’s +better!’” +</p> + +<p> +“I fancy I shall feel sorry for them,” said Montague. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you needn’t,” said the other, promptly. +“They’ll get what they want.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think so?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, certainly they will. They’ve got the money; and they’ve +been abroad—they’re learning the game. And they’ll keep at it +until they succeed—what else is there for them to do? And then my husband +says that old Evans is making himself a power here in the East; so that pretty +soon they won’t dare offend him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Does that count?” asked the man. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I guess it counts!” laughed Mrs. Winnie. “It has of +late.” And she went on to tell him of the Society leader who had dared to +offend the daughters of a great magnate, and how the magnate had retaliated by +turning the woman’s husband out of his high office. That was often the +way in the business world; the struggles were supposed to be affairs of men, +but oftener than not the moving power was a woman’s intrigue. You would +see a great upheaval in Wall Street, and it would be two of the big men +quarrelling over a mistress; you would see some man rush suddenly into a high +office—and that would be because his wife had sold herself to advance +him. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Mrs. Winnie took him up town in her auto, and he dressed for dinner; and then +came Oliver, and his brother asked, “Are you trying to put the Evanses +into Society?” +</p> + +<p> +“Who’s been telling you about them?” asked the other. +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Winnie,” said Montague. +</p> + +<p> +“What did she tell you?” +</p> + +<p> +Montague went over her recital, which his brother apparently found +satisfactory. “It’s not as serious as that,” he said, +answering the earlier question. “I help them a little now and +then.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, advise them, mostly—tell them where to go and what to wear. +When they first came to New York, they were dressed like paraquets, you know. +And”—here Oliver broke into a laugh—“I refrain from +making jokes about them. And when I hear other people abusing them, I point out +that they are sure to land in the end, and will be dangerous enemies. +I’ve got one or two wedges started for them.” +</p> + +<p> +“And do they pay you for doing it?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’d call it paying me, I suppose,” replied the other. +“The old man carries a few shares of stock for me now and then.” +</p> + +<p> +“Carries a few shares?” echoed Montague, and Oliver explained the +procedure. This was one of the customs which had grown up in a community where +people did not have to earn their money. The recipient of the favour put up +nothing and took no risks; but the other person was supposed to buy some stock +for him, and then, when the stock went up, he would send a cheque for the +“profits.” Many a man who would have resented a direct offer of +money, would assent pleasantly when a powerful friend offered to “carry a +hundred shares for him.” This was the way one offered a tip in the big +world; it was useful in the case of newspaper men, whose good opinion of a +stock was desired, or of politicians and legislators, whose votes might help +its fortunes. When one expected to get into Society, one must be prepared to +strew such tips about him. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course,” added Oliver, “what the family would really like +me to do is to get the Robbie Wallings to take them up. I suppose I could get +round half a million of them if I could manage that.” +</p> + +<p> +To all of which Montague replied, “I see.” +</p> + +<p> +A great light had dawned upon him. So <i>that</i> was the way it was managed! +That was why one paid thirty thousand a year for one’s apartments, and +thirty thousand more for a girl’s clothes! No wonder it was better to +spend Christmas week at the Eldridge Devons than to labour at one’s law +books! +</p> + +<p> +“One more question,” Montague went on. “Why are you +introducing me to them?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” his brother answered, “it won’t hurt you; +you’ll find it amusing. You see, they’d heard I had a brother; and +they asked me to bring you. I couldn’t keep you hidden for ever, could +I?” +</p> + +<p> +All this was while they were driving up town. The Evanses’ place was on +Riverside Drive; and when Montague got out of the cab and saw it looming up in +the semi-darkness, he emitted an exclamation of wonder. It was as big as a +jail! +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes, they’ve got room enough,” said Oliver, with a +laugh. “I put this deal through for them—it’s the old Lamson +palace, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +They had the room; and likewise they had all the trappings of +snobbery—Montague took that fact in at a glance. There were knee-breeches +and scarlet facings and gold braid—marble balconies and fireplaces and +fountains—French masters and real Flemish tapestry. The staircase of +their palace was a winding one, and there was a white velvet carpet which had +been specially woven for it, and had to be changed frequently; at the top of it +was a white cashmere rug which had a pedigree of six centuries—and so on. +</p> + +<p> +And then came the family: this tall, raw-boned, gigantic man, with +weather-tanned face and straggling grey moustache—this was Jack Evans; +and Mrs. Evans, short and pudgy, but with a kindly face, and not too many +diamonds; and the Misses Evans,—stately and slender and perfectly +arrayed. “Why, they’re all right!” was the thought that came +to Montague. +</p> + +<p> +They were all right until they opened their mouths. When they spoke, you +discovered that Evans was a miner, and that his wife had been cook on a ranch; +also that Anne and Mary had harsh voices, and that they never by any chance +said or did anything natural. +</p> + +<p> +They were escorted into the stately dining-room—Henri II., with a +historic mantel taken from the palace of Fontainebleau, and four great +allegorical paintings of Morning, Evening, Noon, and Midnight upon the walls. +There were no other guests—the table, set for six, seemed like a toy in +the vast apartment. And in a sudden flash—with a start of almost +terror—Montague realized what it must mean not to be in Society. To have +all this splendour, and nobody to share it! To have Henri II. dining-rooms and +Louis XVI. parlours and Louis XIV. libraries—and see them all empty! To +have no one to drive with or talk with, no one to visit or play cards +with—to go to the theatre and the opera and have no one to speak to! +Worse than that, to be stared at and smiled at! To live in this huge palace, +and know that all the horde of servants, underneath their cringing deference, +were sneering at you! To face that—to live in the presence of it day +after day! And then, outside of your home, the ever widening circles of +ridicule and contempt—Society, with all its hangers-on and parasites, its +imitators and admirers! +</p> + +<p> +And some one had defied all that—some one had taken up the sword and gone +forth to beat down that opposition! Montague looked at this little family of +four, and wondered which of them was the driving force in this most desperate +emprise! +</p> + +<p> +He arrived at it by a process of elimination. It could not be Evans himself. +One saw that the old man was quite hopeless socially; nothing could change his +big hairy hands or his lean scrawny neck, or his irresistible impulse to slide +down in his chair and cross his long legs in front of him. The face and the +talk of Jack Evans brought irresistibly to mind the mountain trail and the +prospector’s pack-mule, the smoke of camp-fires and the odour of bacon +and beans. Seventeen long years the man had tramped in deserts and mountain +wildernesses, and Nature had graven her impress deep into his body and soul. +</p> + +<p> +He was very shy at this dinner; but Montague came to know him well in the +course of time. And after he had come to realize that Montague was not one of +the grafters, he opened up his heart. Evans had held on to his mine when he had +found it, and he had downed the rivals who had tried to take it away from him, +and he had bought the railroads who had tried to crush him—and now he had +come to Wall Street to fight the men who had tried to ruin his railroads. But +through it all, he had kept the heart of a woman, and the sight of real +distress was unbearable to him. He was the sort of man to keep a roll of +ten-thousand-dollar bills in his pistol pocket, and to give one away if he +thought he could do it without offence. And, on the other hand, men told how +once when he had seen a porter insult a woman passenger on his line, he jumped +up and pulled the bell-cord, and had the man put out on the roadside at +midnight, thirty miles from the nearest town! +</p> + +<p> +No, it was the women folks, he said to Montague, with his grim laugh. It +didn’t trouble him at all to be called a “noovoo rich”; and +when he felt like dancing a shakedown, he could take a run out to God’s +country. But the women folks had got the bee in their bonnet. The old man added +sadly that one of the disadvantages of striking it rich was that it left the +women folks with nothing to do. +</p> + +<p> +Nor was it Mrs. Evans, either. “Sarey,” as she was called by the +head of the house, sat next to Montague at dinner; and he discovered that with +the very least encouragement, the good lady was willing to become homelike and +comfortable. Montague gave the occasion, because he was a stranger, and +volunteered the opinion that New York was a shamelessly extravagant place, and +hard to get along in; and Mrs. Evans took up the subject and revealed herself +as a good-natured and kindly personage, who had wistful yearnings for mush and +molasses, and flap-jacks, and bread fried in bacon-grease, and similar sensible +things, while her chef was compelling her to eat <i>paté de foie gras</i> in +aspic, and milk-fed guinea-chicks, and <i>biscuits glacées Tortoni</i>. Of +course she did not say that at dinner,—she made a game effort to play her +part,—with the result of at least one diverting experience for Montague. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Evans was telling him what a dreadful place she considered the city for +young men; and how she feared to bring her boy here. “The men here have +no morals at all,” said she, and added earnestly, “I’ve come +to the conclusion that Eastern men are naturally amphibious!” +</p> + +<p> +Then, as Montague knitted his brows and looked perplexed, she added, +“Don’t you think so?” And he replied, with as little delay as +possible, that he had never really thought of it before. +</p> + +<p> +It was not until a couple of hours later that the light dawned upon him, in the +course of a conversation with Miss Anne. “We met Lady Stonebridge at +luncheon to-day,” said that young person. “Do you know her?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Montague, who had never heard of her. +</p> + +<p> +“I think those aristocratic English women use the most abominable +slang,” continued Anne. “Have you noticed it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I have,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“And so utterly cynical! Do you know, Lady Stonebridge quite shocked +mother—she told her she didn’t believe in marriage at all, and that +she thought all men were naturally polygamous!” +</p> + +<p> +Later on, Montague came to know “Mrs. Sarey”; and one afternoon, +sitting in her <i>Petit Trianon</i> drawing-room, he asked her abruptly, +“Why in the world do you want to get into Society?” And the poor +lady caught her breath, and tried to be indignant; and then, seeing that he was +in earnest, and that she was cornered, broke down and confessed. “It +isn’t me,” she said, “it’s the gals.” (For along +with the surrender went a reversion to natural speech.) “It’s Mary, +and more particularly Anne.” +</p> + +<p> +They talked it over confidentially—which was a great relief to Mrs. +Sarey’s soul, for she was cruelly lonely. So far as she was concerned, it +was not because she wanted Society, but because Society didn’t want her. +She flashed up in sudden anger, and clenched her fists, declaring that Jack +Evans was as good a man as walked the streets of New York—and they would +acknowledge it before he got through with them, too! After that she intended to +settle down at home and be comfortable, and mend her husband’s socks. +</p> + +<p> +She went on to tell him what a hard road was the path of glory. There were +hundreds of people ready to know them—but oh, such a riffraff! They might +fill up their home with the hangers-on and the yellow, but no, they could wait. +They had learned a lot since they set out. One very aristocratic lady had +invited them to dinner, and their hopes had been high—but alas, while +they were sitting by the fireplace, some one admired a thirty-thousand-dollar +emerald ring which Mrs. Evans had on her finger, and she had taken it off and +passed it about among the company, and somewhere it had vanished completely! +And another person had invited Mary to a bridge-party, and though she had +played hardly at all, her hostess had quietly informed her that she had lost a +thousand dollars. And the great Lady Stonebridge had actually sent for her and +told her that she could introduce her in some of the very best circles, if only +she was willing to lose always! Mrs. Evans had possessed a very homely Irish +name before she was married; and Lady Stonebridge had got five thousand dollars +from her to use some great influence she possessed in the Royal College of +Heralds, and prove that she was descended directly from the noble old family of +Magennis, who had been the lords of Iveagh, way back in the fourteenth century. +And now Oliver had told them that this imposing charter would not help them in +the least! +</p> + +<p> +In the process of elimination, there were the Misses Evans left. +Montague’s friends made many jests when they heard that he had met +them—asking him if he meant to settle down. Major Venable went so far as +to assure him that there was not the least doubt that either of the girls would +take him in a second. Montague laughed, and answered that Mary was not so +bad—she had a sweet face and was good-natured; but also, she was two +years younger than Anne; and he could not get over the thought that two more +years might make another Anne of her. +</p> + +<p> +For it was Anne who was the driving force of the family! Anne who had planned +the great campaign, and selected the Lamson palace, and pried the family loose +from the primeval rocks of Nevada! She was cold as an iceberg, tireless, +pitiless to others as to herself; for seventeen years her father had wandered +and dug among the mountains; and for seventeen years, if need be, she would dig +beneath the walls of the fortress of Society! +</p> + +<p> +After Montague had had his heart to heart talk with the mother, Miss Anne Evans +became very haughty toward him; whereby he knew that the old lady had told +about it, and that the daughter resented his presumption. But to Oliver she +laid bare her soul, and Oliver would come and tell his brother about it: how +she plotted and planned and studied, and brought new schemes to him every week. +She had some of the real people bought over to secret sympathy with her; if +there was some especial favour which she asked for, she would set to work with +the good-natured old man, and the person would have some important money +service done him. She had the people of Society all marked—she was +learning all their weaknesses, and the underground passages of their lives, and +working patiently to find the key to her problem—some one family which +was socially impregnable, but whose finances were in such a shape that they +would receive the proposition to take up the Evanses, and definitely put them +in. Montague used to look back upon all this with wonder and +amusement—from those days in the not far distant future, when the papers +had cable descriptions of the gowns of the Duchess of Arden, <i>née</i> Evans, +who was the bright particular star of the London social season! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap14"></a>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> + +<p> +Montague had written a reluctant letter to Major Thorne, telling him that he +had been unable to interest anyone in his proposition, and that he was not in +position to undertake it himself. Then, according to his brother’s +injunction, he left his money in the bank, and waited. There would be +“something doing” soon, said Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +And as they drove home from the Evanses’, Oliver served notice upon him +that this event might be expected any day. He was very mysterious about it, and +would answer none of his brother’s questions—except to say that it +had nothing to do with the people they had just visited. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose,” Montague remarked, “you have not failed to +realize that Evans might play you false.” +</p> + +<p> +And the other laughed, echoing the words, “<i>Might</i> do it!” +Then he went on to tell the tale of the great railroad builder of the West, +whose daughter had been married, with elaborate festivities; and some of the +young men present, thinking to find him in a sentimental mood, had asked him +for his views about the market. He advised them to buy the stock of his road; +and they formed a pool and bought, and as fast as they bought, he +sold—until the little venture cost the boys a total of seven million and +a half! +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” Oliver added. “I have never put up a dollar for +anything of Evans’s, and I never shall.—They are simply a side +issue, anyway,” he added carelessly. +</p> + +<p> +A couple of mornings later, while Montague was at breakfast, his brother called +him up and said that he was coming round, and would go down town with him. +Montague knew at once that that meant something serious, for he had never +before known his brother to be awake so early. +</p> + +<p> +They took a cab; and then Oliver explained. The moment had arrived—the +time to take the plunge, and come up with a fortune. He could not tell much +about it, for it was a matter upon which he stood pledged to absolute secrecy. +There were but four people in the country who knew about it. It was the chance +of a lifetime—and in four or five hours it would be gone. Three times +before it had come to Oliver, and each time he had multiplied his capital +several times; that he had not made millions was simply because he did not have +enough money. His brother must take his word for this and simply put himself +into his hands. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it you want me to do?” asked Montague, gravely. +</p> + +<p> +“I want you to take every dollar you have, or that you can lay your hands +on this morning, and turn it over to me to buy stocks with.” +</p> + +<p> +“To buy on margin, you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I mean that,” said Oliver. Then, as he saw his brother +frown, he added, “Understand me, I have absolutely certain information as +to how a certain stock will behave to-day.” +</p> + +<p> +“The best judges of a stock often make mistakes in such matters,” +said Montague. +</p> + +<p> +“It is not a question of any person’s judgment,” was the +reply. “It is a question of knowledge. The stock is to be <i>made</i> to +behave so.” +</p> + +<p> +“But how can you know that the person who intends to make it behave may +not be lying to you?” +</p> + +<p> +“My information does not come from that person, but from a person who has +no such interest—who, on the contrary, is in on the deal with me, and +gains only as I gain.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, in other words,” said Montague, “your information is +stolen?” +</p> + +<p> +“Everything in Wall Street is stolen,” was Oliver’s concise +reply. +</p> + +<p> +There was a long silence, while the cab rolled swiftly on its way. +“Well?” Oliver asked at last. +</p> + +<p> +“I can imagine,” said Montague, “how a man might intend to +move a certain stock, and think that he had the power, and yet find that he was +mistaken. There are so many forces, so many chances to be considered—it +seems to me you must be taking a risk.” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver laughed. “You talk like a child,” was his reply. +“Suppose that I were in absolute control of a corporation, and that I +chose to run it for purposes of market manipulation, don’t you think I +might come pretty near knowing what its stock was going to do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Montague, slowly, “if such a thing as that were +conceivable.” +</p> + +<p> +“If it were conceivable!” laughed his brother. “And now +suppose that I had a confidential man—a secretary, we’ll +say—and I paid him twenty thousand a year, and he saw chances to make a +hundred thousand in an hour—don’t you think he might conceivably +try it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Montague, “he might. But where do you come +in?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, if the man were going to do anything worth while, he’d need +capital, would he not? And he’d hardly dare to look for any money in the +Street, where a thousand eyes would be watching him. What more natural than to +look out for some person who is in Society and has the ear of private parties +with plenty of cash?” +</p> + +<p> +And Montague sat in deep thought. “I see,” he said slowly; “I +see!” Then, fixing his eyes upon Oliver, he exclaimed, earnestly, +“One thing more!” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t ask me any more,” protested the other. “I told +you I was pledged—” +</p> + +<p> +“You must tell me this,” said Montague. “Does Bobbie Walling +know about it?” +</p> + +<p> +“He does not,” was the reply. But Montague had known his brother +long and intimately, and he could read things in his eyes. He knew that that +was a lie. He had solved the mystery at last! +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Montague knew that he had come to a parting of the ways. He did not like this +kind of thing—he had not come to New York to be a stock-gambler. But what +a difficult thing it would be to say so; and how unfair it was to be confronted +with such an issue, and compelled to decide in a few minutes in a cab! +</p> + +<p> +He had put himself in his brother’s hands, and now he was under +obligations to him, which he could not pay off. Oliver had paid all his +expenses; he was doing everything for him. He had made all his difficulties his +own, and all in frankness and perfect trust—upon the assumption that his +brother would play the game with him. And now, at the critical moment, he was +to face about, and say; “I do not like the game. I do not approve of your +life!” Such a painful thing it is to have a higher moral code than +one’s friends! +</p> + +<p> +If he refused, he saw that he would have to face a complete break; he could not +go on living in the world to which he had been introduced. Fifty thousand had +seemed an enormous fee, yet even a week or two had sufficed for it to come to +seem inadequate. He would have to have many such fees, if they were to go on +living at their present rate; and if Alice were to have a social career, and +entertain her friends. And to ask Alice to give up now, and retire, would be +even harder than to face his brother here in the cab. +</p> + +<p> +Then came the temptation. Life was a battle, and this was the way it was being +fought. If he rejected the opportunity, others would seize it; in fact, by +refusing, he would be handing it to them. This great man, whoever he might be, +who was manipulating stocks for his own convenience—could anyone in his +senses reject a chance to wrench from him some part of his spoils? Montague saw +the impulse of refusal dying away within him. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” asked his brother, finally. +</p> + +<p> +“Oliver,” said the other, “don’t you think that I ought +to know more about it, so that I can judge?” +</p> + +<p> +“You could not judge, even if I told you all,” said Oliver. +“It would take you a long time to become familiar with the circumstances, +as I am. You must take my word; I know it is certain and safe.” +</p> + +<p> +Then suddenly he unbuttoned his coat, and took out some papers, and handed his +brother a telegram. It was dated Chicago, and read, “Guest is expected +immediately.—HENRY.” “That means, ‘Buy Transcontinental +this morning,’” said Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“I see,” said the other. “Then the man is in Chicago?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” was the reply. “That is his wife. He wires to +her.” +</p> + +<p> +“—How much money have you?” asked Oliver, after a pause. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve most of the fifty thousand,” the other answered, +“and about thirty thousand we brought with us.” +</p> + +<p> +“How much can you put your hands on?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, I could get all of it; but part of the money is mother’s, and +I would not touch that.” +</p> + +<p> +The younger man was about to remonstrate, but Montague stopped him, “I +will put up the fifty thousand I have earned,” he said. “I dare not +risk any more.” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver shrugged his shoulders. “As you please,” he said. “You +may never have another such chance in your life.” +</p> + +<p> +He dropped the subject, or at least he probably tried to. Within a few minutes, +however, he was back at it again, with the result that by the time they reached +the banking-district, Montague had agreed to draw sixty thousand. +</p> + +<p> +They stopped at his bank. “It isn’t open yet,—” said +Oliver, “but the paying teller will oblige you. Tell him you want it +before the Exchange opens.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague went in and got his money, in six new, crisp, ten-thousand-dollar +bills. He buttoned them up in his inmost pocket, wondering a little, +incidentally, at the magnificence of the place, and at the swift routine manner +in which the clerk took in and paid out such sums as this. Then they drove to +Oliver’s bank, and he drew a hundred and twenty thousand; and then he +paid off the cab, and they strolled down Broadway into Wall Street. It lacked a +quarter of an hour of the time of the opening of the Exchange; and a stream of +prosperous-looking men were pouring in from all the cars and ferries to their +offices. +</p> + +<p> +“Where are your brokers?” Montague inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t have any brokers—at least not for a matter such as +this,” said Oliver. And he stopped in front of one of the big buildings. +“In there,” he said, “are the offices of Hammond and +Streeter—second floor to your left. Go there and ask for a member of the +firm, and introduce yourself under an assumed name—” +</p> + +<p> +“What!” gasped Montague. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, man—you would not dream of giving your own name! What +difference will that make?” +</p> + +<p> +“I never thought of doing such a thing,” said the other. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, think of it now.” +</p> + +<p> +But Montague shook his head. “I would not do that,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver shrugged his shoulders. “All right,” he said; “tell +him you don’t care to give your name. They’re a little +shady—they’ll take your money.” +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose they won’t?” asked the other. +</p> + +<p> +“Then wait outside for me, and I’ll take you somewhere else.” +</p> + +<p> +“What shall I buy?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ten thousand shares of Transcontinental Common at the opening price; and +tell them to buy on the scale up, and to raise the stop; also to take your +orders to sell over the ’phone. Then wait there until I come for +you.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague set his teeth together and obeyed orders. Inside the door marked +Hammond and Streeter a pleasant-faced young man advanced to meet him, and led +him to a grey-haired and affable gentleman, Mr. Streeter. And Montague +introduced himself as a stranger in town, from the South, and wishing to buy +some stock. Mr. Streeter led him into an inner office and seated himself at a +desk and drew some papers in front of him. “Your name, please?” he +asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t care to give my name,” replied the other. And Mr. +Streeter put down his pen. +</p> + +<p> +“Not give your name?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Montague quietly. +</p> + +<p> +“Why?”—said Mr. Streeter—“I don’t +understand—” +</p> + +<p> +“I am a stranger in town,” said Montague, “and not accustomed +to dealing in stocks. I should prefer to remain unknown.” +</p> + +<p> +The man eyed him sharply. “Where do you come from?