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diff --git a/old/60593-h/60593-h.htm b/old/60593-h/60593-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 1299850..0000000 --- a/old/60593-h/60593-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,13553 +0,0 @@ -<!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 Project Gutenberg eBook of The Cinder Buggy, by Garet Garrett. - </title> - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; -} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - -.p-1 {margin-top: -0.25em;} -.p1 {margin-top: 1em;} -.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} - -/*Modified horizontal rules to fix ePub display issue*/ -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 33.5%; - margin-right: 33.5%; - clear: both; -} - -hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} -hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} -/*End modified horizontal rule CSS*/ - -.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ - /* visibility: hidden; */ - position: absolute; - left: 92%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; -} /* page numbers */ - -.blockquot { - margin-left: 5%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - -.boxit{ - max-width: 20em; - padding: 1em; - border: 0.15em solid black; - margin: 0 auto; } - -/*Indent-padding*/ -.ir0{text-align:right;} -.ir1{text-align:right; padding-right:1em} - -.displayinline{display:inline-block; line-height:1} - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} - -/* Images */ -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - -/* Poetry */ -.poetry-container {text-align: center;} - -.poetry -{ - display: inline-block; - text-align: left; -} - -.poetry .stanza {margin: 1em auto;} - -.poetry .indent0 {text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em;} -.poetry .indentquote0 {text-indent: -3.5em; padding-left: 3em;} -.poetry .indent2{text-indent: -1em; padding-left: 3em;} -.poetry .indent3{text-indent: -1em; padding-left: 4em;} -.poetry .indent6{text-indent: -1em; padding-left: 7em;} -/* End poetry*/ - -/* Transcriber's notes */ -.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; - color: black; - font-size:smaller; - padding:0.5em; - margin-bottom:5em; - font-family:sans-serif, serif; } - -/*CSS to set font sizes*/ -/*font sizes for non-header font changes*/ -.xxlargefont{font-size: xx-large} -.xlargefont{font-size: x-large} -.largefont{font-size: large} -.smallfont{font-size: small} -.italicfont{font-style:italic} -.normalfont{font-style:normal} - -/*for drop caps*/ -p.dropcap { - text-indent: 0em; -} - -p.dropcap:first-letter -{ - float: left; - font-size: 2.75em; - padding-right: 0.05em; - margin-top: 0.1em; - margin-bottom: -0.1em; - line-height: 0.65em; -} - -/*CSS to force a page break in ePub*/ -div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} - -/*Half-title page CSS*/ -.half-title -{ - text-align: center; - font-size: x-large; -} - -@media screen -{ - .half-title{ - margin: 6em 0; - } -} - -@media print, handheld -{ - .half-title{ - page-break-before: always; - page-break-after: always; - margin: 0; - padding-top: 6em; - } -} -/*End half-title page CSS*/ - -/*CSS markup for handhelds -- put at end of CSS*/ -@media handheld -{ - img {max-width: 100%; height: auto;} /*Limit width to display*/ - - h2.no-break - { - page-break-before: avoid; - padding-top: 0; - } - - .poetry - { - display: block; - margin-left: 1.5em; - } - - /*for drop caps -- gets rid of drop cap on eReaders*/ - p.dropcap:first-letter - { - font-size: 1em; - padding-right: 0em; - margin-top: 0em; - margin-bottom: 0em; - line-height: 1em; - } -} -/*End CSS for handhelds*/ - - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Cinder Buggy, by Garet Garrett - -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 Cinder Buggy - A Fable in Iron and Steel - -Author: Garet Garrett - -Release Date: October 30, 2019 [EBook #60593] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CINDER BUGGY *** - - - - -Produced by Tim Lindell, Craig Kirkwood, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 569px;"> -<img id="coverpage" src="images/cover.jpg" width="569" height="800" alt="Cover." /> -</div> - -<p class="half-title">THE CINDER BUGGY</p> - -<div class="boxit"> - -<p class="center">BY THE SAME AUTHOR</p> - -<p>THE DRIVER</p> - -<p>“A good, rapidly moving novel of ‘Wall -Street’ methods, written by a man who knows.”</p> - -<p class="ir0 p-1">—<cite>Springfield Republican</cite></p> - -<p>“The book is among the most absorbing which -we have read recently.”</p> - -<p class="ir0 p-1">—Heywood Broun in <cite>The World</cite></p> - -<p>“I feel as did Mark Sullivan, who said: -‘Garet Garrett has written one of the great -novels of the day.’... That is beside the point -to one who wants to study man and his work.... -The thing that impresses me is its fidelity -to life.”</p> - -<p class="ir0 p-1">—<em>Bernard M. Baruch.</em></p> - -<p class="center">E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY</p> -</div> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - - - -<h1>THE CINDER BUGGY<br /> -<span class="xlargefont"><em>A FABLE IN IRON AND STEEL</em></span></h1> - - -<p class="center p2" style="line-height:1.5em; margin-bottom:2em">BY<br /> -<span class="xlargefont">GARET GARRETT</span><br /> -<span class="smallfont">AUTHOR OF “THE DRIVER,” “THE BLUE WOUND,” ETC.</span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 180px;"> -<img src="images/logo.jpg" width="180" height="256" alt="Publisher logo." /> -</div> - -<p class="center p2" style="line-height:1.5em">NEW YORK<br /> -<span class="xlargefont">E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY</span><br /> -<span class="smcap">681 Fifth Avenue</span> -</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<p class="center">Copyright, 1923<br /> -By E. P. Dutton & Company</p> - -<p class="center p1"><em>All Rights Reserved</em></p> - -<p class="center p2 smallfont">PRINTED IN THE UNITED<br /> -STATES OF AMERICA</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p class="half-title">THE CINDER BUGGY</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry italicfont"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="indent0">A pot-metal body -</div><div class="indent0">on two little wheels, -</div><div class="indent0">absurdly, -</div><div class="indent0">bow-leggedly -</div><div class="indent0">walking away to the dump -</div><div class="indent0">with the slag, the -</div><div class="indent0">purgings of iron, the -</div><div class="indent0">villainous drool of the furnace— -</div><div class="indent3">that is a cinder buggy. -</div></div><div class="stanza"> -<div class="indent0">It is also a sign -</div><div class="indent0">that what man refines -</div><div class="indent0">