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“From Mississippi,” was the reply. +</p> + +<p> +“And have you a residence in New York?” +</p> + +<p> +“At a hotel,” said Montague. +</p> + +<p> +“You have to give some name,” said the other. +</p> + +<p> +“Any will do,” said Montague. “John Smith, if you +like.” +</p> + +<p> +“We never do anything like this,” said the broker. +</p> + +<p> +“We require that our customers be introduced. There are rules of the +Exchange—there are rules—” +</p> + +<p> +“I am sorry,” said Montague; “this would be a cash +transaction.” +</p> + +<p> +“How many shares do you want to buy?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ten thousand,” was the reply. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Streeter became more serious. “That is a large order,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Montague said nothing. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you wish to buy?” was the next question. +</p> + +<p> +“Transcontinental Common,” he replied. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said the other, after another pause.—“we will +try to accommodate you. But you will have to consider it—er—” +</p> + +<p> +“Strictly confidential,” said Montague. +</p> + +<p> +So Mr. Streeter made out the papers, and Montague, looking them over, +discovered that they called for one hundred thousand dollars. +</p> + +<p> +“That is a mistake,” he said. “I have only sixty +thousand.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said the other, “we shall certainly have to charge you +a ten per cent, margin.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague was not prepared for this contingency; but he did some mental +arithmetic. “What is the present price of the stock?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Fifty-nine and five-eighths,” was the reply. +</p> + +<p> +“Then sixty thousand dollars is more than ten per cent, of the market +price,” said Montague. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Mr. Streeter. “But in dealing with a stranger we +shall certainly have to put a ‘stop loss’ order at four points +above, and that would leave you only two points of safety—surely not +enough.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see,” said Montague—and he had a sudden appalling +realization of the wild game which his brother had planned for him. +</p> + +<p> +“Whereas,” Mr. Streeter continued, persuasively, “if you put +up ten per cent., you will have six points.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” said the other promptly. “Then please buy me six +thousand shares.” +</p> + +<p> +So they closed the deal, and the papers were signed, and Mr. Streeter took the +six new, crisp ten-thousand-dollar bills. +</p> + +<p> +Then he escorted him to the outer office, remarking pleasantly on the way, +“I hope you’re well advised. We’re inclined to be bearish +upon Transcontinental ourselves—the situation looks rather +squally.” +</p> + +<p> +These words were not worth the breath it took to say them; but Montague was not +aware of this, and felt a painful start within. But he answered, carelessly, +that one must take his chance, and sat down in one of the customer’s +chairs. Hammond and Streeter’s was like a little lecture-hall, with rows +of seats and a big blackboard in front, with the initials of the most important +stocks in columns, and yesterday’s closing prices above, on little green +cards. At one side was a ticker, with two attendants awaiting the opening +click. +</p> + +<p> +In the seats were twenty or thirty men, old and young; most of them regular +<i>habitués</i>, victims of the fever of the Street. Montague watched them, +catching snatches of their whispered conversation, with its intricate and +disagreeable slang. He felt intensely humiliated and uncomfortable—for he +had got the fever of the Street into his own veins, and he could not conquer +it. There were nasty shivers running up and down his spine, and his hands were +cold. +</p> + +<p> +He stared at the little figures, fascinated; they stood for some vast and +tremendous force outside, which could not be controlled or even +comprehended,—some merciless, annihilating force, like the lightning or +the tornado. And he had put himself at the mercy of it; it might do its will +with him! “Tr. C. 59-5/8” read the little pasteboard; and he had +only six points of safety. If at any time in the day that figure should be +changed to read “53-5/8”—then every dollar of +Montague’s sixty thousand would be gone for ever! The great fee that he +had worked so hard for and rejoiced so greatly over—that would be all +gone, and a slice out of his inheritance besides! +</p> + +<p> +A boy put into his hand a little four-page paper—one of the countless +news-sheets which different houses and interests distributed free for +advertising or other purposes; and a heading “Transcontinental” +caught his eye, among the paragraphs in the <i>Day’s Events</i>. He read: +“The directors’ meeting of the Transcontinental R.R. will be held +at noon. It is confidently predicted that the quarterly dividend will be +passed, as it has been for the last three quarters. There is great +dissatisfaction among the stock-holders. The stock has been decidedly weak, +with no apparent inside support; it fell off three points just before closing +yesterday, upon the news of further proceedings by Western state officials, and +widely credited rumours of dissensions among the directors, with renewed +opposition to the control of the Hopkins interests.” +</p> + +<p> +Ten o’clock came and went, and the ticker began its long journey. There +was intense activity in Transcontinental, many thousands of shares changing +hands, and the price swaying back and forth. When Oliver came in, in half an +hour, it stood at 59-3/8. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all right,” said he. “Our time will not come +till afternoon.” +</p> + +<p> +“But suppose we are wiped out before afternoon?” said the other. +</p> + +<p> +“That is impossible,” answered Oliver. “There will be big +buying all the morning.” +</p> + +<p> +They sat for a while, nervous and restless. Then, by way of breaking the +monotony, Oliver suggested that his brother might like to see the +“Street.” They went around the corner to Broad Street. Here at the +head stood the Sub-treasury building, with all the gold of the government +inside, and a Gatling gun in the tower. The public did not know it was there, +but the financial men knew it, and it seemed as if they had huddled all their +offices and banks and safe-deposit vaults under its shelter. Here, far +underground, were hidden the two hundred millions of securities of the Oil +Trust—in a huge six-hundred-ton steel vault, with a door so delicately +poised that a finger could swing it on its hinges. And opposite to this was the +white Grecian building of the Stock Exchange. Down the street were throngs of +men within a roped arena, pushing, shouting, jostling; this was “the +curb,” where one could buy or sell small blocks of stock, and all the +wild-cat mining and oil stocks which were not listed by the Exchange. Rain or +shine, these men were always here; and in the windows of the neighbouring +buildings stood others shouting quotations to them through megaphones, or +signalling in deaf and dumb language. Some of these brokers wore coloured hats, +so that they could be distinguished; some had offices far off, where men sat +all day with strong glasses trained upon them. Everywhere was the atmosphere of +speculation—the restless, feverish eyes; the quick, nervous gestures; the +haggard, care-worn faces. For in this game every man was pitted against every +other man; and the dice were loaded so that nine out of every ten were doomed +in advance to ruin and defeat. They procured passes to the visitors’ +gallery of the Exchange. From here one looked down into a room one or two +hundred feet square, its floor covered with a snowstorm of torn pieces of +paper, and its air a babel of shouts and cries. Here were gathered perhaps two +thousand men and boys; some were lounging and talking, but most were crowded +about the various trading-posts, pushing, climbing over each other, leaping up, +waving their hands and calling aloud. A “seat” in this exchange was +worth about ninety-five thousand dollars, and so no one of these men was poor; +but yet they came, day after day, to play their parts in this sordid arena, +“seeking in sorrow for each other’s joy”: inventing a +thousand petty tricks to outwit and deceive each other; rejoicing in a thousand +petty triumphs; and spending their lives, like the waves upon the shore, a very +symbol of human futility. Now and then a sudden impulse would seize them, and +they would become like howling demons, surging about one spot, shrieking, +gasping, clawing each other’s clothing to pieces; and the spectator +shuddered, seeing them as the victims of some strange and dreadful enchantment, +which bound them to struggle and torment each other until they were worn out +and grey. +</p> + +<p> +But one felt these things only dimly, when he had put all his fortune into +Transcontinental Common. For then he had sold his own soul to the enchanter, +and the spell was upon him, and he hoped and feared and agonized with the +struggling throng. Montague had no need to ask which was his +“post”; for a mob of a hundred men were packed about it, with +little whirls and eddies here and there on the outside. “Something doing +to-day all right,” said a man in his ear. +</p> + +<p> +It was interesting to watch; but there was one difficulty—there were no +quotations provided for the spectators. So the sight of this activity merely +set them on edge with anxiety—something must be happening to their stock! +Even Oliver was visibly nervous—after all, in the surest cases, the game +was a dangerous one; there might be a big failure, or an assassination, or an +earthquake! They rushed out and made for the nearest broker’s office, +where a glance at the board showed them Transcontinental at 60. They drew a +long breath, and sat down again to wait. +</p> + +<p> +That was about half-past eleven. At a quarter to twelve the stock went up an +eighth, and then a quarter, and then another eighth. The two gripped their +hands in excitement. Had the time come? +</p> + +<p> +Apparently it had. A minute later the stock leaped to 61, on large buying. Then +it went three-eighths more. A buzz of excitement ran through the office, and +the old-timers sat up in their seats. The stock went another quarter. +</p> + +<p> +Montague heard a man behind him say to his neighbour, “What does it +mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“God knows,” was the answer; but Oliver whispered in his +brother’s ear, “I know what it means. The insiders are +buying.” +</p> + +<p> +Somebody was buying, and buying furiously. The ticker seemed to set all other +business aside and give its attention to the trading in Transcontinental. It +was like a base-ball game, when one side begins to pile up runs, and the man in +the coacher’s box chants exultantly, and the dullest spectator is +stirred—since no man can be indifferent to success. And as the stock went +higher and higher, a little wave of excitement mounted with it, a murmur +running through the room, and a thrill passing from person to person. Some +watched, wondering if it would last, and if they had not better take on a +little; then another point would be scored, and they would wish they had done +it, and hesitate whether to do it now. But to others, like the Montagues, who +“had some,” it was victory, glorious and thrilling; their pulses +leaped faster with every new change of the figures; and between times they +reckoned up their gains, and hung between hope and dread for the new gains +which were on the way, but not yet in sight. +</p> + +<p> +There was little lull, and the boys who tended the board had a chance to rest. +The stock was above 66; at which price, owing to the device of +“pyramiding.” Montague was on “velvet,” to use the +picturesque phrase of the Street. His earnings amounted to sixty thousand +dollars, and even if the stock were to fall and he were to be sold out, he +would lose nothing. +</p> + +<p> +He wished to sell and realize his profits; but his brother gripped him fast by +the arm. “No! <i>no!</i>” he said. “It hasn’t really +come yet!” +</p> + +<p> +Some went out to lunch—to a restaurant where they could have a telephone +on their table, so as to keep in touch with events. But the Montagues had no +care about eating; they sat picturing the directors in session, and speculating +upon a score of various eventualities. Things might yet go wrong, and all their +profits would vanish like early snow-flakes—and all their capital with +them. Oliver shook like a leaf, but he would not stir. “Stay game!” +he whispered. +</p> + +<p> +He took out his watch, and glanced at it. It was after two o’clock. +“It may go over till to-morrow!” he muttered.—But then +suddenly came the storm. +</p> + +<p> +The ticker recorded a rise in the price of Transcontinental of a point and a +half, upon a purchase of five thousand shares; and then half a point for two +thousand more. After that it never stopped. It went a point at a time; it went +ten points in about fifteen minutes. And babel broke loose in the office, and +in several thousand other offices in the street, and spread to others all over +the world. Montague had got up, and was moving here and there, because the +tension was unendurable; and at the door of an inner office he heard some one +at the telephone exclaiming, “For the love of God, can’t you find +out what’s the matter?”—A moment later a man rushed in, +breathless and wild-eyed, and his voice rang through the office, “The +directors have declared a quarterly dividend of three per cent, and an extra +dividend of two!” +</p> + +<p> +And Oliver caught his brother by the arm and started for the door with him. +“Get to your broker’s,” he said. “And if the stock has +stopped moving, sell; and sell in any case before the close.” And then he +dashed away to his own headquarters. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +At about half after three o’clock, Oliver came into Hammond and +Streeter’s, breathless, and with his hair and clothing dishevelled. He +was half beside himself with exultation; and Montague was scarcely less wrought +up—in fact he felt quite limp after the strain he had been through. +</p> + +<p> +“What price did you get?” his brother inquired; and he answered, +“An average of 78-3/8.” There had been another sharp rise at the +end, and he had sold all his stock without checking the advance. +</p> + +<p> +“I got five-eighths,” said Oliver. “O ye gods!” +</p> + +<p> +There were some unhappy “shorts” in the office; Mr. Streeter was +one of them. It was bitterness and gall to them to see the radiant faces of the +two lucky ones; but the two did not even see this. They went out, half dancing, +and had a drink or two to steady their nerves. +</p> + +<p> +They would not actually get their money until the morrow; but Montague figured +a profit of a trifle under a quarter of a million for himself. Of this about +twenty thousand would go to make up the share of his unknown informant; the +balance he considered would be an ample reward for his six hours’ work +that day. +</p> + +<p> +His brother had won more than twice as much. But as they drove up home, talking +over it in awe-stricken whispers, and pledging themselves to absolute secrecy, +Oliver suddenly clenched his fist and struck his knee. +</p> + +<p> +“By God!” he exclaimed. “If I hadn’t been a fool and +tried to save an extra margin, I could have had a million!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap15"></a>CHAPTER XV.</h2> + +<p> +After such a victory one felt in a mood for Christmas festivities,—for +music and dancing and all beautiful and happy things. +</p> + +<p> +Such a thing, for instance, as Mrs. Winnie, when she came to meet him; clad in +her best automobile coat, a thing of purest snowy ermine, so truly gorgeous +that wherever she went, people turned and stared and caught their breath. Mrs. +Winnie was a picture of joyful health, with a glow in her rich complexion, and +a sparkle in her black eyes. +</p> + +<p> +She sat in her big touring-car—in which one could afford to wear ermine. +It was a little private self-moving hotel; in the limousine were seats for six +persons, with revolving easy chairs, and berths for sleeping, and a +writing-desk and a wash-stand, and a beautiful electric chandelier to light it +at night. Its trimmings were of South American mahogany, and its upholstering +of Spanish and Morocco leathers; it had a telephone with which one spoke to the +driver; an ice-box and a lunch hamper—in fact, one might have spent an +hour discovering new gimcracks in this magic automobile. It had been made +especially for Mrs. Winnie a couple of years ago, and the newspapers said it +had cost thirty thousand dollars; it had then been quite a novelty, but now +“everybody” was getting them. In this car one might sit at ease, +and laugh and chat, and travel at the rate of an express train; and with never +a jar or a quiver, nor the faintest sound of any sort. +</p> + +<p> +The streets of the city sped by them as if by enchantment. They went through +the park, and out Riverside Drive, and up the river-road which runs out of +Broadway all the way to Albany. It was a macadamized avenue, lined with +beautiful and stately homes. As one went farther yet, he came to the great +country estates—a whole district of hundreds of square miles given up to +them. There were forests and lakes and streams; there were gardens and +greenhouses filled with rare plants and flowers, and parks with deer browsing, +and peacocks and lyre-birds strutting about. The road wound in and out among +hills, the surfaces of which would be one unbroken lawn; and upon the highest +points stood palaces of every conceivable style and shape. +</p> + +<p> +One might find these great domains anywhere around the city, at a distance of +from thirty to sixty miles; there were two or three hundred of them, and +incredible were the sums of money which had been spent upon their decoration. +One saw an artificial lake of ten thousand acres, made upon land which had cost +several hundred dollars an acre; one saw gardens with ten thousand rose-bushes, +and a quarter of a million dollars’ worth of lilies from Japan; there was +one estate in which had been planted a million dollars’ worth of rare +trees, imported from all over the world. Some rich men, who had nothing else to +amuse them, would make their estates over and over again, changing the view +about their homes as one changes the scenery in a play. Over in New Jersey the +Hegans were building a castle upon a mountain-top, and had built a special +railroad simply to carry the materials. Here, also, was the estate of the +tobacco king, upon which three million dollars had been spent before the plans +of the mansion had even been drawn; there were artificial lakes and streams, +and fantastic bridges and statuary, and scores of little model plantations and +estates, according to the whim of the owner. And here in the Pocantico Hills +was the estate of the oil king, about four square miles, with thirty miles of +model driveways; many car-loads of rare plants had been imported for its +gardens, and it took six hundred men to keep it in order. There was a golf +course, a little miniature Alps, upon which the richest man in the world +pursued his lost health, with armed guards and detectives patrolling the place +all day, and a tower with a search-light, whereby at night he could flood the +grounds with light by pressing a button. +</p> + +<p> +In one of these places lived the heir of the great house of Devon. His cousin +dwelt in Europe, saying that America was not a fit place for a gentleman to +live in. Each of them owned a hundred million dollars’ worth of New York +real estate, and drew their tribute of rents from the toil of the swarming +millions of the city. And always, according to the policy of the family, they +bought new real estate. They were directors of the great railroads tributary to +the city, and in touch with the political machines, and in every other way in +position to know what was under way: if a new subway were built to set the +swarming millions free, the millions would find the land all taken up, and +apartment-houses newly built for them—and the Devons were the owners. +They had a score of the city’s greatest hotels—and also slum +tenements, and brothels and dives in the Tenderloin. They did not even have to +know what they owned; they did not have to know anything, or do +anything—they lived in their palaces, at home or abroad, and in their +offices in the city the great rent-gathering machine ground on. +</p> + +<p> +Eldridge Devon’s occupation was playing with his country-place and his +automobiles. He had recently sold all his horses, and turned his stables into a +garage equipped with a score or so of cars; he was always getting a new one, +and discussing its merits. As to Hudson Cliff, the estate, he had conceived the +brilliant idea of establishing a gentleman’s country-place which should +be self-supporting—that is to say, which should furnish the luxuries and +necessities of its owner’s table for no more than it would have cost to +buy them. Considering the prices usually paid, this was no astonishing feat, +but Devon took a child’s delight in it; he showed Montague his +greenhouses, filled with rare flowers and fruits, and his model dairy, with +marble stables and nickel plumbing, and attendants in white uniforms and rubber +gloves. He was a short and very stout gentleman with red cheeks, and his +conversation was not brilliant. +</p> + +<p> +To Hudson Cliff came many of Montague’s earlier acquaintances, and others +whom he had not met before. They amused themselves in all the ways with +which he had become familiar at house-parties; likewise on Christmas Eve there +were festivities for the children, and on Christmas night a costume ball, very +beautiful and stately. Many came from New York to attend this, and others from +the neighbourhood; and in returning calls, Montague saw others of these +hill-top mansions. +</p> + +<p> +Also, and most important of all, they played bridge—as they had played at +every function which he had attended so far. Here Mrs. Winnie, who had rather +taken him up, and threatened to supplant Oliver as his social guide and +chaperon, insisted that no more excuses would be accepted; and so for two +mornings he sat with her in one of the sun-parlours, and diligently put his +mind upon the game. As he proved an apt pupil, he was then advised that he +might take a trial plunge. +</p> + +<p> +And so Montague came into touch with a new social phenomenon; perhaps on the +whole the most significant and soul-disturbing phenomenon which Society had +exhibited to him. He had just had the experience of getting a great deal of +money without earning it, and was fresh from the disagreeable memories of +it—the trembling and suspense, the burning lustful greed, the terrible +nerve-devouring excitement. He had hoped that he would not soon have to go +through such an experience again—and here was the prospect of an endless +dalliance with it! +</p> + +<p> +For that was the meaning of bridge; it was a penalty which people were paying +for getting their money without earning it. The disease got into their blood, +and they could no longer live without the excitement of gain and the hope of +gain. So after their labours were over, when they were supposed to be resting +and enjoying themselves, they would get together and torment themselves with an +imitation struggle, mimicking the grim and dreadful gamble of business. Down in +the Street, Oliver had pointed out to his brother a celebrated +“plunger,” who had sometimes won six or eight millions in a single +day; and that man would play at stocks all morning, and “play the +ponies” in the afternoon, and then spend the evening in a +millionaires’ gambling-house. And so it was with the bridge fiends. +</p> + +<p> +It was a social plague; it had run through all Society, high and low. It had +destroyed conversation and all good-fellowship—it would end by destroying +even common decency, and turning the best people into vulgar +gamblers.—Thus spoke Mrs. Billy Alden, who was one of the guests; and +Montague thought that Mrs. Billy ought to know, for she herself was playing all +the time. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Billy did not like Mrs. Winnie Duval; and the beginning of the +conversation was her inquiry why he let that woman corrupt him. Then the good +lady went on to tell him what bridge had come to be; how people played it on +the trains all the way from New York to San Francisco; how they had tables in +their autos, and played while they were touring over the world. +“Once,” said she, “I took a party to see the America’s +Cup races off Sandy Hook; and when we got back to the pier, some one called, +‘Who won?’ And the answer was, ‘Mrs. Billy’s ahead, but +we’re going on this evening.’ I took a party of friends through the +Mediterranean and up the Nile, and we passed Venice and Cairo and the Pyramids +and the Suez Canal, and they never once looked up—they were playing +bridge. And you think I’m joking, but I mean just literally what I say. I +know a man who was travelling from New York to Philadelphia, and got into a +game with some strangers, and rode all the way to Palm Beach to finish +it!” +</p> + +<p> +Montague heard later of a well-known Society leader who was totally +incapacitated that winter, from too much bridge at Newport; and she was passing +the winter at Hot Springs and Palm Beach—and playing bridge there. They +played it even in sanitariums, to which they had been driven by nervous +breakdown. It was an occupation so exhausting to the physique of women that +physicians came to know the symptoms of it, and before they diagnosed a case, +they would ask, “Do you play bridge?” It had destroyed the last +remnants of the Sabbath—it was a universal custom to have card-parties on +that day. +</p> + +<p> +It was a very expensive game, as they played it in Society; one might easily +win or lose several thousand dollars in an evening, and there were many who +could not afford this. If one did not play, he would be dropped from the lists +of those invited; and when one entered a game, etiquette required him to stay +in until it was finished. So one heard of young girls who had pawned their +family plate, or who had sold their honour, to pay their bills at the game; and +all Society knew of one youth who had robbed his hostess of her jewels and +pawned them, and then taken her the tickets—telling her that her guests +had robbed him. There were women received in the best Society, who lived as +adventuresses pure and simple, upon their skill at the game; hostesses would +invite rich guests and fleece them. Montague never forgot the sense of +amazement and dismay with which he listened while first Mrs. Winnie and then +his brother warned him that he must avoid playing with a certain aristocratic +dame whom he met in this most aristocratic household—because she was such +a notorious cheater! +</p> + +<p> +“My dear fellow,” laughed his brother, when he protested, “we +have a phrase ‘to cheat at cards like a woman.’” And then +Oliver went on to tell him of his own first experience at cards in Society, +when he had played poker with several charming young débutantes; they would +call their hands and take the money without showing their cards, and he had +been too gallant to ask to see them. But later he learned that this was a +regular practice, and so he never played poker with women. And Oliver pointed +out one of these girls to his brother—sitting, as beautiful as a picture +and as cold as marble, with a half-smoked cigarette on the edge of the table, +and whisky and soda and glasses of cracked ice beside her. Later on, as he +chanced to be reading a newspaper, his brother leaned over his shoulder and +pointed out another of the symptoms of the craze—an advertisement headed, +“Your luck will change.” It gave notice that at Rosenstein’s +Parlours, just off Fifth Avenue, one might borrow money upon expensive gowns +and furs! +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +All during the ten days of this house-party, Mrs. Winnie devoted herself to +seeing that Montague had a good time; Mrs. Winnie sat beside him at +table—he found that somehow a convention had been established which +assigned him to Mrs. Winnie as a matter of course. Nobody said anything to him +about it, but knowing how relentlessly the affairs of other people were probed +and analyzed, he began to feel exceedingly uncomfortable. +</p> + +<p> +There came a time when he felt quite smothered by Mrs. Winnie; and immediately +after lunch one day he broke away and went for a long walk by himself. This was +the occasion of his meeting with an adventure. +</p> + +<p> +An inch or two of snow had fallen, and lay gleaming in the sunlight. The air +was keen, and he drank deep draughts of it, and went striding away over the +hills for an hour or so. There was a gale blowing, and as he came over the +summits it would strike him, and he would see the river white with foam. And +then down in the valleys again all would be still. +</p> + +<p> +Here, in a thickly wooded place, Montague’s attention was arrested +suddenly by a peculiar sound, a heavy thud, which seemed to shake the earth. It +suggested a distant explosion, and he stopped for a moment and then went on, +gazing ahead. He passed a turn, and then he saw a great tree which had fallen +directly across the road. +</p> + +<p> +He went on, thinking that this was what he had heard. But as he came nearer, he +saw his mistake. Beyond the tree lay something else, and he began to run toward +it. It was two wheels of an automobile, sticking up into the air. +</p> + +<p> +He sprang upon the tree-trunk, and in one glance he saw the whole story. A big +touring-car had swept round the sharp turn, and swerved to avoid the unexpected +obstruction, and so turned a somersault into the ditch. +</p> + +<p> +Montague gave a thrill of horror, for there was the form of a man pinned +beneath the body of the car. He sprang toward it, but a second glance made him +stop—he saw that blood had gushed from the man’s mouth and soaked +the snow all about. His chest was visibly crushed flat, and his eyes were +dreadful, half-started from their sockets. +</p> + +<p> +For a moment Montague stood staring, as if turned to stone. Then from the other +side of the car came a moan, and he ran toward the sound. A second man lay in +the ditch, moving feebly. Montague sprang to help him. +</p> + +<p> +The man wore a heavy bearskin coat. Montague lifted him, and saw that he was a +very elderly person, with a cut across his forehead, and a face as white as +chalk. The other helped him to a position with his back against the bank, and +he opened his eyes and groaned. +</p> + +<p> +Montague knelt beside him, watching his breathing. He had a sense of utter +helplessness—there was nothing he could think of to do, save to unbutton +the man’s coat and keep wiping the blood from his face. +</p> + +<p> +“Some whisky,” the stranger moaned. Montague answered that he had +none; but the other replied that there was some in the car. +</p> + +<p> +The slope of the bank was such that Montague could crawl under, and find the +compartment with the bottle in it. The old man drank some, and a little colour +came back to his face. As the other watched him, it came to him that this face +was familiar; but he could not place it. +</p> + +<p> +“How many were there with you?” Montague asked; and the man +answered, “Only one.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague went over and made certain that the other man—who was obviously +the chauffeur—was dead. Then he hurried down the road, and dragged some +brush out into the middle of it, where it could be seen from a distance by any +other automobile that came along; after which he went back to the stranger, and +bound his handkerchief about his forehead to stop the bleeding from the cut. +</p> + +<p> +The old man’s lips were tightly set, as if he were suffering great pain. +“I’m done for!” he moaned, again and again. +</p> + +<p> +“Where are you hurt?” Montague asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” he gasped. “But it’s finished me! +I know it—it’s the last straw.” +</p> + +<p> +Then he closed his eyes and lay back. “Can’t you get a +doctor?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“There are no houses very near,” said Montague. “But I can +run—” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no!” the other interrupted, anxiously. “Don’t +leave me! Some one will come.—Oh, that fool of a chauffeur—why +couldn’t he go slow when I told him? That’s always the way with +them—they’re always trying to show off.” +</p> + +<p> +“The man is dead,” said Montague, quietly. +</p> + +<p> +The other started upon his elbow. “Dead!” he gasped. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Montague. “He’s under the car.” +</p> + +<p> +The old man’s eyes had started wild with fright; and he caught Montague +by the arm. “<i>Dead!</i>” he said. “O my God—and it +might have been me!” +</p> + +<p> +There was a moment’s pause. The stranger caught his breath, and whispered +again: “I’m done for! I can’t stand it! it’s too +much!” +</p> + +<p> +Montague had noticed when he lifted the man that he was very frail and slight +of build. Now he could feel that the hand that held his arm was trembling +violently. It occurred to him that perhaps the man was not really hurt, but +that his nerves had been upset by the shock. +</p> + +<p> +And he felt certain of this a moment later, when the stranger suddenly leaned +forward, clutching him with redoubled intensity, and staring at him with wide, +horror-stricken eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know what it means to be afraid of death?” he panted. +“Do you know what it means to be afraid of death?” +</p> + +<p> +Then, without waiting for a reply, he rushed on—“No, no! You +can’t! you can’t! I don’t believe any man knows it as I do! +Think of it—for ten years I’ve never known a minute when I +wasn’t afraid of death! It follows me around—it won’t let me +be! It leaps out at me in places, like this! And when I escape it, I can hear +it laughing at me—for it knows I can’t get away!” +</p> + +<p> +The old man caught his breath with a choking sob. He was clinging to Montague +like a frightened child, and staring with a wild, hunted look upon his face. +Montague sat transfixed. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” the other rushed on, “that’s the truth, as God +hears me! And it’s the first time I’ve ever spoken it in my life! I +have to hide it—because men would laugh at me—they pretend +they’re not afraid! But I lie awake all night, and it’s like a +fiend that sits by my bedside! I lie and listen to my own heart—I feel it +beating, and I think how weak it is, and what thin walls it has, and what a +wretched, helpless thing it is to have your life depend on that!—You +don’t know what that is, I suppose.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re young, you see,” said the other. “You have +health—everybody has health, except me! And everybody hates me—I +haven’t got a friend in the world!” +</p> + +<p> +Montague was quite taken aback by the suddenness of this outburst. He tried to +stop it, for he felt almost indecent in listening—it was not fair to take +a man off his guard like this. But the stranger could not be stopped—he +was completely unstrung, and his voice grew louder and louder. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s every word of it true,” he exclaimed wildly. “And +I can’t stand it any more. I can’t stand anything any more. I was +young and strong once—I could take care of myself; and I said: I’ll +make money, I’ll be master of other men! But I was a fool—I forgot +my health. And now all the money on earth can’t do me any good! I’d +give ten million dollars to-day for a body like any other man’s—and +this—this is what I have!” +</p> + +<p> +He struck his hands against his bosom. “Look at it!” he cried, +hysterically. “This is what I’ve got to live in! It won’t +digest any food, and I can’t keep it warm—there’s nothing +right with it! How would you like to lie awake at night and say to yourself +that your teeth were decaying and you couldn’t help it—your hair +was falling out, and nobody could stop it? You’re old and worn +out—falling to pieces; and everybody hates you—everybody’s +waiting for you to die, so that they can get you out of the way. The doctors +come, and they’re all humbugs! They shake their heads and use long +words—they know they can’t do you any good, but they want their big +fees! And all they do is to frighten you worse, and make you sicker than +ever!” +</p> + +<p> +There was nothing that Montague could do save to sit and listen to this +outburst of wretchedness. His attempts to soothe the old man only had the +effect of exciting him more. +</p> + +<p> +“Why does it all have to fall on me?” he moaned. “I want to +be like other people—I want to live! And instead, I’m like a man +with a pack of hungry wolves prowling round him—that’s what +it’s like! It’s like Nature—hungry and cruel and savage! You +think you know what life is; it seems so beautiful and gentle and +pleasant—that’s when you’re on top! But now I’m down, +and I <i>know</i> what it is—it’s a thing like a nightmare, that +reaches out for you to clutch you and crush you! And you can’t get away +from it—you’re helpless as a rat in a corner—you’re +damned—you’re <i>damned!</i>” The miserable man’s voice +broke in a cry of despair, and he sank down in a heap in front of Montague, +shaking and sobbing. The other was trembling slightly, and stricken with awe. +</p> + +<p> +There was a long silence, and then the stranger lifted his tear-stained face, +and Montague helped to support him. “Have a little more of the +whisky,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” the other answered feebly, “I’d better +not.” +</p> + +<p> +“—My doctors won’t let me have whisky,” he added, after +a while. “That’s my liver. I’ve so many don’ts, you +know, that it takes a note-book to keep track of them. And all of them together +do me no good! Think of it—I have to live on graham crackers and +milk—actually, not a thing has passed my lips for two years but graham +crackers and milk.” +</p> + +<p> +And then suddenly, with a start, it came to Montague where he had seen this +wrinkled old face before. It was Laura Hegan’s uncle, whom the Major had +pointed out to him in the dining-room of the Millionaires’ Club! Old +Henry S. Grimes, who was really only sixty, but looked eighty; and who owned +slum tenements, and evicted more people in a month than could be crowded into +the club-house! +</p> + +<p> +Montague gave no sign, but sat holding the man in his arms. A little trickle of +blood came from under the handkerchief and ran down his cheek; Montague felt +him tremble as he touched this with his ringer. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it much of a cut?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Not much,” said Montague; “two or three stitches, +perhaps.” +</p> + +<p> +“Send for my family physician,” the other added. “If I should +faint, or anything, you’ll find his name in my card-case. What’s +that?” +</p> + +<p> +There was the sound of voices down the road. “Hello!” Montague +shouted; and a moment later two men in automobile costume came running toward +him. They stopped, staring in dismay at the sight which confronted them. +</p> + +<p> +At Montague’s suggestion they made haste to find a log by means of which +they lifted the auto sufficiently to drag out the body of the chauffeur. +Montague saw that it was quite cold. +</p> + +<p> +He went back to old Grimes. “Where do you wish to go?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +The other hesitated. “I was bound for the Harrisons’—” +he said. +</p> + +<p> +“The Leslie Harrisons?” asked Montague. (They were people he had +met at the Devons’.) +</p> + +<p> +The other noticed his look of recognition. “Do you know them?” he +asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I do,” said Montague. +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t far,” said the old man. “Perhaps I had best +go there.”—And then he hesitated for a moment; and catching +Montague by the arm, and pulling him toward him, whispered, “Tell +me—you—you won’t tell—” +</p> + +<p> +Montague, comprehending what he meant, answered, “It will be between +us.” At the same time he felt a new thrill of revulsion for this most +miserable old creature. +</p> + +<p> +They lifted him into the car; and because they delayed long enough to lay a +blanket over the body of the chauffeur, he asked peevishly why they did not +start. During the ten or fifteen minutes’ trip he sat clinging to +Montague, shuddering with fright every time they rounded a turn in the road. +</p> + +<p> +They reached the Harrisons’ place; and the footman who opened the door +was startled out of his studied impassivity by the sight of a big bundle of +bearskin in Montague’s arms. “Send for Mrs. Harrison,” said +Montague, and laid the bundle upon a divan in the hall. “Get a doctor as +quickly as you can,” he added to a second attendant. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Harrison came. “It’s Mr. Grimes,” said Montague; and +then he heard a frightened exclamation, and turned and saw Laura Hegan, in a +walking costume, fresh from the cold outside. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it?” she cried. And he told her, as quickly as he could, +and she ran to help the old man. Montague stood by, and later carried him +upstairs, and waited below until the doctor came. +</p> + +<p> +It was only when he set out for home again that he found time to think about +Laura Hegan, and how beautiful she had looked in her furs. He wondered if it +would always be his fate to meet her under circumstances which left her no time +to be aware of his own existence. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +At home he told about his adventure, and found himself quite a hero for the +rest of the day. He was obliged to give interviews to several newspaper +reporters, and to refuse to let one of them take his picture. Every one at the +Devons’ seemed to know old Harry Grimes, and Montague thought to himself +that if the comments of this particular group of people were a fair sample, the +poor wretch was right in saying that he had not a friend in the world. +</p> + +<p> +When he came downstairs the next morning, he found elaborate accounts of the +accident in the papers, and learned that Grimes had nothing worse than a scalp +wound and a severe shock. Even so, he felt it was incumbent upon him to pay a +visit of inquiry, and rode over shortly before lunch. +</p> + +<p> +Laura Hegan came down to see him, wearing a morning gown of white. She +confirmed the good news of the papers, and said that her uncle was resting +quietly. (She did not say that his physician had come post-haste, with two +nurses, and taken up his residence in the house, and that the poor old +millionaire was denied even his graham crackers and milk). Instead she said +that he had mentioned Montague’s kindness particularly, and asked her to +thank him. Montague was cynical enough to doubt this. +</p> + +<p> +It was the first time that he had ever had any occasion to talk with Miss +Hegan. He noticed her gentle and caressing voice, with the least touch of the +South in it; and he was glad to find that it was possible for her to talk +without breaking the spell of her serene and noble beauty. Montague stayed as +long as he had any right to stay. +</p> + +<p> +And all the way as he rode home he was thinking about Laura Hegan. Here for the +first time was a woman whom he felt he should like to know; a woman with +reserve and dignity, and some ideas in her life. And it was impossible for him +to know her—because she was rich! +</p> + +<p> +There was no dodging this fact—Montague did not even try. He had met +women with fortunes already, and he knew how they felt about themselves, and +how the rest of the world felt about them. They might wish in their hearts to +be something else besides the keepers of a treasure-chest, but their wishes +were futile; the money went with them, and they had to defend it against all +comers. Montague recalled one heiress after another—débutantes, some of +them, exquisite and delicate as butterflies—but under the surface as hard +as chain-armour. All their lives they had been trained to think of themselves +as representing money, and of every one who came near them as adventurers +seeking money. In every word they uttered, in every glance and motion, one +might read this meaning. And then he thought of Laura Hegan, with the fortune +she would inherit; and he pictured what her life must be—the toadies and +parasites and flatterers who would lay siege to her—the scheming mammas +and the affectionate sisters and cousins who would plot to gain her confidence! +For a man who was poor, and who meant to keep his self-respect, was there any +possible conclusion except that she was entirely unknowable to him? +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap16"></a>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> + +<p> +Montague came back to the city, and dug into his books again; while Alice gave +her spare hours to watching the progress of the new gown in which she was to +uphold the honour of the family at Mrs. Devon’s opening ball. The great +event was due in the next week and Society was as much excited about it as a +family of children before Christmas. All whom Montague met were invited and all +were going unless they happened to be in mourning. Their gossip was all of the +disappointed ones, and their bitterness and heartburning. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Devon’s mansion was thrown open early on the eventful evening, but +few would come until midnight. It was the fashion to attend the Opera first, +and previous to that half a dozen people would give big dinners. He was a +fortunate person who did not hear from his liver after this occasion; for at +one o’clock came Mrs. Devon’s massive supper, and then again at +four o’clock another supper. To prepare these repasts a dozen extra chefs +had been imported into the Devon establishment for a week—for it was part +of the great lady’s pride to permit no outside caterer to prepare +anything for her guests. +</p> + +<p> +Montague had never been able to get over his wonder at the social phenomenon +known as Mrs. Devon. He came and took his chances in the jostling throngs; and +except that he got into casual conversation with one of the numerous detectives +whom he took for a guest he came off fairly well. But all the time that he was +being passed about and introduced and danced with, he was looking about him and +wondering. The grand staircase and the hall and parlours had been turned into +tropical gardens, with palms and trailing vines, and azaleas and roses, and +great vases of scarlet poinsettia, with hundreds of lights glowing through +them. (It was said that this ball had exhausted the flower supply of the +country as far south as Atlanta.) And then in the reception room one came upon +the little old lady, standing’ beneath a bower of orchids. She was clad +in a robe of royal purple trimmed with silver, and girdled about with an +armour-plate of gems. If one might credit the papers, the diamonds that were +worn at one of these balls were valued at twenty million dollars. +</p> + +<p> +The stranger was quite overwhelmed by all the splendour. There was a cotillion +danced by two hundred gorgeously clad women and their partners—a scene so +gay that one could only think of it as happening in a fairy legend, or some old +romance of knighthood. Four sets of favours were given during this function, +and jewels and objects of art were showered forth as if from a magician’s +wand. Mrs. Devon herself soon disappeared, but the riot of music and +merry-making went on until near morning, and during all this time the halls and +rooms of the great mansion were so crowded that one could scarcely move about. +</p> + +<p> +Then one went home, and realized that all this splendour, and the human effort +which it represented, had been for nothing but a memory! Nor would he get the +full meaning of it if he failed to realize that it was simply one of +thousands—a pattern which every one there would strive to follow in some +function of his own. It was a signal bell, which told the world that the +“season” was open. It loosed the floodgates of extravagance, and +the torrent of dissipation poured forth. From then on there would be a +continuous round of gaieties; one might have three banquets every single +night—for a dinner and two suppers was now the custom, at entertainments! +And filling the rest of one’s day were receptions and teas and +musicales—a person might take his choice among a score of opportunities, +and never leave the circle he met at Mrs. Devon’s. Nor was this counting +the tens of thousands of aspirants and imitators all over the city; nor in a +host of other cities, each with thousands of women who had nothing to do save +to ape the ways of the Metropolis. The mind could not realize the volume of +this deluge of destruction—it was a thing which stunned the senses, and +thundered in one’s ears like Niagara. +</p> + +<p> +The meaning of it all did not stop with the people who poured it forth; its +effects were to be traced through the whole country. There were hordes of +tradesmen and manufacturers who supplied what Society bought, and whose study +it was to induce people to buy as much as possible. And so they devised what +were called “fashions”—little eccentricities of cut and +material, which made everything go out of date quickly. There had once been two +seasons, but now there were four; and through window displays and millions of +advertisements the public was lured into the trap. The “yellow” +journals would give whole pages to describing “What the 400 are +wearing”; there were magazines with many millions of readers, which +existed for nothing save to propagate these ideas. And everywhere, in all +classes of Society, men and women were starving their minds and hearts, and +straining their energies to follow this phantom of fashion; the masses were +kept poor because of it, and the youth and hope of the world was betrayed by +it. In country villages poor farmers’ wives were trimming their bonnets +over to be “stylish”; and servant-girls in the cities were wearing +imitation sealskins, and shop-clerks and sempstresses selling themselves into +brothels for the sake of ribbons and gilt jewellery. +</p> + +<p> +It was the instinct of decoration, perverted by the money-lust. In the +Metropolis the sole test of excellence was money, and the possession of money +was the proof of power; and every natural desire of men and women had been +tainted by this influence. The love of beauty, the impulse to hospitality, the +joys of music and dancing and love—all these things had become simply +means to the demonstration of money-power! The men were busy making more +money—but their idle women had nothing in life save this mad race in +display. So it had come about that the woman who could consume wealth most +conspicuously—who was the most effective instrument for the destroying of +the labour and the lives of other people—this was the woman who was most +applauded and most noticed. +</p> + +<p> +The most appalling fact about Society was this utter blind materialism. Such +expectations as Montague had brought with him had been derived from the +literature of Europe; in a <i>grand monde</i> such as this, he expected to meet +diplomats and statesmen, scientists and explorers, philosophers and poets and +painters. But one never heard anything about such people in Society. It was a +mark of eccentricity to be interested in intellectual affairs, and one might go +about for weeks and not meet a person with an idea. When these people read, it +was a sugar-candy novel, and when they went to the play, it was a musical +comedy. The one single intellectual product which it could point to as its own, +was a rancid scandal-sheet, used mainly as a means of blackmail. Now and then +some aspiring young matron of the “élite” would try to set up a +<i>salon</i> after the fashion of the continent, and would gather a few feeble +wits about her for a time. But for the most part the intellectual workers of +the city held themselves severely aloof; and Society was left a little clique +of people whose fortunes had become historic in a decade or two, and who got +together in each other’s palaces and gorged themselves, and gambled and +gossiped about each other, and wove about their personalities a veil of awful +and exclusive majesty. +</p> + +<p> +Montague found himself thinking that perhaps it was not they who were to blame. +It was not they who had set up wealth as the end and goal of things—it +was the whole community, of which they were a part. It was not their fault that +they had been left with power and nothing to use it for; it was not their fault +that their sons and daughters found themselves stranded in the world, deprived +of all necessity, and of the possibility of doing anything useful. +</p> + +<p> +The most pitiful aspect of the whole thing to Montague was this “second +generation” who were coming upon the scene, with their lives all poisoned +in advance. No wrong which they could do to the world would ever equal the +wrong which the world had done them, in permitting them to have money which +they had not earned. They were cut off for ever from reality, and from the +possibility of understanding life; they had big, healthy bodies, and they +craved experience—and they had absolutely nothing to do. That was the +real meaning of all this orgy of dissipation—this “social +whirl” as it was called; it was the frantic chase of some new thrill, +some excitement that would stir the senses of people who had nothing in the +world to interest them. That was why they were building palaces, and flinging +largesses of banquets and balls, and tearing about the country in automobiles, +and travelling over the earth in steam yachts and private trains. +</p> + +<p> +And first and last, the lesson of their efforts was, that the chase was futile; +the jaded nerves would not thrill. The most conspicuous fact about Society was +its unutterable and agonizing boredom; of its great solemn functions the +shop-girl would read with greedy envy, but the women who attended them would be +half asleep behind their jewelled fans. It was typified to Montague by Mrs. +Billy Alden’s yachting party on the Nile; yawning in the face of the +Sphinx, and playing bridge beneath the shadow of the pyramids—and +counting the crocodiles and proposing to jump in by way of “changing the +pain”! +</p> + +<p> +People attended these ceaseless rounds of entertainments, simply because they +dreaded to be left alone. They wandered from place to place, following like a +herd of sheep whatever leader would inaugurate a new diversion. One could have +filled a volume with the list of their “fads.” There were new ones +every week—if Society did not invent them, the yellow journals invented +them. There was a woman who had her teeth filled with diamonds; and another who +was driving a pair of zebras. One heard of monkey dinners and pyjama dinners at +Newport, of horseback dinners and vegetable dances in New York. One heard of +fashion-albums and autograph-fans and talking crows and rare orchids and +reindeer meat; of bracelets for men and ankle rings for women; of +“vanity-boxes” at ten and twenty thousand dollars each; of weird +and repulsive pets, chameleons and lizards and king-snakes—there was one +young woman who wore a cat-snake as a necklace. One would take to slumming and +another to sniffing brandy through the nose; one had a table-cover made of +woven roses, and another was wearing perfumed flannel at sixteen dollars a +yard; one had inaugurated ice-skating in August, and another had started a +class for the study of Plato. Some were giving tennis tournaments in +bathing-suits, and playing leap-frog after dinner; others had got dispensations +from the Pope, so that they might have private chapels and confessors; and yet +others were giving “progressive dinners,” moving from one +restaurant to another—a cocktail and blue-points at Sherry’s, a +soup and Madeira at Delmonico’s, some terrapin with amontillado at the +Waldorf—and so on. +</p> + +<p> +One of the consequences of the furious pace was that people’s health +broke down very quickly; and there were all sorts of bizarre ways of restoring +it. One person would be eating nothing but spinach, and another would be living +on grass. One would chew a mouthful of soup thirty-two times; another would eat +every two hours, and another only once a week. Some went out in the early +morning and walked bare-footed in the grass, and others went hopping about the +floor on their hands and knees to take off fat. There were “rest +cures” and “water cures,” “new thought” and +“metaphysical healing” and “Christian Science”; there +was an automatic horse, which one might ride indoors, with a register showing +the distance travelled. Montague met one man who had an electric machine, which +cost thirty thousand dollars, and which took hold of his arms and feet and +exercised him while he waited. He met a woman who told him she was riding an +electric camel! +</p> + +<p> +Everywhere one went there were new people, spending their money in new and +incredible ways. Here was a man who had bought a chapel and turned it into a +theatre, and hired professional actors, and persuaded his friends to come and +see him act Shakespeare. Here was a woman who costumed herself after figures in +famous paintings, with arrangements of roses and cherry leaves, and wreaths of +ivy and laurel—and with costumes for her pet dogs to match! Here was a +man who paid six dollars a day for a carnation four inches across; and a girl +who wore a hat trimmed with fresh morning-glories, and a ball costume with +swarms of real butterflies tied with silk threads; and another with a hat made +of woven silver, with ostrich plumes forty inches long made entirely of silver +films. Here was a man who hired a military company to drill all day long to +prepare a floor for dancing; and another who put up a building at a cost of +thirty thousand dollars to give a débutante dance for his daughter, and then +had it torn down the day after. Here was a man who bred rattlesnakes and turned +them loose by thousands, and had driven everybody away from the North Carolina +estate of one of the Wallings. Here was a man who was building himself a yacht +with a model dairy and bakery on board, and a French laundry and a brass band. +Here was a million-dollar racing-yacht with auto-boats on it and a platoon of +marksmen, and some Chinese laundrymen, and two physicians for its half-insane +occupant. Here was a man who had bought a Rhine castle for three-quarters of a +million, and spent as much in restoring it, and filled it with servants dressed +in fourteenth-century costumes. Here was a five-million-dollar art collection +hidden away where nobody ever saw it! +</p> + +<p> +One saw the meaning of this madness most clearly in the young men of Society. +Some were killing themselves and other people in automobile races at a hundred +and twenty miles an hour. Some went in for auto-boats, mere shells of things, +shaped like a knife-blade, that tore through the water at forty miles an hour. +Some would hire professional pugilists to knock them out; others would get up +dog-fights and bear-fights, and boxing matches with kangaroos. Montague was +taken to the home of one young man who had given his life to hunting wild game +in every corner of the globe, and would travel round the world for a new +species to add to his museum of trophies. He had heard that Baron Rothschild +had offered a thousand pounds for a “bongo,” a huge grass-eating +animal, which no white man had ever seen; and he had taken a year’s trip +into the interior, with a train of a hundred and thirty natives, and had +brought out the heads of forty different species, including a bongo—which +the Baron did not get! He met another who had helped to organize a balloon +club, and two twenty-four-hour trips in the clouds. (This, by the way, was the +latest sport—at Tuxedo they had races between balloons and automobiles; +and Montague met one young lady who boasted that she had been up five times.) +There was another young millionaire who sat and patiently taught Sunday School, +in the presence of a host of reporters; there was another who set up a chain of +newspapers all over the country and made war upon his class. There were others +who went in for settlement work and Russian revolutionists—there were +even some who called themselves Socialists! Montague thought that this was the +strangest fad of all; and when he met one of these young men at an afternoon +tea, he gazed at him with wonder and perplexity—thinking of the man he +had heard ranting on the street-corner. +</p> + +<p> +This was the “second generation.” Appalling as it was to think of, +there was a <i>third</i> growing up, and getting ready to take the stage. And +with wealth accumulating faster than ever, who could guess what they might do? +There were still in Society a few men and women who had earned their money, and +had some idea of the toil and suffering that it stood for; but when the third +generation had taken possession, these would all be dead or forgotten, and +there would no longer be any link to connect them with reality! +</p> + +<p> +In the light of this thought one was moved to watch the children of the rich. +Some of these had inherited scores of millions of dollars while they were still +in the cradle; now and then one of them would be presented with a +million-dollar house for a birthday gift. When such a baby was born, the +newspapers would give pages to describing its <i>layette</i>, with baby dresses +at a hundred dollars each, and lace handkerchiefs at five dollars, and +dressing-sets with tiny gold brushes and powder-boxes; one might see a picture +of the precious object in a “Moses basket,” covered with rare and +wonderful Valenciennes lace. +</p> + +<p> +This child would grow up in an atmosphere of luxury and self-indulgence; it +would be bullying the servants at the age of six, and talking scandal and +smoking cigarettes at twelve. It would be petted and admired and stared at, and +paraded about in state, dressed up like a French doll; it would drink in +snobbery and hatefulness with the very air it breathed. One might meet in these +great houses little tots not yet in their teens whose talk was all of the cost +of things, and of the inferiority of their neighbours. There was nothing in the +world too good for them.—They had little miniature automobiles to ride +about the country in, and blooded Arabian ponies, and doll-houses in real Louis +Seize, with jewelled rugs and miniature electric lights. At Mrs. Caroline +Smythe’s, Montague was introduced to a pale and anaemic-looking youth of +thirteen, who dined in solemn state alone when the rest of the family was away, +and insisted upon having all the footmen in attendance; and his unfortunate +aunt brought a storm about her ears by forbidding the butler to take champagne +upstairs into the nursery before lunch. +</p> + +<p> +A little remark stayed in Montague’s mind as expressing the attitude of +Society toward such matters. Major Venable had chanced to remark jestingly that +children were coming to understand so much nowadays that it was necessary for +the ladies to be careful. To which Mrs. Vivie Patton answered, with a sudden +access of seriousness: “I don’t know—do you find that +children have any morals? Mine haven’t.” +</p> + +<p> +And then the fascinating Mrs. Vivie went on to tell the truth about her own +children. They were natural-born savages, and that was all there was to it. +They did as they pleased, and no one could stop them. The Major replied that +nowadays all the world was doing as it pleased, and no one seemed to be able to +stop it; and with that jest the conversation was turned to other matters. But +Montague sat in silence, thinking about it—wondering what would happen to +the world when it had fallen under the sway of this generation of spoiled +children, and had adopted altogether the religion of doing as one pleased. +</p> + +<p> +In the beginning people had simply done as they pleased spontaneously, and +without thinking about it; but now, Montague discovered, the custom had spread +to such an extent that it was developing a philosophy. There was springing up a +new cult, whose devotees were planning to make over the world upon the plan of +doing as one pleased. Because its members were wealthy, and able to command the +talent of the world, the cult was developing an art, with a highly perfected +technique, and a literature which was subtle and exquisite and alluring. Europe +had had such a literature for a century, and England for a generation or two. +And now America was having it, too! +</p> + +<p> +Montague had an amusing insight into this one day, when Mrs. Vivie invited him +to one of her “artistic evenings.” Mrs. Vivie was in touch with a +special set which went in for intellectual things, and included some amateur +Bohemians and men of “genius.” “Don’t you come if +you’ll be shocked,” she had said to him—“for Strathcona +will be there.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague deemed himself able to stand a good deal by this time. He went, and +found Mrs. Vivie and her Count (Mr. Vivie had apparently not been invited) and +also the young poet of Diabolism, whose work was just then the talk of the +town. He was a tall, slender youth with a white face and melancholy black eyes, +and black locks falling in cascades about his ears; he sat in an Oriental +corner, with a manuscript copied in tiny handwriting upon delicately scented +“art paper,” and tied with passionate purple ribbons. A young girl +clad in white sat by his side and held a candle, while he read from this +manuscript his unprinted (because unprintable) verses. +</p> + +<p> +And between the readings the young poet talked. He talked about himself and his +work—apparently that was what he had come to talk about. His words flowed +like a swift stream, limpid, sparkling, incessant; leaping from place to +place—here, there, quick as the play of light upon the water. Montague +laboured to follow the speaker’s ideas, until he found his mind in a +whirl and gave it up. Afterward, when he thought it over, he laughed at +himself; for Strathcona’s ideas were not serious things, having +relationship to truth—they were epigrams put together to dazzle the +hearer, studies in paradox, with as much relation to life as fireworks. He took +the sum-total of the moral experience of the human race, and turned it upside +down and jumbled it about, and used it as bits of glass in a kaleidoscope. And +the hearers would gasp, and whisper, “Diabolical!” +</p> + +<p> +The motto of this “school” of poets was that there was neither good +nor evil, but that all things were “interesting.” After listening +to Strathcona for half an hour, one felt like hiding his head, and denying that +he had ever thought of having any virtue; in a world where all things were +uncertain, it was presumptuous even to pretend to know what virtue was. One +could only be what one was; and did not that mean that one must do as one +pleased? +</p> + +<p> +You could feel a shudder run through the company at his audacity. And the worst +of it was that you could not dismiss it with a laugh; for the boy was really a +poet—he had fire and passion, the gift of melodious ecstacy. He was only +twenty, and in his brief meteor flight he had run the gamut of all experience; +he had familiarized himself with all human achievement—past, present, and +future. There was nothing any one could mention that he did not perfectly +comprehend: the raptures of the saints, the consecration of the +martyrs—yes, he had known them; likewise he had touched the depths of +depravity, he had been lost in the innermost passages of the caverns of hell. +And all this had been interesting—in its time; now he was sighing for new +worlds of experience—say for unrequited love, which should drive him to +madness. +</p> + +<p> +It was at this point that Montague dropped out of the race, and took to +studying from the outside the mechanism of this young poet’s +conversation. Strathcona flouted the idea of a moral sense; but in reality he +was quite dependent upon it—his recipe for making epigrams was to take +what other people’s moral sense made them respect, and identify it with +something which their moral sense made them abhor. Thus, for instance, the tale +which he told about one of the members of his set, who was a relative of a +bishop. The great man had occasion to rebuke him for his profligate ways, +declaring in the course of his lecture that he was living off the reputation of +his father; to which the boy made the crushing rejoinder: “It may be bad +to live off the reputation of one’s father, but it’s better than +living off the reputation of God.”—This was very subtle and it was +necessary to ponder it. God was dead; and the worthy bishop did not know it! +But let him take a new God, who had no reputation, and go out into the world +and make a living out of him! +</p> + +<p> +Then Strathcona discussed literature. He paid his tribute to the “Fleurs +de Mal” and the “Songs before Sunrise”; but most, he said, he +owed to “the divine Oscar.” This English poet of many poses and +some vices the law had seized and flung into jail; and since the law is a thing +so brutal and wicked that whoever is touched by it is made thereby a martyr and +a hero, there had grown up quite a cult about the memory of +“Oscar.” All up-to-date poets imitated his style and his attitude +to life; and so the most revolting of vices had the cloak of romance flung +about them—were given long Greek and Latin names, and discussed with +parade of learning as revivals of Hellenic ideals. The young men in +Strathcona’s set referred to each other as their “lovers”; +and if one showed any perplexity over this, he was regarded, not with +contempt—for it was not aesthetic to feel contempt—but with a +slight lifting of the eyebrows, intended to annihilate. +</p> + +<p> +One must not forget, of course, that these young people were poets, and to that +extent were protected from their own doctrines. They were interested, not in +life, but in making pretty verses about life; there were some among them who +lived as cheerful ascetics in garret rooms, and gave melodious expression to +devilish emotions. But, on the other hand, for every poet, there were thousands +who were not poets, but people to whom life was real. And these lived out the +creed, and wrecked their lives; and with the aid of the poet’s magic, the +glamour of melody and the fire divine, they wrecked the lives with which they +came into contact. The new generation of boys and girls were deriving their +spiritual sustenance from the poetry of Baudelaire and Wilde; and rushing with +the hot impulsiveness of youth into the dreadful traps which the traders in +vice prepared for them. One’s heart bled to see them, pink-cheeked and +bright-eyed, pursuing the hem of the Muse’s robe in brothels and dens of +infamy! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap17"></a>CHAPTER XVII.</h2> + +<p> +The social mill ground on for another month. Montague withdrew himself as much +as his brother would let him; but Alice, was on the go all night and half the +day. Oliver had sold his racing automobile to a friend—he was a man of +family now, he said, and his wild days were over. He had got, instead, a +limousine car for Alice; though she declared she had no need of it—if +ever she was going to any place, Charlie Carter always begged her to use his. +Charlie’s siege was as persistent as ever, as Montague noticed with +annoyance. +</p> + +<p> +The great law case was going forward. After weeks of study and investigation, +Montague felt that he had the matter well in hand; and he had taken Mr. +Hasbrook’s memoranda as a basis for a new work of his own, much more +substantial. Bit by bit; as he dug into the subject, he had discovered a state +of affairs in the Fidelity Company, and, indeed, in the whole insurance +business and its allied realms of banking and finance, which shocked him +profoundly. It was impossible for him to imagine how such conditions could +exist and remain unknown to the public—more especially as every one in +Wall Street with whom he talked seemed to know about them and to take them for +granted. +</p> + +<p> +His client’s papers had provided him with references to the books; +Montague had taken this dry material and made of it a protest which had the +breath of life in it. It was a thing at which he toiled with deadly +earnestness; it was not merely a struggle of one man to get a few thousand +dollars, it was an appeal in behalf of millions of helpless people whose trust +had been betrayed. It was the first step in a long campaign, which the young +lawyer meant should force a great evil into the light of day. +</p> + +<p> +He went over his bill of complaint with Mr. Hasbrook, and he was glad to see +that the work he had done made its impression upon him. In fact, his client was +a little afraid that some of his arguments might be too radical in +tone—from the strictly legal point of view, he made haste to explain. But +Montague reassured him upon this point. +</p> + +<p> +And then came the day when the great ship was ready for launching. The news +must have spread quickly, for a few hours after the papers in the suit had been +filed, Montague received a call from a newspaper reporter, who told him of the +excitement in financial circles, where the thing had fallen like a bomb. +Montague explained the purpose of the suit, and gave the reporter a number of +facts which he felt certain would attract attention to the matter. When he +picked up the paper the next morning, however, he was surprised to find that +only a few lines had been given to the case, and that his interview had been +replaced by one with an unnamed official of the Fidelity, to the effect that +the attack upon the company was obviously for black-mailing purposes. +</p> + +<p> +That was the only ripple which Montague’s work produced upon the surface +of the pool; but there was a great commotion among the fish at the bottom, +about which he was soon to learn. +</p> + +<p> +That evening, while he was hard at work in his study, he received a telephone +call from his brother. “I’m coming round to see you,” said +Oliver. “Wait for me.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” said the other, and added, “I thought you were +dining at the Wallings’.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m there now,” was the answer. “I’m +leaving.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is the matter?” Montague asked. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s hell to pay,” was the reply—and then silence. +</p> + +<p> +When Oliver appeared, a few minutes later, he did not even stop to set down his +hat, but exclaimed, “Allan, what in heaven’s name have you been +doing?” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” asked the other. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, that suit!” +</p> + +<p> +“What about it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Good God, man!” cried Oliver. “Do you mean that you really +don’t know what you’ve done?” +</p> + +<p> +Montague was staring at him. “I’m afraid I don’t,” said +he. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, you’re turning the world upside down!” exclaimed the +other. “Everybody you know is crazy about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Everybody I know!” echoed Montague. “What have they to do +with it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, you’ve stabbed them in the back!” half shouted Oliver. +“I could hardly believe my ears when they told me. Robbie Walling is +simply wild—I never had such a time in my life.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t understand yet,” said Montague, more and more +amazed. “What has he to do with it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, man,” cried Oliver, “his brother’s a director in +the Fidelity! And his own interests—and all the other companies! +You’ve struck at the whole insurance business!” +</p> + +<p> +Montague caught his breath. “Oh, I see!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“How could you think of such a thing?” cried the other, wildly. +“You promised to consult me about things—” +</p> + +<p> +“I told you when I took this case,” put in Montague, quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“I know,” said his brother. “But you didn’t +explain—and what did I know about it? I thought I could leave it to your +common sense not to mix up in a thing like this.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m very sorry,” said Montague, gravely. “I had no +idea of any such result.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what I told Robbie,” said Oliver. “Good God, +what a time I had!” +</p> + +<p> +He took his hat and coat and laid them on the bed, and sat down and began to +tell about it. “I made him realize the disadvantage you were +under,” he said, “being a stranger and not knowing the ground. I +believe he had an idea that you tried to get his confidence on purpose to +attack him. It was Mrs. Robbie, I guess—you know her fortune is all in +that quarter.” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver wiped the perspiration from his forehead. “My!” he +said.—“And fancy what old Wyman must be saying about this! And what +a time poor Betty must be having! And then Freddie Vandam—the air will be +blue for half a mile round his place! I must send him a wire and explain that +it was a mistake, and that we’re getting out of it.” +</p> + +<p> +And he got up, to suit the action to the word. But half-way to the desk he +heard his brother say, “Wait.” +</p> + +<p> +He turned, and saw Montague, quite pale. “I suppose by ‘getting out +of it,’” said the latter, “you mean dropping the case.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course,” was the answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then,” he continued, very gravely,—“I can see +that it’s going to be hard, and I’m sorry. But you might as well +understand me at the very beginning—I will never drop this case.” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver’s jaw fell limp. “Allan!” he gasped. +</p> + +<p> +There was a silence; and then the storm broke. Oliver knew his brother well +enough to realize just how thoroughly he meant what he said; and so he got the +full force of the shock all at once. He raved and swore and wrung his hands, +and declaimed at his brother, saying that he had betrayed him, that he was +ruining him—dumping himself and the whole family into the ditch. They +would be jeered at and insulted—they would be blacklisted and thrown out +of Society. Alice’s career would be cut short—every door would be +closed to her. His own career would die before it was born; he would never get +into the clubs—he would be a pariah—he would be bankrupted and +penniless. Again and again Oliver went over the situation, naming person after +person who would be outraged, and describing what that person would do; there +were the Wallings and the Venables and the Havens, the Vandams and the Todds +and the Wymans—they were all one regiment, and Montague had flung a bomb +into the centre of them! +</p> + +<p> +It was very terrible to him to see his brother’s rage and despair; but he +had seen his way clear through this matter, and he knew that there was no +turning back for him. “It is painful to learn that all one’s +acquaintances are thieves,” he said. “But that does not change my +opinion of stealing.” +</p> + +<p> +“But my God!” cried Oliver; “did you come to New York to +preach sermons?” +</p> + +<p> +To which the other answered, “I came to practise law. And the lawyer who +will not fight injustice is a traitor to his profession.” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver threw up his hands in despair. What could one say to a sentiment such as +that? +</p> + +<p> +—But then again he came to the charge, pointing out to his brother the +position in which he had placed himself with the Wallings. He had accepted +their hospitality; they had taken him and Alice in, and done everything in the +world for them—things for which no money could ever repay them. And now +he had struck them! +</p> + +<p> +But the only effect of that was to make Montague regret that he had ever had +anything to do with the Wallings. If they expected to use their friendship to +tie his hands in such a matter, they were people he would have left alone. +</p> + +<p> +“But do you realize that it’s not merely yourself you’re +ruining?” cried Oliver. “Do you know what you’re doing to +Alice?” +</p> + +<p> +“That is harder yet for me,” the other replied. “But I am +sure that Alice would not ask me to stop.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague was firmly set in his own mind; but it seemed to be quite impossible +for his brother to realize that this was the case. He would give up; but then, +going back into his own mind, and facing the thought of this person and that, +and the impossibility of the situation which would arise, he would return to +the attack with new anguish in his voice. He implored and scolded, and even +wept; and then he would get himself together again, and come and sit in front +of his brother and try to reason with him. +</p> + +<p> +And so it was that in the small hours of the morning, Montague, pale and +nervous, but quite unshaken, was sitting and listening while his brother +unfolded before him a picture of the Metropolis as he had come to see it. It +was a city ruled by mighty forces—money-forces; great families and +fortunes, which had held their sway for generations, and regarded the place, +with all its swarming millions, as their birthright. They possessed it +utterly—they held it in the hollow of their hands. Railroads and +telegraphs and telephones—banks and insurance and trust +companies—all these they owned; and the political machines and the +legislatures, the courts and the newspapers, the churches and the colleges. And +their rule was for plunder; all the streams of profit ran into their coffers. +The stranger who came to their city succeeded as he helped them in their +purposes, and failed if they could not use him. A great editor or bishop was a +man who taught their doctrines; a great statesman was a man who made the laws +for them; a great lawyer was one who helped them to outwit the public. Any man +who dared to oppose them, they would cast out and trample on, they would +slander and ridicule and ruin. +</p> + +<p> +And Oliver came down to particulars—he named these powerful men, one +after one, and showed what they could do. If his brother would only be a man of +the world, and see the thing! Look at all the successful lawyers! Oliver named +them, one after one—shrewd devisers of corporation trickery, with incomes +of hundreds of thousands a year. He could not name the men who had refused to +play the game—for no one had ever heard of them. But it was so evident +what would happen in this case! His friends would cast him off; his own client +would get his price—whatever it was—and then leave him in the +lurch, and laugh at him! “If you can’t make up your mind to play +the game,” cried Oliver, frantically, “at least you can give it up! +There are plenty of other ways of getting a living—if you’ll let +me, I’ll take care of you myself, rather than have you disgrace me. Tell +me—will you do that? Will you quit altogether?” +</p> + +<p> +And Montague suddenly leaped to his feet, and brought his fist down upon the +desk with a bang. “No!” he cried; “by God, no!” +</p> + +<p> +“Let me make you understand me once for all,” he rushed on. +“You’ve shown me New York as you see it. I don’t believe +it’s the truth—I don’t believe it for one single moment! But +let me tell you this, I shall stay here and find out—and if it is true, +it won’t stop me! I shall stay here and defy those people! I shall stay +and fight them till the day I die! They may ruin me,—I’ll go and +live in a garret if I have to,—but as sure as there’s a God that +made me, I’ll never stop till I’ve opened the eyes of the people to +what they’re doing!” +</p> + +<p> +Montague towered over his brother, white-hot and terrible. Oliver shrank from +him—he never had seen such a burst of wrath from him before. “Do +you understand me now?” Montague cried; and he answered, in a despairing +voice, “Yes, yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see it’s all up,” he added weakly. “You and I +can’t pull together.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” exclaimed the other, passionately, “we can’t. And +we might as well give up trying. You have chosen to be a time-server and a +lick-spittle, and I don’t choose it! Do you think I’ve learned +nothing in the time I’ve been here? Why, man, you used to be daring and +clever—and now you never draw a breath without wondering if these rich +snobs will like the way you do it! And you want Alice to sell herself to +them—you want me to sell my career to them!” +</p> + +<p> +There was a long pause. Oliver had turned very pale. And then suddenly his +brother caught himself together, and said: “I’m sorry. I +didn’t mean to quarrel, but you’ve goaded me too much. I’m +grateful for what you have tried to do for me, and I’ll pay you back as +soon as I can. But I can’t go on with this game. I’ll quit, and you +can disown me to your friends—tell them that I’ve run amuck, and to +forget they ever knew me. They’ll hardly blame you for it—they know +you too well for that. And as for Alice, I’ll talk it out with her +to-morrow, and let her decide for herself—if she wants to be a Society +queen, she can put herself in your hands, and I’ll get out of her way. On +the other hand, if she approves of what I’m doing, why we’ll both +quit, and you won’t have to bother with either of us.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +That was the basis upon which they parted for the night; but like most +resolutions taken at white heat, it was not followed literally. It was very +hard for Montague to have to confront Alice with such a choice; and as for +Oliver, when he went home and thought it over, he began to discover gleams of +hope. He might make it clear to every one that he was not responsible for his +brother’s business vagaries, and take his chances upon that basis. After +all, there were wheels within wheels in Society; and if the Robbie Wallings +chose to break with him—why, they had plenty of enemies. There might even +be interests which would be benefited by Allan’s course, and would take +him up. +</p> + +<p> +Montague had resolved to write and break every engagement which he had made, +and to sever his connection with Society at one stroke. But the next day his +brother came again, with compromises and new protestations. There was no use +going to the other extreme: he, Oliver, would have it out with the Wallings, +and they might all go on their way as if nothing had happened. +</p> + +<p> +So Montague made his début in the rôle of knight-errant. He went with many +qualms and misgivings, uncertain how each new person would take it. The next +evening he was promised for a theatre-party with Siegfried Harvey; and they had +supper in a private room at Delmonico’s, and there came Mrs. Winnie, +resplendent as an apple tree in early April—and murmuring with bated +breath, “Oh, you dreadful man, what have you been doing?” +</p> + +<p> +“Have I been poaching on <i>your</i> preserves?” he asked promptly. +</p> + +<p> +“No, not mine,” she said, “but—” and then she +hesitated. +</p> + +<p> +“On Mr. Duval’s?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” she said, “not his—but everybody else’s! He +was telling me about it to-day—there’s a most dreadful uproar. He +wanted me to try to find out what you were up to, and who was behind it.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague listened, wonderingly. Did Mrs. Winnie mean to imply that her husband +had asked her to try to worm his business secrets out of him? That was what she +seemed to imply. “I told him I never talked business with my +friends,” she said. “He can ask you himself, if he chooses. But +what <i>does</i> it all mean, anyhow?” +</p> + +<p> +Montague smiled at the naïve inconsistency. +</p> + +<p> +“It means nothing,” said he, “except that I am trying to get +justice for a client.” +</p> + +<p> +“But can you afford to make so many powerful enemies?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve taken my chances on that,” he replied. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Winnie answered nothing, but looked at him with wondering admiration in +her eyes. “You arc different from the men about you,” she remarked, +after a while—and her tone gave Montague to understand that there was one +person who meant to stand by him. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +But Mrs. Winnie Duval was not all Society. Montague was amused to notice with +what suddenness the stream of invitations slacked up; it was necessary for +Alice to give her calling list many revisions. Freddie Vandam had promised to +invite them to his place on Long Island, and of course that invitation would +never come; likewise they would never again see the palace of the Lester Todds, +upon the Jersey mountain-top. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver put in the next few days in calling upon people to explain his +embarrassing situation. He washed his hands of his brother’s affairs, he +said; and his friends might do the same, if they saw fit. With the Robbie +Wallings he had a stormy half hour, about which he thought it best to say +little to the rest of the family. Robbie did not break with him utterly, +because of their Wall Street Alliance; but Mrs. Robbie’s feeling was so +bitter, he said, that it would be best if Alice saw nothing of her for a while. +He had a long talk with Alice, and explained the situation. The girl was +utterly dumbfounded, for she was deeply grateful to Mrs. Robbie, and fond of +her as well; and she could not believe that a friend could be so cruelly unjust +to her. +</p> + +<p> +The upshot of the whole situation was a very painful episode. A few days later +Alice met Mrs. Robbie at a reception; and she took the lady aside, and tried to +tell her how distressed and helpless she was. And the result was that Mrs. +Robbie flew into a passion and railed at her, declaring in the presence of +several people that she had sponged upon her and abused her hospitality! And so +poor Alice came home, weeping and half hysterical. +</p> + +<p> +All of which, of course, was like oil upon a fire; the heavens were lighted up +with the conflagration. The next development was a paragraph in Society’s +scandal-sheet—telling with infinite gusto how a certain ultra-fashionable +matron had taken up a family of stranded waifs from a far State, and introduced +them into the best circles, and even gone so far as to give a magnificent dance +in their honour; and how the discovery had been made that the head of the +family had been secretly preparing an attack upon their business interests; and +of the tearing of hair and gnashing of teeth which had followed—and the +violent quarrel in a public place. The paragraph concluded with the prediction +that the strangers would find themselves the centre of a merry social war. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver was the first to show them this paper. But lest by any chance they +should miss it, half a dozen unknown friends were good enough to mail them +copies, carefully marked.—And then came Reggie Mann, who as free-lance +and gossip-gatherer sat on the fence and watched the fun; Reggie wore a thin +veil of sympathy over his naked glee, and brought them the latest reports from +all portions of the battle-ground. Thus they were able to know exactly what +everybody was saying about them—who was amused and who was outraged, and +who proposed to drop them and who to take them up. +</p> + +<p> +Montague listened for a while, but then he got tired of it, and went for a walk +to escape it—but only to run into another trap. It was dark, and he was +strolling down the Avenue, when out of a brilliantly lighted jewellery shop +came Mrs. Billy Alden to her carriage. And she hailed him with an exclamation. +</p> + +<p> +“You man,” she cried, “what have you been doing?” +</p> + +<p> +He tried to laugh it off and escape, but she took him by the arm, commanding, +“Get in here and tell me about it.” +</p> + +<p> +So he found himself moving with the slow stream of vehicles on the Avenue, and +with Mrs. Billy gazing at him quizzically and asking him if he did not feel +like a hippopotamus in a frog-pond. +</p> + +<p> +He replied to her raillery by asking her under which flag she stood. But there +was little need to ask that, for anyone who was fighting a Walling became +<i>ipso facto</i> a friend of Mrs. Billy’s. She told Montague that if he +felt his social position was imperilled, all he had to do was to come to her. +She would gird on her armour and take the field. +</p> + +<p> +“But tell me how you came to do it,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +He answered that there was very little to tell. He had taken up a case which +was obviously just, but having no idea what a storm it would raise. +</p> + +<p> +Then he noticed that his companion was looking at him sharply. “Do you +really mean that’s all there is to it?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I do,” said he, perplexed. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know,” was her unexpected response, “I hardly know +what to make of you. I’m afraid to trust you, on account of your +brother.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague was embarrassed. “I don’t know what you mean,” he +said. +</p> + +<p> +“Everybody thinks there’s some trickery in that suit,” she +answered. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said Montague, “I see. Well, they will find out. If it +will help you any to know it, I’ve been having no end of scenes with my +brother.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll believe you,” said Mrs. Billy, genially. “But it +seems strange that a man could have been so blind to a situation! I feel quite +ashamed because I didn’t help you myself!” +</p> + +<p> +The carriage had stopped at Mrs. Billy’s home, and she asked him to +dinner. “There’ll be nobody but my brother,” she +said,—“we’re resting this evening. And I can make up to you +for my negligence!” +</p> + +<p> +Montague had no engagement, and so he went in, and saw Mrs. Billy’s +mansion, which was decorated in imitation of a Doge’s palace, and met Mr. +“Davy” Alden, a mild-mannered little gentleman who obeyed orders +promptly. They had a comfortable dinner of half-a-dozen courses, and then +retired to the drawing-room, where Mrs. Billy sank into a huge easy chair, with +a decanter of whisky and some cracked ice in readiness beside it. Then from a +tray she selected a thick black cigar, and placidly bit off the end and lighted +it, and then settled back at her ease, and proceeded to tell Montague about New +York, and about the great families who ruled it, and where and how they had got +their money, and who were their allies and who their enemies, and what +particular skeletons were hidden in each of their closets. +</p> + +<p> +It was worth coming a long way to listen to Mrs. Billy tête-à-tête; her +thoughts were vigorous, and her imagery was picturesque. She spoke of old Dan +Waterman, and described him as a wild boar rooting chestnuts. He was all right, +she said, if you didn’t come under his tree. And Montague asked, +“Which is his tree?” and she answered, “Any one he happens to +be under at the time.” +</p> + +<p> +And then she came to the Wallings. Mrs. Billy had been in on the inside of that +family, and there was nothing she didn’t know about it; and she brought +the members up, one by one, and dissected them, and exhibited them for +Montague’s benefit. They were typical <i>bourgeois</i> people, she said. +They were burghers. They had never shown the least capacity for +refinement—they ate and drank, and jostled other people out of the way. +The old ones had been boors, and the new ones were cads. +</p> + +<p> +And Mrs. Billy sat and puffed at her cigar. “Do you know the history of +the family?” she asked. “The founder was a rough old ferryman. He +fought his rivals so well that in the end he owned all the boats; and then some +one discovered the idea of buying legislatures and building railroads, and he +went into that. It was a time when they simply grabbed things—if you ever +look into it, you’ll find they’re making fortunes to-day out of +privileges that the old man simply sat down on and held. There’s a bridge +at Albany, for instance, to which they haven’t the slightest right; my +brother knows about it—they’ve given themselves a contract with +their railroad by which they’re paid for every passenger, and their +profit every year is greater than the cost of the bridge. The son was the head +of the family when I came in; and I found that he had it all arranged to leave +thirty million dollars to one of his sons, and only ten million to my husband. +I set to work to change that, I can tell you. I used to go around to see him, +and scratch his back and tickle him and make him feel good. Of course the +family went wild—my, how they hated me! They set old Ellis to work to +keep me off—have you met Judge Ellis?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have,” said Montague. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, there’s a pussy-footed old hypocrite for you,” said +Mrs. Billy. “In those days he was Walling’s business +lackey—used to pass the money to the legislators and keep the wheels of +the machine greased. One of the first things I said to the old man was that I +didn’t ask him to entertain my butler, and he mustn’t ask me to +entertain his valet—and so I forbid Ellis to enter my house. And when I +found that he was trying to get between the old man and me, I flew into a rage +and boxed his ears and chased him out of the room!” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Billy paused, and laughed heartily over the recollection. “Of course +that tickled the old man to death,” she continued. “The Wallings +never could make out how I managed to get round him as I did; but it was simply +because I was honest with him. They’d come snivelling round, pretending +they were anxious about his health; while I wanted his money, and I told him +so.” +</p> + +<p> +The valiant lady turned to the decanter. “Have some Scotch?” she +asked, and poured some for herself, and then went on with her story. +“When I first came to New York,” she said, “the rich +people’s houses were all alike—all dreary brownstone fronts, +sandwiched in on one or two city lots. I vowed that I would have a house with +some room all around it—and that was the beginning of those palaces that +all New York walks by and stares at. You can hardly believe it now—those +houses were a scandal! But the sensation tickled the old man. I remember one +day we walked up the Avenue to see how they were coming on; and he pointed with +his big stick to the second floor, and asked, ‘What’s that?’ +I answered, ‘It’s a safe I’m building into the house.’ +(That was a new thing, too, in those days.)—‘I’m going to +keep my money in that,’ I said. ‘Bah!’ he growled, +‘when you’re done with this house, you won’t have any money +left.’—‘I’m planning to make you fill it for me,’ +I answered; and do you know, he chuckled all the way home over it!” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Billy sat laughing softly to herself. “We had great old battles in +those days,” she said. “Among other things, I had to put the +Wallings into Society. They were sneaking round on the outside when I +came—licking people’s boots and expecting to be kicked. I said to +myself, I’ll put an end to that—we’ll have a show-down! So I +gave a ball that made the whole country sit up and gasp—it wouldn’t +be noticed particularly nowadays, but then people had never dreamed of anything +so gorgeous. And I made out a list of all the people I wanted to know in New +York, and I said to myself: ‘If you come, you’re a friend, and if +you don’t come, you’re an enemy.’ And they all came, let me +tell you! And there was never any question about the Wallings being in Society +after that.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Billy halted; and Montague remarked, with a smile, that doubtless she was +sorry now that she had done it. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no,” she answered, with a shrug of her shoulders. “I +find that all I have to do is to be patient—I hate people, and think +I’d like to poison them, but if I only wait long enough, something +happens to them much worse than I ever dreamed of. You’ll be revenged on +the Robbies some day.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want any revenge,” Montague answered. +“I’ve no quarrel with them—I simply wish I hadn’t +accepted their hospitality. I didn’t know they were such little people. +It seems hard to believe it.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Billy laughed cynically. “What could you expect?” she said. +“They know there’s nothing to them but their money. When +that’s gone, they’re gone—they could never make any +more.” +</p> + +<p> +The lady gave a chuckle, and added: “Those words make me think of +Davy’s experience when he wanted to go to Congress! Tell him about it, +Davy.” +</p> + +<p> +But Mr. Alden did not warm to the subject; he left the tale to his sister. +</p> + +<p> +“He was a Democrat, you know,” said she, “and he went to the +boss and told him he’d like to go to Congress. The answer was that it +would cost him forty thousand dollars, and he kicked at the price. Others +didn’t have to put up such sums, he said—why should he? And the old +man growled at him, ‘The rest have other things to give. One can deliver +the letter-carriers, another is paid for by a corporation. But what can you do? +What is there to you but your money?’—So Davy paid the +money—didn’t you, Davy?” And Davy grinned sheepishly. +</p> + +<p> +“Even so,” she went on, “he came off better than poor Devon. +They got fifty thousand out of him, and sold him out, and he never got to +Congress after all! That was just before he concluded that America wasn’t +a fit place for a gentleman to live in.” +</p> + +<p> +And so Mrs. Billy got started on the Devons! And after that came the Havens and +the Wymans and the Todds—it was midnight before she got through with them +all. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap18"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> + +<p> +The newspapers said nothing more about the Hasbrook suit; but in financial +circles Montague had attained considerable notoriety because of it. And this +was the means of bringing him a number of new cases. +</p> + +<p> +But alas, there were no more fifty-thousand-dollar clients! The first caller +was a destitute widow with a deed which would have entitled her to the greater +part of a large city in Pennsylvania—only unfortunately the deed was +about eighty years old. And then there was a poor old man who had been hurt in +a street-car accident and had been tricked into signing away his rights; and an +indignant citizen who proposed to bring a hundred suits against the traction +trust for transfers refused. All were contingency cases, with the chances of +success exceedingly remote. And Montague noticed that the people had come to +him as a last resort, having apparently heard of him as a man of altruistic +temper. +</p> + +<p> +There was one case which interested him particularly, because it seemed to fit +in so ominously with the grim prognosis of his brother. He received a call from +an elderly gentleman, of very evident refinement and dignity of manner, who +proceeded to unfold to him a most amazing story. Five or six years ago he had +invented a storage-battery, which was the most efficient known. He had +organised a company with three million dollars’ capital to manufacture +it, himself taking a third interest for his patents, and becoming president of +the company. Not long afterward had come a proposal from a group of men who +wished to organize a company to manufacture automobiles; they proposed to form +an alliance which would give them the exclusive use of the battery. But these +men were not people with whom the inventor cared to deal—they were +traction and gas magnates widely known for their unscrupulous methods. And so +he had declined their offer, and set to work instead to organize an automobile +company himself. He had just got under way when he discovered that his rivals +had set to work to take his invention away from him. A friend who owned another +third share in his company had hypothecated his stock to help form the new +company; and now came a call from the bank for more collateral, and he was +obliged to sell out. And at the next stockholders’ meeting it developed +that their rivals had bought it, and likewise more stock in the open market; +and they proceeded to take possession of the company, ousting the former +president—and then making a contract with their automobile company to +furnish the storage-battery at a price which left no profit for the +manufacturers! And so for two years the inventor had not received a dollar of +dividends upon his million dollars’ worth of paper; and to cap the +climax, the company had refused to sell the battery to his automobile company, +and so that had gone into bankruptcy, and his friend was ruined also! +</p> + +<p> +Montague went into the case very carefully, and found that the story was true. +What interested him particularly in it was the fact that he had met a couple of +these financial highwaymen in social life; he had come to know the son and heir +of one of them quite well, at Siegfried Harvey’s. This gilded youth was +engaged to be married in a very few days, and the papers had it that the +father-in-law had presented the bride with a cheque for a million dollars. +Montague could not but wonder if it was the million that had been taken from +his client! +</p> + +<p> +There was to be a “bachelor dinner” at the Millionaires’ on +the night before the wedding, to which he and Oliver had been invited. As he +was thinking of taking up his case, he went to his brother, saying that he +wished to decline; but Oliver had been getting back his courage day by day, and +declared that it was more important than ever now that he should hold his +ground, and face his enemies—for Alice’s sake, if not for his own. +And so Montague went to the dinner, and saw deeper yet into the history of the +stolen millions. +</p> + +<p> +It was a very beautiful affair, in the beginning. There was a large private +dining-room, elaborately decorated, with a string orchestra concealed in a +bower of plants. But there were cocktails even on the side-board at the +doorway; and by the time the guests had got to the coffee, every one was +hilariously drunk. After each toast they would hurl their glasses over their +shoulders. The purpose of a “bachelor dinner,” it appeared, was a +farewell to the old days and the boon companions; so there were sentimental and +comic songs which had been composed for the occasion, and were received with +whirlwinds of laughter. +</p> + +<p> +By listening closely and reading between the lines, one might get quite a +history of the young host’s adventurous career. There was a house up on +the West Side; and there was a yacht, with, orgies in every part of the world. +There was the summer night in Newport harbour, when some one had hit upon the +dazzling scheme of freezing twenty-dollar gold pieces in tiny blocks of ice, to +be dropped down the girls’ backs! And there was a banquet in a studio in +New York, when a huge pie had been brought on, from which a half-nude girl had +emerged, with a flock of canary birds about her! Then there was a damsel who +had been wont to dance upon the tops of supper tables, clad in diaphanous +costume; and who had got drunk after a theatre-party, and set out to smash up a +Broadway restaurant. There was a cousin from Chicago, a wild lad, who made a +speciality of this diversion, and whose mistresses were bathed in +champagne.—Apparently there were numberless places in the city where such +orgies were carried on continually; there were private clubs, and +artists’ “studios”—there were several allusions to a +high tower, which Montague did not comprehend. Many such matters, however, were +explained to him by an elderly gentleman who sat on his right, and who seemed +to stay sober, no matter how much he drank. Incidentally he gravely advised +Montague to meet one of the young host’s mistresses, who was a +“stunning” girl, and was in the market. +</p> + +<p> +Toward morning the festivities changed to a series of wrestling-bouts; the +young men stripped off their clothing and tore the table to pieces, and piled +it out of the way in a corner, smashing most of the crockery in the process. +Between the matches, champagne would be opened by knocking off the heads of the +bottles; and this went on until four o’clock in the morning, when many of +the guests were lying in heaps upon the floor. +</p> + +<p> +Montague rode home in a cab with the elderly gentleman who had sat next to him; +and on the way he asked if such affairs as this were common. And his companion, +who was a “steel man” from the West, replied by telling him of some +which he had witnessed at home. At Siegfried Harvey’s theatre-party +Montague had seen a popular actress in a musical comedy, which was then the +most successful play running in New York. The house was sold out weeks ahead, +and after the matinée you might observe the street in front of the +stage-entrance blocked by people waiting to see the woman come out. She was +lithe and supple, like a panther, and wore close-fitting gowns to reveal her +form. It seemed that her play must have been built with one purpose in mind, to +see how much lewdness could be put upon a stage without interference by the +police.—And now his companion told him how this woman had been invited to +sing at a banquet given by the magnates of a mighty Trust, and had gone after +midnight to the most exclusive club in the town, and sung her popular ditty, +“Won’t you come and play with me?” The merry magnates had +taken the invitation literally—with the result that the actress had +escaped from the room with half her clothing torn off her. And a little while +later an official of this trust had wished to get rid of his wife and marry a +chorus-girl; and when public clamour had forced the directors to ask him to +resign, he had replied by threatening to tell about this banquet! +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +The next day—or rather, to be precise, that same morning—Montague +and Alice attended the gorgeous wedding. It was declared by the newspapers to +be the most “important” social event of the week; and it took half +a dozen policemen to hold back the crowds which filled the street. The ceremony +took place at St. Cecilia’s, with the stately bishop officiating, in his +purple and scarlet robes. Inside the doors were all the elect, exquisitely +groomed and gowned, and such a medley of delicious perfumes as not all the +vales in Arcady could equal. The groom had been polished and scrubbed, and +looked very handsome, though somewhat pale; and Montague could not but smile as +he observed the best man, looking so very solemn, and recollected the drunken +wrestler of a few hours before, staggering about in a pale blue undershirt +ripped up the back. +</p> + +<p> +The Montagues knew by this time whom they were to avoid. They were graciously +taken under the wing of Mrs. Eldridge Devon—whose real estate was not +affected by insurance suits; and the next morning they had the satisfaction of +seeing their names in the list of those present—and even a couple of +lines about Alice’s costume. (Alice was always referred to as “Miss +Montague”; it was very pleasant to be <i>the</i> “Miss +Montague,” and to think of all the other would-be Miss Montagues in the +city, who were thereby haughtily rebuked!) In the “yellow” papers +there were also accounts of the trousseau of the bride, and of the wonderful +gifts which she had received, and of the long honeymoon which she was to spend +in the Mediterranean upon her husband’s yacht. Montague found himself +wondering if the ghosts of its former occupants would not haunt her, and +whether she would have been as happy, had she known as much as he knew. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +He found food for a good deal of thought in the memory of this banquet. Among +the things which he had gathered from the songs was a hint that Oliver, also, +had some secrets, which he had not seen fit to tell his brother. The keeping of +young girls was apparently one of the established customs of the “little +brothers of the rich”—and, for that matter, of many of the big +brothers, also. +</p> + +<p> +A little later Montague had a curious glimpse into the life of this +“half-world.” He had occasion one evening to call up a certain +financier whom he had come to know quite well—a man of family and a +member of the church. There were some important papers to be signed and sent +off by a steamer; and the great man’s secretary said that he would try to +find him. A minute or two later he called up Montague and asked him if he would +be good enough to go to an address uptown. It was a house not far from +Riverside Drive; and Montague went there and found his acquaintance, with +several other prominent men of affairs whom he knew, conversing in a +drawing-room with one of the most charming ladies he had ever met. She was +exquisite to look at, and one of the few people in New York whom he had found +worth listening to. He spent such an enjoyable evening, that when he was +leaving, he remarked to the lady that he would like his cousin Alice to meet +her; and then he noticed that she flushed slightly, and was embarrassed. Later +on he learned to his dismay that the charming and beautiful lady did not go +into Society. +</p> + +<p> +Nor was this at all rare; on the contrary, if one took the trouble to make +inquiries, he would find that such establishments were everywhere taken for +granted. Montague talked about it with Major Venable; and out of his gossip +storehouse the old gentleman drew forth a string of anecdotes that made +one’s hair stand on end. There was one all-powerful magnate, who had a +passion for the wife of a great physician; and he had given a million dollars +or so to build a hospital, and had provided that it should be the finest in the +world, and that this physician should go abroad for three years to study the +institutions of Europe! No conventions counted with this old man—if he +saw a woman whom he wanted, he would ask for her; and women in Society felt +that it was an honour to be his mistress. Not long after this a man who voiced +the anguish of a mighty nation was turned out of several hotels in New York +because he was not married according to the laws of South Dakota; but this +other man would take a woman to any hotel in the city, and no one would dare +oppose him! +</p> + +<p> +And there was another, a great traction king, who kept mistresses in Chicago +and Paris and London, as well as in New York; he had one just around the corner +from his palatial home, and had an underground passage leading to it. And the +Major told with glee how he had shown this to a friend, and the latter had +remarked, “I’m too stout to get through +there.”—“I know it,” replied the other, “else I +shouldn’t have told you!” +</p> + +<p> +And so it went. One of the richest men in New York was a sexual degenerate, +with half a dozen women on his hands all the time; he would send them cheques, +and they would use these to blackmail him. This man’s young wife had been +shut up in a closet for twenty-four hours by her mother to compel her to marry +him.—And then there was the charming tale of how he had gone away upon a +mission of state, and had written long messages full of tender protestations, +and given them to a newspaper correspondent to cable home “to his +wife.” The correspondent had thought it such a touching example of +conjugal devotion that he told about it at a dinner-party when he came back; +and he was struck by the sudden silence that fell. “The messages had been +sent to a code address!” chuckled the Major. “And every one at the +table knew who had got them!” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +A few days after this, Montague received a telephone message from Siegfried +Harvey, who said that he wanted to see him about a matter of business. He asked +him to lunch at the Noonday Club; and Montague went—though not without a +qualm. For it was in the Fidelity Building, the enemy’s bailiwick: a +magnificent structure with halls of white marble, and a lavish display of +bronze. It occurred to Montague that somewhere in this structure people were at +work preparing an answer to his charges; he wondered what they were saying. +</p> + +<p> +The two had lunch, talking meanwhile about the coming events in Society, and +about politics and wars; and when the coffee was served and they were alone in +the room, Harvey settled his big frame back in his chair, and began:— +</p> + +<p> +“In the first place,” he said, “I must explain that +I’ve something to say that is devilish hard to get into. I’m so +much afraid of your jumping to a wrong conclusion in the middle of +it—I’d like you to agree to listen for a minute or two before you +think at all.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” said Montague, with a smile. “Fire away.” +</p> + +<p> +And at once the other became grave. “You’ve taken a case against +this company,” he said. “And Ollie has talked enough to me to make +me understand that you’ve done a plucky thing, and that you must be +everlastingly sick of hearing from cowardly people who want you to drop it. +I’d be very sorry to be classed with them, for even a moment; and you +must understand at the outset that I haven’t a particle of interest in +the company, and that it wouldn’t matter to me if I had. I don’t +try to use my friends in business, and I don’t let money count with me in +my social life. I made up my mind to take the risk of speaking to you about +this case, simply because I happen to know one or two things about it that I +thought you didn’t know. And if that’s so, you are at a great +disadvantage; but in any case, please understand that I have no motive but +friendship, and so if I am butting in, excuse me.” +</p> + +<p> +When Siegfried Harvey talked, he looked straight at one with his clear blue +eyes, and there was no doubting his honesty. “I am very much obliged to +you,” said Montague. “Pray tell me what you have to say.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” said the other. “It can be done very quickly. +You have taken a case which involves a great many sacrifices upon your part. +And I wondered if it had ever occurred to you to ask whether you might not be +taken advantage of?” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you mean?” asked Montague. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know the people who are behind you?” inquired the other. +“Do you know them well enough to be sure what are their motives in the +case?” +</p> + +<p> +Montague hesitated, and thought. “No,” he said, “I +couldn’t say that I do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then it’s just as I thought,” replied Harvey. +“I’ve been watching you—you are an honest man, and +you’re putting yourself to no end of trouble from the best of motives. +And unless I’m mistaken, you’re being used by men who are not +honest, and whom you wouldn’t work with if you knew their +purposes.” +</p> + +<p> +“What purposes could they have?” +</p> + +<p> +“There are several possibilities. In the first place, it might be a +‘strike’ suit—somebody who is hoping to be bought off for a +big price. That is what nearly every one thinks is the case. But I don’t; +I think it’s more likely some one within the company who is trying to put +the administration in a hole.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who could that be?” exclaimed Montague, amazed. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know that. I’m not familiar enough with the +situation in the Fidelity—it’s changing all the time. I simply know +that there are factions struggling for the control of it, and hating each other +furiously, and ready to do anything in the world to cripple each other. You +know that their forty millions of surplus gives an enormous power; I’d +rather be able to swing forty millions in the Street than to have ten millions +in my own right. And so the giants are fighting for the control of those +companies; and you can’t tell who’s in and who’s +out—you can never know the real meaning of anything that happens in the +struggle. All that you can be sure of is that the game is crooked from end to +end, and that nothing that happens in it is what it pretends to be.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague listened, half dazed, and feeling as if the ground he stood on were +caving beneath his feet. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you know about those who brought you this case?” asked his +companion, suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +“Not much,” he said weakly. +</p> + +<p> +Harvey hesitated a moment. “Understand me, please,” he said. +“I’ve no wish to pry into your affairs, and if you don’t care +to say any more, I’ll understand it perfectly. But I’ve heard it +said that the man who started the thing was Ellis.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague, in his turn, hesitated; then he said, “That is +correct—between you and me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good,” said Harvey, “and that is what made me +suspicious. Do you know anything about Ellis?” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t,” said the other. “I’ve heard a little +since.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can fancy so,” said Harvey. “And I can tell you that Ellis +is mixed up in life-insurance matters in all sorts of dubious ways. It seems to +me that you have reason to be most careful where you follow him.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague sat with his hands clenched and his brows knitted. His friend’s +talk had been like a flash of lightning; it revealed huge menacing forms in the +darkness about him. All the structure of his hopes seemed to be tottering; his +case, that he had worked so hard over—his fifty thousand dollars that he +had been so proud of! Could it be that he had been tricked, and had made a fool +of himself? +</p> + +<p> +“How in the world am I to know?” he cried. +</p> + +<p> +“That is more than I can tell,” said his friend. “And for +that matter, I’m not sure that you could do anything now. All that I +could do was to warn you what sort of ground you were treading on, so that you +could watch out for yourself in future.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague thanked him heartily for that service; and then he went back to his +office, and spent the rest of the day pondering the matter. +</p> + +<p> +What he had heard had made a vast change in things. Before it everything had +seemed simple; and now nothing was clear. He was overwhelmed with a sense of +the utter futility of his efforts; he was trying to build a house upon +quicksands. There was nowhere a solid spot upon which he could set his foot. +There was nowhere any truth—there were only contending powers who used +the phrases of truth for their own purposes! And now he saw himself as the +world saw him,—a party to a piece of trickery,—a knave like all the +rest. He felt that he had been tripped up at the first step in his career. +</p> + +<p> +The conclusion of the whole matter was that he took an afternoon train for +Albany; and the next morning he talked the matter out with the Judge. Montague +had realized the need of going slowly, for, after all, he had no definite +ground for suspicion; and so, very tactfully and cautiously he explained, that +it had come to his ears that many people believed there were interested parties +behind the suit of Mr. Hasbrook; and that this had made him uncomfortable, as +he knew nothing whatever about his client. He had come to ask the Judge’s +advice in the matter. +</p> + +<p> +No one could have taken the thing more graciously than did the great man; he +was all kindness and tact. In the first place, he said, he had warned him in +advance that enemies would attack him and slander him, and that all kinds of +subtle means would be used to influence him. And he must understand that these +rumours were part of such a campaign; it made no difference how good a friend +had brought them to him—how could he know who had brought them to that +friend? +</p> + +<p> +The Judge ventured to hope that nothing that anyone might say could influence +him to believe that he, the Judge, would have advised him to do anything +improper. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Montague, “but can you assure me that there are no +interested parties behind Mr. Hasbrook?” +</p> + +<p> +“Interested parties?” asked the other. +</p> + +<p> +“I mean people connected with the Fidelity or other insurance +companies.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, no,” said the Judge; “I certainly couldn’t assure +you of that.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague looked surprised. “You mean you don’t know?” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean,” was the answer, “that I wouldn’t feel at +liberty to tell, even if I did know.” +</p> + +<p> +And Montague stared at him; he had not been prepared for this frankness. +</p> + +<p> +“It never occurred to me,” the other continued, “that that +was a matter which could make any difference to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why—” began Montague. +</p> + +<p> +“Pray understand me, Mr. Montague,” said the Judge. “It +seemed to me that this was obviously a just case, and it seemed so to you. And +the only other matter that I thought you had a right to be assured of was that +it was seriously meant. Of that I felt assured. It did not seem to me of any +importance that there might be interested individuals behind Mr. Hasbrook. Let +us suppose, for instance, that there were some parties who had been offended by +the administration of the Fidelity, and were anxious to punish it. Could a +lawyer be justified in refusing to take a just case, simply because he knew of +such private motives? Or, let us assume an extreme case—a factional fight +within the company, as you say has been suggested to you. Well, that would be a +case of thieves falling out; and is there any reason why the public should not +reap the advantage of such a situation? The men inside the company are the ones +who would know first what is going on; and if you saw a chance to use such an +advantage in a just fight—would you not do it?” +</p> + +<p> +So the Judge went on, gracious and plausible—and so subtly and +exquisitely corrupting! Underneath his smoothly flowing sentences Montague +could feel the presence of one fundamental thought; it was unuttered and even +unhinted, but it pervaded the Judge’s discourse as a mood pervades a +melody. The young lawyer had got a big fee, and he had a nice easy case; and as +a man of the world, he could not really wish to pry into it too closely. He had +heard gossip, and felt that his reputation required him to be disturbed; but he +had come, simply to be smoothed down the back and made at ease, and enabled to +keep his fee without losing his good opinion of himself. +</p> + +<p> +Montague quit, because he concluded that it was not worth while to try to make +himself understood. After all, he was in the case now, and there was nothing to +be gained by a breach. Two things he felt that he had made certain by the +interview—first, that his client was a “dummy,” and that it +was really a case of thieves falling out; and second, that he had no guarantee +that he might not be left in the lurch at any moment—except the touching +confidence of the Judge in some parties unknown. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap19"></a>CHAPTER XIX.</h2> + +<p> +Montague came home with his mind made up that there was nothing he could do +except to be more careful next time. For this mistake he would have to pay the +price. +</p> + +<p> +He had still to learn what the full price was. The day after his return there +came a caller—Mr. John C. Burton, read his card. He proved to be a +canvassing agent for the company which published the scandal-sheet of Society. +They were preparing a <i>de luxe</i> account of the prominent families of New +York; a very sumptuous affair, with a highly exclusive set of subscribers, at +the rate of fifteen hundred dollars per set. Would Mr. Montague by any chance +care to have his family included? +</p> + +<p> +And Mr. Montague explained politely that he was a comparative stranger in New +York, and would not belong properly in such a volume. But the agent was not +satisfied with this. There might be reasons for his subscribing, even so; there +might be special cases; Mr. Montague, as a stranger, might not realize the +important nature of the offer; after he had consulted his friends, he might +change his mind—and so on. As Montague listened to this series of broad +hints, and took in the meaning of them, the colour mounted, to his +cheeks—until at last he rose abruptly and bid the man good afternoon. +</p> + +<p> +But then as he sat alone, his anger died away, and there was left only +discomfort and uneasiness. And three or four days later he bought another issue +of the paper, and sure enough, there was a new paragraph! +</p> + +<p> +He stood on the street-corner reading it. The social war was raging hotly, it +said; and added that Mrs. de Graffenried was threatening to take up the cause +of the strangers. Then it went on to picture a certain exquisite young man of +fashion who was rushing about among his friends to apologize for his +brother’s indiscretions. Also, it said, there was a brilliant social +queen, wife of a great banker, who had taken up the cudgels.—And then +came three sentences more, which made the blood leap like flame into +Montague’s cheeks: +</p> + +<p> +“There have not been lacking comments upon her suspicious ardour. It has +been noticed that since the advent of the romantic-looking Southerner, this +restless lady’s interest in the Babists and the trance mediums has waned; +and now Society is watching for the dénouement of a most interesting +situation.” +</p> + +<p> +To Montague these words came like a blow in the face. He went on down the +street, half dazed. It seemed to him the blackest shame that New York had yet +shown him. He clenched his fists as he walked, whispering to himself, +“The scoundrels!” +</p> + +<p> +He realized instantly that he was helpless. Down home one would have thrashed +the editor of such a paper; but here he was in the wolves’ own country, +and he could do nothing. He went back to his office, and sat down at the desk. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Mrs. Winnie,” he wrote. “I have just read the +enclosed paragraph, and I cannot tell you how profoundly pained I am that your +kindness to us should have made you the victim of such an outrage. I am quite +helpless in the matter, except to enable you to avoid any further annoyance. +Please believe me when I say that we shall all of us understand perfectly if +you think that we had best not meet again at present; and that this will make +no difference whatever in our feelings.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +This letter Montague sent by a messenger; and then he went home. Perhaps ten +minutes after he arrived, the telephone bell rang—and there was Mrs. +Winnie. +</p> + +<p> +“Your note has come,” she said. “Have you an engagement this +evening?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he answered. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” she said, “will you come to dinner?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Winnie—” he protested. +</p> + +<p> +“Please come,” she said. “Please!” +</p> + +<p> +“I hate to have you—” he began. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you to come!” she said, a third time. +</p> + +<p> +So he answered, “Very well.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +He went; and when he entered the house, the butler led him to the elevator, +saying, “Mrs. Duval says will you please come upstairs, sir.” And +there Mrs. Winnie met him, with flushed cheeks and eager countenance. +</p> + +<p> +She was even lovelier than usual, in a soft cream-coloured gown, and a crimson +rose in her bosom. “I’m all alone to-night,” she said, +“so we’ll dine in my apartments. We’d be lost in that big +room downstairs.” +</p> + +<p> +She led him into her drawing-room, where great armfuls of new roses scattered +their perfume. There was a table set for two, and two big chairs before the +fire which blazed in the hearth. Montague noticed that her hand trembled a +little, as she motioned him to one of them; he could read her excitement in her +whole aspect. She was flinging down the gauntlet to her enemies! +</p> + +<p> +“Let us eat first and talk afterward,” she said, hurriedly. +“We’ll be happy for a while, anyway.” +</p> + +<p> +And she went on to be happy, in her nervous and eager way. She talked about the +new opera which was to be given, and about Mrs. de Graffenried’s new +entertainment, and about Mrs. Ridgley-Clieveden’s ball; also about the +hospital for crippled children which she wanted to build, and about Mrs. Vivie +Patton’s rumoured divorce. And, meantime, the sphinx-like attendants +moved here and there, and the dinner came and went. They took their coffee in +the big chairs by the fire; and the table was swept clear, and the servants +vanished, closing the doors behind them. +</p> + +<p> +Then Montague set his cup aside, and sat gazing sombrely into the fire. And +Mrs. Winnie watched him. There was a long silence. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly he heard her voice. “Do you find it so easy to give up our +friendship?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t think about it’s being easy or hard,” he +answered. “I simply thought of protecting you.” +</p> + +<p> +“And do you think that my friends are nothing to me?” she demanded. +“Have I so very many as that?” And she clenched her hands with a +sudden passionate gesture. “Do you think that I will let those wretches +frighten me into doing what they want? I’ll not give in to them—not +for anything that Lelia can do!” +</p> + +<p> +A look of perplexity crossed Montague’s face. “Lelia?” he +asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Robbie Walling!” she cried. “Don’t you suppose +that she is responsible for that paragraph?” +</p> + +<p> +Montague started. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the way they fight their battles!” cried Mrs. Winnie. +“They pay money to those scoundrels to be protected. And then they send +nasty gossip about people they wish to injure.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t mean that!” exclaimed the man. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I do,” cried she. “I know that it’s true! I +know that Robbie Walling paid fifteen thousand dollars for some trumpery +volumes that they got out! And how do you suppose the paper gets its +gossip?” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t know,” said Montague. “But I never +dreamed—” +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” exclaimed Mrs. Winnie, “their mail is full of blue and +gold monogram stationery! I’ve known guests to sit down and write gossip +about their hostesses in their own homes. Oh, you’ve no idea of +people’s vileness!” +</p> + +<p> +“I had some idea,” said Montague, after a pause.—“That +was why I wished to protect you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t wish to be protected!” she cried, vehemently. +“I’ll not give them the satisfaction. They wish to make me give you +up, and I’ll not do it, for anything they can say!” +</p> + +<p> +Montague sat with knitted brows, gazing into the fire. “When I read that +paragraph,” he said slowly. “I could not bear to think of the +unhappiness it might cause you. I thought of how much it might disturb your +husband—” +</p> + +<p> +“My husband!” echoed Mrs. Winnie. +</p> + +<p> +There was a hard tone in her voice, as she went on. “He will fix it up +with them,” she said,—“that’s his way. There will be +nothing more published, you can feel sure of that.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague sat in silence. That was not the reply he had expected, and it rather +disconcerted him. +</p> + +<p> +“If that were all—” he said, with hesitation. “But I +could not know. I thought that the paragraph might disturb him for another +reason—that it might be a cause of unhappiness between you and +him—” +</p> + +<p> +There was a pause. “You don’t understand,” said Mrs. Winnie, +at last. +</p> + +<p> +Without turning his head he could see her hands, as they lay upon her knees. +She was moving them nervously. “You don’t understand,” she +repeated. +</p> + +<p> +When she began to’ speak again, it was in a low, trembling voice. +“I must tell you,” she said; “I have felt sure that you did +not know.” +</p> + +<p> +There was another pause. She hesitated, and her hands trembled; then suddenly +she hurried on.—“I wanted you to know. I do not love my husband. I +am not bound to him. He has nothing to say in my affairs.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague sat rigid, turned to stone. He was half dazed by the words. He could +feel Mrs. Winnie’s gaze fixed upon him; and he could feel the hot flush +that spread over her throat and cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +“It—it was not fair for you not to know,” she whispered. And +her voice died away, and there was again a silence. Montague was dumb. +</p> + +<p> +“Why don’t you say something?” she panted, at last; and he +caught the note of anguish in her voice. Then he turned and stared at her, and +saw her tightly clenched hands, and the quivering of her lips. +</p> + +<p> +He was shocked quite beyond speech. And he saw her bosom heaving quickly, and +saw the tears start into her eyes. Suddenly she sank down, and covered her face +with her hands and broke into frantic sobbing. +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Winnie!” he cried; and started to his feet. +</p> + +<p> +Her outburst continued. He saw that she was shuddering violently. “Then +you don’t love me!” she wailed. +</p> + +<p> +He stood trembling and utterly bewildered. “I’m so sorry!” he +whispered. “Oh, Mrs. Winnie—I had no idea—” +</p> + +<p> +“I know it! I know it!” she cried. “It’s my fault! I +was a fool! I knew it all the time. But I hoped—I thought you might, if +you knew—” +</p> + +<p> +And then again her tears choked her; she was convulsed with pain and grief. +</p> + +<p> +Montague stood watching her, helpless with distress. She caught hold of the arm +of the chair, convulsively, and he put his hand upon hers. +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Winnie—” he began. +</p> + +<p> +But she jerked her hand away and hid it. “No, no!” she cried, in +terror. “Don’t touch me!” +</p> + +<p> +And suddenly she looked up at him, stretching out her arms. “Don’t +you understand that I love you?” she exclaimed. “You despise me for +it, I know—but I can’t help it. I will tell you, even so! +It’s the only satisfaction I can have. I have always loved you! And I +thought—I thought it was only that you didn’t understand. I was +ready to brave all the world—I didn’t care who knew it, or what +anybody said. I thought we could be happy—I thought I could be free at +last. Oh, you’ve no idea how unhappy I am—and how lonely—and +how I longed to escape! And I believed that you—that you +might—” +</p> + +<p> +And then the tears gushed into Mrs. Winnie’s eyes again, and her voice +became the voice of a little child. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you think that you might come to love me?” she wailed. +</p> + +<p> +Her voice shook Montague, so that he trembled to the depths of him. But his +face only became the more grave. +</p> + +<p> +“You despise me because I told you!” she exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, Mrs. Winnie,” he said. “I could not possibly do +that—” +</p> + +<p> +“Then—then why—” she whispered.—“Would it +be so hard to love me?” +</p> + +<p> +“It would be very easy,” he said, “but I dare not let +myself.” +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him piteously. “You are so cold—so merciless!” +she cried. +</p> + +<p> +He answered nothing, and she sat trembling. “Have you ever loved a +woman?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +There was a long pause. He sat in the chair again. “Listen, Mrs. +Winnie”—he began at last. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t call me that!” she exclaimed. “Call me +Evelyn—please.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” he said—“Evelyn. I did not intend to make +you unhappy—if I had had any idea, I should never have seen you again. I +will tell you—what I have never told anybody before. Then you will +understand.” +</p> + +<p> +He sat for a few moments, in a sombre reverie. +</p> + +<p> +“Once,” he said, “when I was young, I loved a woman—a +quadroon girl. That was in New Orleans; it is a custom we have there. They have +a world of their own, and we take care of them, and of the children; and every +one knows about it. I was very young, only about eighteen; and she was even +younger. But I found out then what women are, and what love means to them. I +saw how they could suffer. And then she died in childbirth—the child +died, too.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague’s voice was very low; and Mrs. Winnie sat with her hands +clasped, and her eyes riveted upon his face. “I saw her die,” he +said. “And that was all. I have never forgotten it. I made up my mind +then that I had done wrong; and that never again while I lived would I offer my +love to a woman, unless I could devote all my life to her. So you see, I am +afraid of love. I do not wish to suffer so much, or to make others suffer. And +when anyone speaks to me as you did, it brings it all back to me—it makes +me shrink up and wither.” +</p> + +<p> +He paused, and the other caught her breath. +</p> + +<p> +“Understand me,” she said, her voice trembling. “I would not +ask any pledges of you. I would pay whatever price there was to pay—I am +not afraid to suffer.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not wish you to suffer,” he said. “I do not wish to +take advantage of any woman.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I have nothing in the world that I value!” she cried. “I +would go away—I would give up everything, to be with a man like you. I +have no ties—no duties—” +</p> + +<p> +He interrupted her. “You have your husband—” he said. +</p> + +<p> +And she cried out in sudden fury—“My husband!” +</p> + +<p> +“Has no one ever told you about my husband?” she asked, after a +pause. +</p> + +<p> +“No one,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, ask them!” she exclaimed. “Meantime, take my word for +it—I owe nothing to my husband.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague sat staring into the fire. “But consider my own case,” he +said. “<i>I</i> have duties—my mother and my cousin—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, don’t say any more!” cried the woman, with a break in +her voice. “Say that you don’t love me—that is all there is +to say! And you will never respect me again! I have been a fool—I have +ruined everything! I have flung away your friendship, that I might have +kept!” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +But she rushed on, vehemently—“At least, I have been +honest—give me credit for that! That is how all my troubles come—I +say what is in my mind, and I pay the price for my blunders. It is not as if I +were cold and calculating—so don’t despise me altogether.” +</p> + +<p> +“I couldn’t despise you,” said Montague. “I am simply +pained, because I have made you unhappy. And I did not mean to.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Winnie sat staring ahead of her in a sombre reverie. “Don’t +think any more about it,” she said, bitterly. “I will get over it. +I am not worth troubling about. Don’t you suppose I know how you feel +about this world that I live in? And I’m part of it—I beat my +wings, and try to get out, but I can’t. I’m in it, and I’ll +stay in till I die; I might as well give up. I thought that I could steal a +little joy—you have no idea how hungry I am for a little joy! You have no +idea how lonely I am! And how empty my life is! You talk about your fear of +making me unhappy; it’s a grim jest—but I’ll give you +permission, if you can! I’ll ask nothing—no promises, no +sacrifices! I’ll take all the risks, and pay all the penalties!” +</p> + +<p> +She smiled through her tears, a sardonic smile. He was watching her, and she +turned again, and their eyes met; again he saw the blood mount from her throat +to her cheeks. At the same time came the old stirring of the wild beasts within +him. He knew that the less time he spent in sympathizing with Mrs. Winnie, the +better for both of them. +</p> + +<p> +He had started to rise, and words of farewell were on his lips; when suddenly +there came a knock upon the door. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Winnie sprang to her feet. “Who is that?” she cried. +</p> + +<p> +And the door opened, and Mr. Duval entered. +</p> + +<p> +“Good evening,” he said pleasantly, and came toward her. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Winnie flushed angrily, and stared at him. “Why do you come here +unannounced?” she cried. +</p> + +<p> +“I apologize,” he said—“but I found this in my +mail—” +</p> + +<p> +And Montague, in the act of rising to greet him, saw that he had the offensive +clipping in his hand. Then he saw Duval give a start, and realized that the man +had not been aware of his presence in the room. +</p> + +<p> +Duval gazed from Montague to his wife, and noticed for the first time her +tears, and her agitation. “I beg pardon,” he said. “I am +evidently trespassing.” +</p> + +<p> +“You most certainly are,” responded Mrs. Winnie. +</p> + +<p> +He made a move to withdraw; but before he could take a step, she had brushed +past him and left the room, slamming the door behind her. +</p> + +<p> +And Duval stared after her, and then he stared at Montague, and laughed. +“Well! well! well!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Then, checking his amusement, he added, “Good evening, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good evening,” said Montague. +</p> + +<p> +He was trembling slightly, and Duval noticed it; he smiled genially. +“This is the sort of material out of which scenes are made,” said +he. “But I beg you not to be embarrassed—we won’t have any +scenes.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague could think of nothing to say to that. +</p> + +<p> +“I owe Evelyn an apology,” the other continued. “It was +entirely an accident—this clipping, you see. I do not intrude, as a rule. +You may make yourself at home in future.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague flushed scarlet at the words. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Duval,” he said, “I have to assure you that you are +mistaken—” +</p> + +<p> +The other stared at him. “Oh, come, come!” he said, laughing. +“Let us talk as men of the world.” +</p> + +<p> +“I say that you are mistaken,” said Montague again. +</p> + +<p> +The other shrugged his shoulders. “Very well,” he said genially. +“As you please. I simply wish to make matters clear to you, that’s +all. I wish you joy with Evelyn. I say nothing about her—you love her. +Suffice it that I’ve had her, and I’m tired of her; the field is +yours. But keep her out of mischief, and don’t let her make a fool of +herself in public, if you can help it. And don’t let her spend too much +money—she costs me a million a year already.—Good evening, Mr. +Montague.” +</p> + +<p> +And he went out. Montague, who stood like a statue, could hear him chuckling +all the way down the hall. +</p> + +<p> +At last Montague himself started to leave. But he heard Mrs. Winnie coming +back, and he waited for her. She came in and shut the door, and turned toward +him. +</p> + +<p> +“What did he say?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“He—was very pleasant,” said Montague. +</p> + +<p> +And she smiled grimly. “I went out on purpose,” she said. “I +wanted you to see him—to see what sort of a man he is, and how much +‘duty’ I owe him! You saw, I guess.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I saw,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +Then again he started to go. But she took him by the arm. “Come and talk +to me,” she said. “Please!” +</p> + +<p> +And she led him back to the fire. “Listen,” she said. “He +will not come here again. He is going away to-night—I thought he had gone +already. And he does not return for a month or two. There will be no one to +disturb us again.” +</p> + +<p> +She came close to him and gazed up into his face. She had wiped her tears away, +and her happy look had come back to her; she was lovelier than ever. +</p> + +<p> +“I took you by surprise,” she said, smiling. “You +didn’t know what to make of it. And I was ashamed—I thought you +would hate me. But I’m not going to be unhappy any more—I +don’t care at all. I’m glad that I spoke!” +</p> + +<p> +And Mrs. Winnie put up her hands and took him by the lapels of his coat. +“I know that you love me,” she said; “I saw it in your eyes +just now, before he came in: It is simply that you won’t let yourself go. +You have so many doubts and so many fears. But you will see that I am right; +you will learn to love me. You won’t be able to help it—I shall be +so kind and good! Only don’t go away—” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Winnie was so close to him that her breath touched his cheek. +“Promise me, dear,” she whispered—“promise me that you +won’t stop seeing me—that you will learn to love me. I can’t +do without you!” +</p> + +<p> +Montague was trembling in every nerve; he felt like a man caught in a net. Mrs. +Winnie had had everything she ever wanted in her life; and now she wanted him! +It was impossible for her to face any other thought. +</p> + +<p> +“Listen,” he began gently. +</p> + +<p> +But she saw the look of resistance in his eyes, and she cried “No +no—don’t! I cannot do without you! Think! I love you! What more can +I say to you? I cannot believe that you don’t care for me—you +<i>have</i> been fond of me—I have seen it in your face. Yet you’re +afraid of me—why? Look at me—am I not beautiful to look at! And is +a woman’s love such a little thing—can you fling it away and +trample upon it so easily? Why do you wish to go? Don’t you +understand—no one knows we are here—no one cares! You can come here +whenever you wish—this is my place—mine! And no one will think +anything about it. They all do it. There is nothing to be afraid of!” +</p> + +<p> +She put her arms about him, and clung to him so that he could feel the beating +of her heart upon his bosom. “Oh, don’t leave me here alone +to-night!” she cried. +</p> + +<p> +To Montague it was like the ringing of an alarm-bell deep within his soul. +“I must go,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +She flung back her head and stared at him, and he saw the terror and anguish in +her eyes. “No, no!” she cried, “don’t say that to me! I +can’t bear it—oh, see what I have done! Look at me! Have mercy on +me!” +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Winnie,” he said, “you must have mercy on +<i>me!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +But he only felt her clasp him more tightly. He took her by the wrists, and +with quiet force he broke her hold upon him; her hands fell to her sides, and +she stared at him, aghast. +</p> + +<p> +“I must go,” he said, again. +</p> + +<p> +And he started toward the door. She followed him dumbly with her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-bye,” he said. He knew that there was no use of any more +words; his sympathy had been like oil upon flames. He saw her move, and as he +opened the door, she flung herself down in a chair and burst into frantic +weeping. He shut the door softly and went away. +</p> + +<p> +He found his way down the stairs, and got his hat and coat, and went out, +unseen by anyone. He walked down the Avenue—and there suddenly was the +giant bulk of St. Cecilia’s lifting itself into the sky. He stopped and +looked at it—it seemed a great tumultuous surge of emotion. And for the +first time in his life it seemed to him that he understood why men had put +together that towering heap of stone! +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Then he went on home. +</p> + +<p> +He found Alice dressing for a ball, and Oliver waiting for her. He went to his +room, and took off his coat; and Oliver came up to him, and with a sudden +gesture reached over to his shoulder, and held up a trophy. +</p> + +<p> +He drew it out carefully, and measured the length of it, smiling mischievously +in the meanwhile. Then he held it up to the light, to see the colour of it. +</p> + +<p> +“A black one!” he cried. “Coal black!” And he looked at +his brother, with a merry twinkle in his eyes. “Oh, Allan!” he +chuckled. +</p> + +<p> +Montague said nothing. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap20"></a>CHAPTER XX.</h2> + +<p> +It was about a week from the beginning of Lent, when there would be a lull in +the city’s gaieties, and Society would shift the scene of its activities +to the country clubs, and to California and Hot Springs and Palm Beach. Mrs. +Caroline Smythe invited Alice to join her in an expedition to the last-named +place; but Montague interposed, because he saw that Alice had been made pale +and nervous by three months of night-and-day festivities. Also, a trip to +Florida would necessitate ten or fifteen thousand dollars’ worth of new +clothes; and these would not do for the summer, it appeared—they would be +faded and <i>passé</i> by that time. +</p> + +<p> +So Alice settled back to rest; but she was too popular to be let alone—a +few days later came another invitation, this time from General Prentice and his +family. They were planning a railroad trip—to be gone for a month; they +would have a private train, and twenty five people in the party, and would take +in California and Mexico—“swinging round the circle,” as it +was called. Alice was wild to go, and Montague gave his consent. Afterward he +learned to his dismay that Charlie Carter was one of those invited, and he +would have liked to have Alice withdraw; but she did not wish to, and he could +not make up his mind to insist. +</p> + +<p> +These train trips were the very latest diversion of the well-to-do; a year ago +no one had heard of them, and now fifty parties were leaving New York every +month. You might see a dozen of such hotel-trains at once at Palm Beach; there +were some people who lived on board all the time, having special tracks built +for them in pleasant locations wherever they stopped. One man had built a huge +automobile railroad car, shaped like a ram, and having accommodation for sixty +people. The Prentice train had four cars, one of them a “library +car,” finished in St. Iago mahogany, and provided with a pipe-organ. Also +there were bath-rooms and a barber-shop, and a baggage car with two autos on +board for exploring purposes. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Since the episode of Mrs. Winnie, Oliver had apparently concluded that his +brother was one of the initiated. Not long afterward he permitted him to a +glimpse into that side of his life which had been hinted at in the songs at the +bachelors’ dinner. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver had planned to take Betty Wyman to the theatre; but Betty’s +grandfather had come home from the West unexpectedly, and so Oliver came round +and took his brother instead. +</p> + +<p> +“I was going to play a joke on her,” he said. “We’ll go +to see one of my old flames.” +</p> + +<p> +It was a translation of a French farce, in which the marital infidelities of +two young couples were the occasion of many mishaps. One of the characters was +a waiting-maid, who was in love with a handsome young soldier, and was pursued +by the husband of one of the couples. It was a minor part, but the young Jewish +girl who played it had so many pretty graces and such a merry laugh that she +made it quite conspicuous. When the act was over, Oliver asked him whose acting +he liked best, and he named her. +</p> + +<p> +“Come and be introduced to her,” Oliver said. +</p> + +<p> +He opened a door near their box. “How do you do, Mr. Wilson,” he +said, nodding to a man in evening dress, who stood near by. Then he turned +toward the dressing-rooms, and went down a corridor, and knocked upon one of +the doors. A voice called, “Come in,” and he opened the door; and +there was a tiny room, with odds and ends of clothing scattered about, and the +girl, clad in corsets and underskirt, sitting before a mirror. “Hello, +Rosalie,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +And she dropped her powder-puff, and sprang up with a +cry—“Ollie!” ‘In a moment more she had her arms about +his neck. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you wretched man,” she cried. “Why don’t you come +to see me any more? Didn’t you get my letters?” +</p> + +<p> +“I got some,” said he. “But I’ve been busy. This is my +brother, Mr. Allan Montague.” +</p> + +<p> +The other nodded to Montague, and said, “How do you do?”—but +without letting go of Oliver. “Why don’t you come to see me?” +she exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +“There, there, now!” said Oliver, laughing good-naturedly. “I +brought my brother along so that you’d have to behave yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t care about your brother!” exclaimed the girl, +without even giving him another glance. Then she held Oliver at arm’s +length, and gazed into his face. “How can you be so cruel to me?” +she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I told you I was busy,” said he, cheerfully. “And I gave you +fair warning, didn’t I? How’s Toodles?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Toodles is in raptures,” said Rosalie. “She’s got +a new fellow.” And then, her manner changing to one of merriment, she +added: “Oh, Ollie! He gave her a diamond brooch! And she looks like a +countess—she’s hoping for a chance to wear it in a part!” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve seen Toodles,” said Oliver, to his brother +“She’s in ‘The Kaliph of Kamskatka’”. +</p> + +<p> +“They’re going on the road next week,” said Rosalie. +“And then I’ll be all alone.” She added, in a pleading voice: +“Do, Ollie, be a good boy and take us out to-night. Think how long +it’s been since I’ve seen you! Why, I’ve been so good I +don’t know myself in the looking-glass. Please, Ollie!” +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” said he, “maybe I will.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not going to let you get away from me,” she cried. +“I’ll come right over the footlights after you!” +</p> + +<p> +“You’d better get dressed,” said Oliver. “You’ll +be late.” +</p> + +<p> +He pushed aside a tray with some glasses on it, and seated himself upon a +trunk; and Montague stood in a corner and watched Rosalie, while she powdered +and painted herself, and put on an airy summer dress, and poured out a flood of +gossip about “Toodles” and “Flossie” and +“Grace” and some others. A few minutes later came a stentorian +voice in the hallway: “Second act!” There were more embraces, and +then Ollie brushed the powder from his coat, and went away laughing. +</p> + +<p> +Montague stood for a few moments in the wings, watching the scene-shifters +putting the final touches to the new set, and the various characters taking +their positions. Then they went out to their seats. “Isn’t she a +jewel?” asked Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s very pretty,” the other admitted. +</p> + +<p> +“She came right out of the slums,” said Oliver—“over on +Rivington Street. That don’t happen very often.” +</p> + +<p> +“How did you come to know her?” asked his brother. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I picked her out. She was in a chorus, then. I got her first +speaking part.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you?” said the other, in surprise. “How did you do +that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, a little money,” was the reply. “Money will do most +anything. And I was in love with her—that’s how I got her.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague said nothing, but sat in thought. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll take her out to supper and make her happy,” added +Oliver, as the curtain started up. “She’s lonesome, I guess. You +see, I promised Betty I’d reform.” +</p> + +<p> +All through that scene and the next one Rosalie acted for them; she was so full +of <i>verve</i> and merriment that there was quite a stir in the audience, and +she got several rounds of applause. Then, when the play was over, she +extricated herself from the arms of the handsome young soldier, and fled to her +dressing-room, and when Oliver and Montague arrived, she was half ready for the +street. +</p> + +<p> +They went up Broadway, and from a group of people coming out of another +stage-entrance a young girl came to join them—an airy little creature +with the face of a doll-baby, and a big hat with a purple feather on top. This +was “Toodles”—otherwise known as Helen Gwynne; and she took +Montague’s arm, and they fell in behind Oliver and his companion. +</p> + +<p> +Montague wondered what one said to a chorus-girl on the way to supper. +Afterward his brother told him that Toodles had been the wife of a real-estate +agent in a little town in Oklahoma, and had run away from respectability and +boredom with a travelling theatrical company. Now she was tripping her part in +the musical comedy which Montague had seen at Mrs. Lane’s; and +incidentally swearing devotion to a handsome young “wine-agent.” +She confided to Montague that she hoped the latter might see her that +evening—he needed to be made jealous. +</p> + +<p> +“The Great White Way” was the name which people had given to this +part of Broadway; and at the head of it stood a huge hotel with flaming lights, +and gorgeous marble and bronze, and famous paintings upon the walls and +ceilings inside. At this hour every one of its many dining-rooms was thronged +with supper-parties, and the place rang with laughter and the rattle of dishes, +and the strains of several orchestras which toiled heroically in the midst of +the uproar. Here they found a table, and while Oliver was ordering frozen +poached eggs and quails in aspic, Montague sat and gazed about him at the +revelry, and listened to the prattle of the little ex-sempstress from Rivington +Street. +</p> + +<p> +His brother had “got her,” he said, by buying a speaking part in a +play for her; and Montague recalled the orgies of which he had heard at the +bachelors’ dinner, and divined that here he was at the source of the +stream from which they were fed. At the table next to them was a young Hebrew, +whom Toodles pointed out as the son and heir of a great clothing manufacturer. +He was “keeping” several girls, said she; and the queenly creature +who was his vis-a-vis was one of the chorus in “The Maids of +Mandalay.” And a little way farther down the room was a boy with the face +of an angel and the air of a prince of the blood—he had inherited a +million and run away from school, and was making a name for himself in the +Tenderloin. The pretty little girl all in green who was with him was Violet +Pane, who was the artist’s model in a new play that had made a hit. She +had had a full-page picture of herself in the Sunday supplement of the +“sporting paper” which was read here—so Rosalie remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“Why don’t you ever do that for me?” she added, to Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps I will,” said he, with a laugh. “What does it +cost?” +</p> + +<p> +And when he learned that the honour could be purchased for only fifteen hundred +dollars, he said, “I’ll do it, if you’ll be good.” And +from that time on the last trace of worriment vanished from the face and the +conversation of Rosalie. +</p> + +<p> +As the champagne cocktails disappeared, she and Oliver became confidential. +Then Montague turned to Toodles, to learn more about how the “second +generation” was preying upon the women of the stage. +</p> + +<p> +“A chorus-girl got from ten to twenty dollars a week,” said +Toodles; and that was hardly enough to pay for her clothes. Her work was very +uncertain—she would spend weeks at rehearsal, and then if the play +failed, she would get nothing. It was a dog’s life; and the keys of +freedom and opportunity were in the keeping of rich men, who haunted the +theatres and laid siege to the girls. They would send in notes to them, or +fling bouquets to them, with cards, or perhaps money, hidden in them. There +were millionaire artists and bohemians who kept a standing order for seats in +the front rows at opening performances; they had accounts with florists and +liverymen and confectioners, and gave <i>carte blanche</i> to scores of girls +who lent themselves to their purposes. Sometimes they were in league with the +managers, and a girl who held back would find her chances imperilled; sometimes +these men would even finance shows to give a chance to some favourite. +</p> + +<p> +Afterward Toodles turned to listen to Oliver and his companion; and Montague +sat back and gazed about the room. Next to him was a long table with a dozen, +people at it; and he watched the buckets of champagne and the endless +succession of fantastic-looking dishes of food, and the revellers, with their +flushed faces and feverish eyes and loud laughter. Above all the tumult was the +voice of the orchestra, calling, calling, like the storm wind upon the +mountains; the music was wild and chaotic, and produced an indescribable sense +of pain and confusion. When one realized that this same thing was going on in +thousands of places in this district it seemed that here was a flood of +dissipation that out-rivalled even that of Society. +</p> + +<p> +It was said that the hotels of New York, placed end to end, would reach all the +way to London; and they took care of a couple of hundred thousand people a +day—a horde which had come from all over the world in search of pleasure +and excitement. There were sight-seers and “country customers” from +forty-five states; ranchers from Texas, and lumber kings from Maine, and mining +men from Nevada. At home they had reputations, and perhaps families to +consider; but once plunged into the whirlpool of the Tenderloin, they were +hidden from all the world. They came with their pockets full of money; and +hotels and restaurants, gambling-places and pool-rooms and brothels—all +were lying in wait for them! So eager had the competition become that there was +a tailoring establishment and a bank that were never closed the year round, +except on Sunday. +</p> + +<p> +Everywhere about one’s feet the nets of vice were spread. The head waiter +in one’s hotel was a “steerer” for a “dive,” and +the house detective was “touting” for a gambling-place. The +handsome woman who smiled at one in “Peacock Alley” was a +“madame”; the pleasant-faced young man who spoke to one at the bar +was on the look-out for customers for a brokerage-house next door. Three times +in a single day in another of these great caravanserais Montague was offered +“short change”; and so his eyes were opened to a new kind of +plundering. He was struck by the number of attendants in livery who swarmed +about him, and to whom he gave tips for their services. He did not notice that +the boys in the wash-rooms and coat-rooms could not speak a word of English; he +could not know that they were searched every night, and had everything taken +from them, and that the Greek who hired them had paid fifteen thousand dollars +a year to the hotel for the privilege. +</p> + +<p> +So far had the specialization in evil proceeded that there were places of +prostitution which did a telephone-business exclusively, and would send a woman +in a cab to any address; and there were high-class assignation-houses, which +furnished exquisite apartments and the services of maids and valets. And in +this world of vice the modern doctrine of the equality of the sexes was fully +recognized; there were gambling-houses and pool-rooms and opium-joints for +women, and drinking-places which catered especially for them. In the +“orange room” of one of the big hotels, you might see rich women of +every rank and type, fingering the dainty leather-bound and gold-embossed wine +cards. In this room alone were sold over ten thousand drinks every day; and the +hotel paid a rental of a million a year to the Devon estate. Not far away the +Devons also owned negro-dives, where, in the early hours of the morning, you +might see richly-gowned white women drinking. +</p> + +<p> +In this seething caldron of graft there were many strange ways of making money, +and many strange and incredible types of human beings to be met. Once, in +“Society,” Montague had pointed out to him a woman who had been a +“tattooed lady” in a circus; there was another who had been a +confederate of gamblers upon the ocean steamships, and another who had washed +dishes in a mining-camp. There was one of these great hotels whose proprietor +had been a successful burglar; and a department-store whose owner had begun +life as a “fence.” In any crowd of these revellers you might have +such strange creatures pointed out to you; a multimillionaire who sold rotten +jam to the people; another who had invented opium soothing-syrup for babies; a +convivial old gentleman who disbursed the “yellow dog fund” of +several railroads; a handsome chauffeur who had run away with an heiress. +‘Once a great scientist had invented a new kind of underwear, and had +endeavoured to make it a gift to humanity; and here was a man who had seized +upon it and made millions out of it! Here was a “trance medium,” +who had got a fortune out of an imbecile old manufacturer; here was a great +newspaper proprietor, who published advertisements of assignations at a dollar +a line; here was a cigar manufacturer, whose smug face was upon every +billboard—he had begun as a tin manufacturer, and to avoid the duty, he +had had his raw material cast in the form of statues, and brought them in as +works of art! +</p> + +<p> +And terrible and vile as were the sources from which the fortunes had been +derived, they were no viler nor more terrible than the purposes for which they +had been spent. Mrs. Vivie Patton had hinted to Montague of a “Decameron +Club,” whose members gathered in each others’ homes and vied in the +telling of obscene stories; Strathcona had told him about another set of +exquisite ladies and gentlemen who gave elaborate entertainments, in which they +dressed in the costumes of bygone periods, and imitated famous characters in +history, and the vices and orgies of courts and camps. One heard of +“Cleopatra nights” on board of yachts at Newport. There was a +certain Wall Street “plunger,” who had begun life as a mining man +in the West; and when his customers came in town, he would hire a trolley-car, +and take a load of champagne and half a dozen prostitutes, and spend the night +careering about the country. This man was now quartered in one of the great +hotels in New York; and in his apartments he would have prize fights and +chicken fights; and bloodthirsty exhibitions called “purring +matches,” in which men tried to bark each other’s shins; or perhaps +a “battle royal,” with a diamond scarf-pin dangling from the +ceiling, and half a dozen negroes in a free-for-all fight for the prize. +</p> + +<p> +No picture of the ways of the Metropolis would be complete which did not force +upon the reluctant reader some realization of the extent to which new and +hideous incitements to vice were spreading. To say that among the leisured +classes such practices were raging like a pestilence would be no exaggeration. +Ten years ago they were regarded with aversion by even the professionally +vicious; but now the commonest prostitute accepted them as part of her fate. +And there was no height to which they had not reached—ministers of state +were enslaved by them; great fortunes and public events were controlled by +them. In Washington there had been an ambassador whose natural daughter taught +them in the houses of the great, until the scandal forced the minister’s +recall. Some of these practices were terrible in their effects, completely +wrecking the victim in a short time; and physicians who studied their symptoms +would be horrified to see them appearing in the homes of their friends. +</p> + +<p> +And from New York, the centre of the wealth and culture of the country, these +vices spread to every corner of it. Theatrical companies and travelling +salesmen carried them; visiting merchants and sightseers acquired them. +Pack-pedlers sold vile pictures and books—the manufacturing or importing +of which was now quite an industry; one might read catalogues printed abroad in +English, the contents of which would make one’s flesh creep. There were +cheap weeklies, costing ten cents a year, which were thrust into area-windows +for servant-girls; there were yellow-covered French novels of unbelievable +depravity for the mistress of the house. It was a curious commentary upon the +morals of Society that upon the trains running to a certain suburban community +frequented by the ultra-fashionable, the newsboys did a thriving business in +such literature; and when the pastor of the fashionable church eloped with a +Society girl, the bishop publicly laid the blame to the morals of his +parishioners! +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +The theory was that there were two worlds, and that they were kept rigidly +separate. There were two sets of women; one to be toyed with and flung aside, +and the other to be protected and esteemed. Such things as prostitutes and kept +women might exist, but people of refinement did not talk about them, and were +not concerned with them. But Montague was familiar with the saying, that if you +follow the chain of the slave, you will find the other end about the wrist of +the master; and he discovered that the Tenderloin was wreaking its vengeance +upon Fifth Avenue. It was not merely that the men of wealth were carrying to +their wives and children the diseases of vice; they were carrying also the +manners and the ideals. +</p> + +<p> +Montague had been amazed by the things he had found in New York Society; the +smoking and drinking and gambling of women, their hard and cynical views of +life, their continual telling of coarse stories. And here, in this under-world, +he had come upon the fountain head of the corruption. It was something which +came to him in a sudden flash of intuition;—the barriers between the two +worlds were breaking down! +</p> + +<p> +He could picture the process in a hundred different forms. There was Betty +Wyman. His brother had meant to take her to the theatre, to let her see +Rosalie, by way of a joke! So, of course, Betty knew of his escapades, and of +those of his set; she and her girl friends were whispering and jesting about +them. Here sat Oliver, smiling and cynical, toying with Rosalie as a cat might +toy with a mouse; and to-morrow he would be with Betty—and could anyone +doubt any longer whence Betty had derived her attitude towards life? And the +habits of mind that Oliver had taught her as a girl she would not forget as a +wife; he might be anxious to keep her to himself, but there would be others +whose interest was different. +</p> + +<p> +And Montague recalled other things that he had seen or heard in Society, that +he could put his finger upon, as having come out of this under-world. The more +he thought of the explanation, the more it seemed to explain. This +“Society,” which had perplexed him—now he could describe it: +its manners and ideals of life were those which he would have expected to find +in the “fast” side of stage life. +</p> + +<p> +It was, of course, the women who made Society, and gave it its tone; and the +women of Society were actresses. They were actresses in their love of notoriety +and display; in their taste in clothes and jewels, their fondness for +cigarettes and champagne. They made up like actresses; they talked and thought +like actresses. The only obvious difference was that the women of the stage +were carefully selected—were at least up to a certain standard of +physical excellence; whereas the women of Society were not selected at all, and +some were lean, and some were stout, and some were painfully homely. +</p> + +<p> +Montague recalled cases where the two sets had met as at some of the private +entertainments. It was getting to be the fashion to hobnob with the stage +people on such occasions; and he recalled how naturally the younger people took +to this. Only the older women held aloof; looking down upon the women of the +stage from an ineffable height, as belonging to a lower caste—because +they were obliged to work for their livings. But it seemed to Montague, as he +sat and talked with this poor chorus-girl, who had sold herself for a little +pleasure, that it was easier to pardon her than the woman who had been born to +luxury, and scorned those who produced her wealth. +</p> + +<p> +But most of all, one’s sympathies went out to a person who was not to be +met in either of these sets; to the girl who had not sold herself, but was +struggling for a living in the midst of this ravening corruption. There were +thousands of self-respecting women, even on the stage; Toodles herself had been +among them, she told Montague. “I kept straight for a long time,” +she said, laughing cheerfully—“and on ten dollars a week! I used to +go out on the road, and then they paid me sixteen; and think of trying to live +on one-night stands—to board yourself and stop at hotels and dress for +the theatre—on sixteen a week, and no job half the year! And all that +time—do you know Cyril Chambers, the famous church painter?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve heard of him,” said Montague. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I was with a show here on Broadway the next winter; and every +night for six months he sent me a bunch of orchids that couldn’t have +cost less than seventy-five dollars! And he told me he’d open accounts +for me in all the stores I chose, if I’d spend the next summer in Europe +with him. He said I could take my mother or my sister with me—and I was +so green in those days, I thought that must mean he didn’t intend +anything wrong!” +</p> + +<p> +Toodles smiled at the memory. “Did you go?” asked the man. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” she answered. “I stayed here with a roof-garden show +that failed. And I went to my old manager for a job, and he said to me, +‘I can only pay you ten a week. But why are you so foolish?’ +‘How do you mean?’ I asked; and he answered, ‘Why don’t +you get a rich sweetheart? Then I could pay you sixty.’ That’s what +a girl hears on the stage!” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t understand,” said Montague, perplexed. “Did he +mean he could get money out of the man?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not directly,” said Toodles; “but tickets—and +advertising. Why, men will hire front-row seats for a whole season, if +they’re interested in a girl in the show. And they’ll take all +their friends to see her, and she’ll be talked about—she’ll +be somebody, instead of just nobody, as I was.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then it actually helps her on the stage!” said Montague. +</p> + +<p> +“Helps her!” exclaimed Toodles. “My God! I’ve known a +girl who’d been abroad with a tip-top swell—and had the gowns and +the jewels to prove it—to come home and get into the front row of a +chorus at a hundred dollars a week.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Toodles was cheerful and all unaware; and that only made the tragedy of it all +one shade more black to Montague. He sat lost in sombre reverie, forgetting his +companions, and the blare and glare of the place. +</p> + +<p> +In the centre of this dining-room was a great cone-shaped stand, containing a +display of food; and as they strolled out, Montague stopped to look at it. +There were platters garnished with flowers and herbs, and containing roast +turkeys and baked hams, jellied meats and game in aspic, puddings and tarts and +frosted cakes—every kind of food-fantasticality imaginable. One might +have spent an hour in studying it, and from top to bottom he would have found +nothing simple, nothing natural. The turkeys had paper curls and rosettes stuck +over them; the hams were covered with a white gelatine, the devilled crabs with +a yellow mayonnaise—and all painted over in pink and green and black with +landscapes and marine views—with “ships and shoes and sealing-wax +and cabbages and kings.” The jellied meats and the puddings were in the +shape of fruits and flowers; and there were elaborate works of art in pink and +white confectionery—a barn-yard, for instance, with horses and cows, and +a pump, and a dairymaid—and one or two alligators. +</p> + +<p> +And all this was changed every day! Each morning you might see a procession of +a score of waiters bearing aloft a new supply. Montague remembered Betty +Wyman’s remark at their first interview, apropos of the whipped cream +made into little curleques; how his brother had said, “If Allan were +here, he’d be thinking about the man who fixed that cream, and how long +it took him, and how he might have been reading ‘The Simple +Life’!” +</p> + +<p> +He thought of that now; he stood here and gazed, and wondered about all the +slaves of the lamp who served in this huge temple of luxury. He looked at the +waiters—pale, hollow-chested, harried-looking men: he imagined the hordes +of servants of yet lower kinds, who never emerged into the light of day; the +men who washed the dishes, the men who carried the garbage, the men who +shovelled the coal into the furnaces, and made the heat and light and power. +Pent up in dim cellars, many stories under ground, and bound for ever to the +service of sensuality—how terrible must be their fate, how unimaginable +their corruption! And they were foreigners; they had come here seeking liberty. +And the masters of the new country had seized them and pent them here! +</p> + +<p> +From this as a starting-point his thought went on, to the hordes of toilers in +every part of the world, whose fate it was to create the things which these +blind revellers destroyed; the women and children in countless mills and +sweatshops, who spun the cloth, and cut and sewed it; the girls who made the +artificial flowers, who rolled the cigarettes, who gathered the grapes from the +vines; the miners who dug the coal and the precious metals out of the earth; +the men who watched in ten thousand signal-towers and engines, who fought the +elements from the decks of ten thousand ships—to bring all these things +here to be destroyed. Step by step, as the flood of extravagance rose, and the +energies of the men were turned to the creation of futility and +corruption—so, step by step, increased the misery and degradation of all +these slaves of Mammon. And who could imagine what they would think about +it—if ever they came to think? +</p> + +<p> +And then, in a sudden flash, there came back to Montague that speech he had +heard upon the street-corner, the first evening he had been in New York! He +could hear again the pounding of the elevated trains, and the shrill voice of +the orator; he could see his haggard and hungry face, and the dense crowd +gazing up at him. And there came to him the words of Major Thorne: +</p> + +<p> +“It means another civil war!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap21"></a>CHAPTER XXI.</h2> + +<p> +Alice had been gone for a couple of weeks, and the day was drawing near when +the Hasbrook case came up for trial. The Saturday before that being the date of +the Mi-carême dance of the Long Island Hunt Club, Siegfried Harvey was to have +a house-party for the week-end, and Montague accepted his invitation. He had +been working hard, putting the finishing touches to his brief, and he thought +that a rest would be good for him. +</p> + +<p> +He and his brother went down upon Friday afternoon, and the first person he met +was Betty Wyman, whom he had not seen for quite a while. Betty had much to say, +and said it. As Montague had not been seen with Mrs. Winnie since the episode +in her house, people had begun to notice the break, and there was no end of +gossip; and Mistress Betty wanted to know all about it, and how things stood +between them. +</p> + +<p> +But he would not tell her, and so she saucily refused to tell him what she had +heard. All the while they talked she was eyeing him quizzically, and it was +evident that she took the worst for granted; also that he had become a much +more interesting person to her because of it. Montague had the strangest +sensations when he was talking with Betty Wyman; she was delicious and +appealing, almost irresistible; and yet her views of life were so old! “I +told you you wouldn’t do for a tame cat!” she said to him. +</p> + +<p> +Then she went on to talk to him about his case, and to tease him about the +disturbance he had made. +</p> + +<p> +“You know,” she said, “Ollie and I were in terror—we +thought that grandfather would be furious, and that we’d be ruined. But +somehow, it didn’t work out that way. Don’t you say anything about +it, but I’ve had a sort of a fancy that he must be on your side of the +fence.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d be glad to know it,” said Montague, with a +laugh—“I’ve been trying for a long time to find out who is on +my side of the fence.” +</p> + +<p> +“He was talking about it the other day,” said Betty, “and I +heard him tell a man that he’d read your argument, and thought it was +good.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m glad to hear that,” said Montague. +</p> + +<p> +“So was I,” replied she. “And I said to him afterward, +‘I suppose you don’t know that Allan Montague is my Ollie’s +brother.’ And he did you the honour to say that he hadn’t supposed +any member of Ollie’s family could have as much sense!” +</p> + +<p> +Betty was staying with an aunt near by, and she went back before dinner. In the +automobile which came for her was old Wyman himself, on his way home from the +city; and as a snowstorm had begun, he came in and stood by the fire while his +car was exchanged for a closed one from Harvey’s stables. Montague did +not meet him, but stood and watched him from the shadows—a mite of a man, +with a keen and eager face, full of wrinkles. It was hard to realize that this +little body held one of the great driving minds of the country. He was an +intensely nervous and irritable man, bitter and implacable—by all odds +the most hated and feared man in Wall Street. He was swift, imperious, savage +as a hornet. “Directors at meetings that I attend vote first and discuss +afterward,” was one of his sayings that Montague had heard quoted. +Watching him here by the fireside, rubbing his hands and chatting pleasantly, +Montague had a sudden sense of being behind the scenes, of being admitted to a +privilege denied to ordinary mortals—the beholding of royalty in everyday +attire! +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +After dinner that evening Montague had a chat in the smoking-room with his +host; and he brought up the subject of the Hasbrook case, and told about his +trip to Washington, and his interview with Judge Ellis. +</p> + +<p> +Harvey also had something to communicate. “I had a talk with Freddie +Vandam about it,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“What did he say?” asked Montague. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” replied the other, with a laugh, “he’s +indignant, needless to say. You know, Freddie was brought up by his father to +regard the Fidelity as his property, in a way. He always refers to it as +‘my company.’ And he’s very high and mighty about +it—it’s a personal affront if anyone attacks it. But it was evident +to me that he doesn’t know who’s behind this case.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did he know about Ellis?” asked Montague. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said the other, “he had found out that much. It was he +who told me that originally. He says that Ellis has been sponging off the +company for years—he has a big salary that he never earns, and has +borrowed something like a quarter of a million dollars on worthless +securities.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague gave a gasp. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” laughed Harvey. “But after all, that’s a little +matter. The trouble with Freddie Vandam is that that sort of thing is all he +sees; and so he’ll never be able to make out the mystery. He knows that +this clique or that in the company is plotting to get some advantage, or to use +him for their purposes—but he never realizes how the big men are pulling +the wires behind the scenes. Some day they’ll throw him overboard +altogether, and then he’ll realize how they’ve played with him. +That’s what this Hasbrook case means, you know—they simply want to +frighten him with a threat of getting the company’s affairs into the +courts and the newspapers.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague sat for a while in deep thought. +</p> + +<p> +“What would you think would be Wyman’s relation to the +matter?” he asked, at last. +</p> + +<p> +“I wouldn’t know,” said Harvey. “He’s supposed to +be Freddie’s backer—but what can you tell in such a tangle?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is certainly a mess,” said Montague. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s no bottom to it,” said the other. +“Absolutely—it would take your breath away! Just listen to what +Vandam told me to-day!” +</p> + +<p> +And then Harvey named one of the directors of the Fidelity who was well known +as a philanthropist. Having heard that the wife of one of his junior partners +had met with an accident in childbirth, and that the doctor had told her +husband that if she ever had another child, she would die, this man had asked, +“Why don’t you have her life insured?” The other replied that +he had tried, and the companies had refused her. “I’ll fix it for +you,” said he; and so they put in another application, and the director +came to Freddie Vandam and had the policy put through “by executive +order.” Seven months later the woman died, and the Fidelity had paid her +husband in full—a hundred thousand or two! +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what’s going on in the insurance world!” said +Siegfried Harvey. +</p> + +<p> +And that was the story which Montague took with him to add to his enjoyment of +the festivities at the country club. It was a very gorgeous affair; but perhaps +the sombreness of his thoughts was to blame; the flowers and music and +beautiful gowns failed entirely in their appeal, and he saw only the gluttony +and drunkenness—more of it than ever before, it seemed to him. +</p> + +<p> +Then, too, he had an unpleasant experience. He met Laura Hegan; and presuming +upon her cordial reception of his visit, he went up and spoke to her +pleasantly. And she greeted him with frigid politeness; she was so brief in her +remarks and turned away so abruptly as almost to snub him. He went away quite +bewildered. But later on he recalled the gossip about himself and Mrs. Winnie, +and he guessed that that was the explanation of Miss Hegar’s action. +</p> + +<p> +The episode threw a shadow over his whole visit. On Sunday he went out into the +country and tramped through a snowstorm by himself, filled with a sense of +disgust for all the past, and of foreboding for the future. He hated this +money-world, in which all that was worst in human beings was brought to the +surface; he hated it, and wished that he had never set foot within its bounds. +It was only by tramping until he was too tired to feel anything that he was +able to master himself. +</p> + +<p> +And then, toward dark, he came back, and found a telegram which had been +forwarded from New York. +</p> + +<p> +“Meet me at the Penna depot, Jersey City, at nine to-night. Alice.” +</p> + +<p> +This message, of course, drove all other thoughts from his mind. He had no time +even to tell Oliver about it—he had to jump into an automobile and rush +to catch the next train for the city. And all through the long, cold ride in +ferry-boats and cabs he pondered this mystery. Alice’s party had not been +expected for two weeks yet; and only two days before there had come a letter +from Los Angeles, saying that they would probably be a week over time. And here +she was home again! +</p> + +<p> +He found there was an express from the West due at the hour named; apparently, +therefore, Alice had not come in the Prentice’s train at all. The express +was half an hour late, and so he paced up and down the platform, controlling +his impatience as best he could. And finally the long train pulled in, and he +saw Alice coming down the platform. She was alone! +</p> + +<p> +“What does it mean?” were the first words he said to her. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a long story,” she answered. “I wanted to come +home.”; +</p> + +<p> +“You mean you’ve come all the way from the coast by +yourself!” he gasped. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she said, “all the way.” +</p> + +<p> +“What in the world—” he began. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t tell you here, Allan,” she said. “Wait till we +get to some quiet place.” +</p> + +<p> +“But,” he persisted. “The Prentice? They let you come home +alone?” +</p> + +<p> +“They didn’t know it,” she said. “I ran away.” +</p> + +<p> +He was more bewildered than ever. But as he started to ask more questions, she +laid a hand upon his arm. “Please wait, Allan,” she said. “It +upsets me to talk about it. It was Charlie Carter.” +</p> + +<p> +And so the light broke. He caught his breath and gasped, “Oh!” +</p> + +<p> +He said not another word until they had crossed the ferry and settled +themselves in a cab, and started. “Now,” he said, “tell +me.” +</p> + +<p> +Alice began. “I was very much upset,” she said. “But you must +understand, Allan, that I’ve had nearly a week to think it over, and I +don’t mind it now. So I want you please not to get excited about it; it +wasn’t poor Charlie’s fault—he can’t help himself. It +was my mistake. I ought to have taken your advice and had nothing to do with +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Go on,” said he; and Alice told her story. +</p> + +<p> +The party had gone sight-seeing, and she had had a headache and had stayed in +the car. And Charlie Carter had come and begun making love to her. “He +had asked me to marry him already—that was at the beginning of the +trip,” she said. “And I told him no. After that he would never let +me alone. And this time he went on in a terrible way—he flung himself +down on his knees, and wept, and said he couldn’t live without me. And +nothing I could say did any good. At last he—he caught hold of +me—and he wouldn’t let me go. I was furious with him, and +frightened. I had to threaten to call for help before he would stop. And +so—you see how it was.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see,” said Montague, gravely. “Go on.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, after that I made up my mind that I couldn’t stay anywhere +where I had to see him. And I knew he would never go away without a scene. If I +had asked Mrs. Prentice to send him away, there would have been a scandal, and +it would have spoiled everybody’s trip. So I went out, and found there +was a train for the East in a little while, and I packed up my things, and left +a note for Mrs. Prentice. I told her a story—I said I’d had a +telegram that your mother was ill, and that I didn’t want to spoil their +good time, and had gone by myself. That was the best thing I could think of. I +wasn’t afraid to travel, so long as I was sure that Charlie +couldn’t catch up with me.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague said nothing; he sat with his hands gripped tightly. +</p> + +<p> +“It seemed like a desperate thing to do,” said Alice, nervously. +“But you see, I was upset and unhappy. I didn’t seem to like the +party any more—I wanted to be home. Do you understand?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Montague, “I understand. And I’m glad you +are here.” +</p> + +<p> +They reached home, and Montague called up Harvey’s and told his brother +what had happened. He could hear Oliver gasp with astonishment. +“That’s a pretty how-do-you-do!” he said, when he had got his +breath back; and then he added, with a laugh, “I suppose that settles +poor Charlie’s chances.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m glad you’ve come to that conclusion,” said the +other, as he hung up the receiver. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +This episode gave Montague quite a shock. But he had little time to think about +it—the next morning at eleven o’clock his case was to come up for +trial, and so all his thoughts were called away. This case had been the one +real interest of his life for the last three months; it was his purpose, the +thing for the sake of which he endured everything else that repelled him. And +he had trained himself as an athlete for a great race; he was in form, and +ready for the effort of his life. He went down town that morning with every +fibre of him, body and mind, alert and eager; and he went into his office, and +in his mail was a letter from Mr. Hasbrook. He opened it hastily and read a +message, brief and direct and decisive as a sword-thrust: +</p> + +<p> +“I beg to inform you that I have received a satisfactory proposition from +the Fidelity Company. I have settled with them, and wish to withdraw the suit. +Thanking you for your services, I remain, sincerely.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +To Montague the thing came like a thunderbolt. He sat utterly +dumbfounded—his hands went limp, and the letter fell upon the desk in +front of him. +</p> + +<p> +And at last, when he did move, he picked up the telephone, and told his +secretary to call up Mr. Hasbrook. Then he sat waiting; and when the bell rang, +picked up the receiver, expecting to hear Mr. Hasbrook’s voice, and to +demand an explanation. But he heard, instead, the voice of his own secretary: +“Central says the number’s been discontinued, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +And he hung up the receiver, and sat motionless again. The dummy had +disappeared! +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +To Montague this incident meant a change in the prospect of his whole life. It +was the collapse of all his hopes. He had nothing more to work for, nothing +more to think about; the bottom had fallen out of his career! +</p> + +<p> +He was burning with a sense of outrage. He had been tricked and made a fool of; +he had been used and flung aside. And now there was nothing he could +do—he was utterly helpless. What affected him most was his sense of the +overwhelming magnitude of the powers which had made him their puppet; of the +utter futility of the efforts that he or any other man could make against them. +They were like elemental, cosmic forces; they held all the world in their grip, +and a common man was as much at their mercy as a bit of chaff in a tempest. +</p> + +<p> +All day long he sat in his office, brooding and nursing his wrath. He had moods +when he wished to drop everything, to shake the dust of the city from his feet, +and go back home and recollect what it was to be a gentleman. And then again he +had fighting moods, when he wished to devote all his life to punishing the men +who had made use of him. He would get hold of some other policy-holder in the +Fidelity, one whom he could trust; he would take the case without pay, and +carry it through to the end! He would force the newspapers to talk about +it—he would force the people to heed what he said! +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +And then, toward evening, he went home, bitter and sore. And there was his +brother sitting in his study, waiting for him. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello,” he said, and took off his coat, preparing his mind for one +more ignominy—the telling of his misfortune to Oliver, and listening to +his inevitable, “I told you so.” +</p> + +<p> +But Oliver himself had something to communicate something that would not bear +keeping. He broke out at once—“Tell me, Allan! What in the world +has happened between you and Mrs. Winnie?” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” asked Montague, sharply. +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” said Oliver, “everybody is talking about some kind of +a quarrel.” +</p> + +<p> +“There has been no quarrel,” said Montague. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what is it, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +“It must be something!” exclaimed Oliver. “What do all the +stories mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“What stories?” +</p> + +<p> +“About you two. I met Mrs. Vivie Patton just now, and she swore me to +secrecy, and told me that Mrs. Winnie had told some one that you had made love +to her so outrageously that she had to ask you to leave the house.” +</p> + +<p> +Montague shrunk as from a blow. “Oh!” he gasped. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what she said,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a lie!” he cried. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what I told Mrs. Vivie,” said the other; “it +doesn’t sound like you—” +</p> + +<p> +Montague had flushed scarlet. “I don’t mean that!” he cried. +“I mean that Mrs. Winnie never said any such thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said Oliver, and he shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe +not,” he added. “But I know she’s furious with you about +something—everybody’s talking about it. She tells people that +she’ll never speak to you again. And what I want to know is, why is it +that you have to do things to make enemies of everybody you know?” +</p> + +<p> +Montague said nothing; he was trembling with anger. +</p> + +<p> +“What in the world did you do to her?” began the other. +“Can’t you trust me—” +</p> + +<p> +And suddenly Montague sprang to his feet. “Oh, Oliver,” he +exclaimed, “let me alone! Go away!” +</p> + +<p> +And he went into the next room and slammed the door, and began pacing back and +forth like a caged animal. +</p> + +<p> +It was a lie! It was a lie! Mrs. Winnie had never said such a thing! He would +never believe it—it was a nasty piece of backstairs gossip! +</p> + +<p> +But then a new burst of rage swept over him What did it matter Whether it was +true or not—whether anything was true or not? What did it matter if +anybody had done all the hideous and loathsome things that everybody else said +they had done? It was what everybody was saying! It was what everybody +believed—what everybody was interested in! It was the measure of a whole +society—their ideals and their standards! It was the way they spent their +time, repeating nasty scandals about each other; living in an atmosphere of +suspicion and cynicism, with endless whispering and leering, and gossip of lew +intrigue. +</p> + +<p> +A flood of rage surged up within him, and swept him, away—rage against +the world into which he had come, and against himself for the part he had +played in it. Everything seemed to have come to a head at once; and he hated +everything—hated the people he had met, and the things they did, and the +things they had tempted him to do. He hated the way he had got his money, and +the way he had spent it. He hated the idleness and wastefulness, the +drunkenness and debauchery, the meanness and the snobbishness. +</p> + +<p> +And suddenly he turned and flung open the door of the room where Oliver still +sat. And he stood in the doorway, exclaiming, “Oliver, I’m done +with it!” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver stared at him. “What do you mean?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I mean,” cried his brother, “that I’ve had all I can +stand of ‘Society!’ And I’m going to quit. You can go +on—but I don’t intend to take another step with you! I’ve had +enough—and I think Alice has had enough, also. We’ll take ourselves +off your hands—we’ll get out!” +</p> + +<p> +“What are you going to do?” gasped Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going to give up these expensive apartments—give them up +to-morrow, when our week is up. And I’m going to stop squandering money +for things I don’t want. I’m going to stop accepting invitations, +and meeting people I don’t like and don’t want to know. I’ve +tried your game—I’ve tried it hard, and I don’t like it; and +I’m going to get out before it’s too late. I’m going to find +some decent and simple place to live in; and I’m going down town to find +out if there isn’t some way in New York for a man to earn an honest +living!” +</p> + +<h5>THE END</h5> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Metropolis, by Upton Sinclair + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE METROPOLIS *** + +***** This file should be named 5421-h.htm or 5421-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/2/5421/ + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo. 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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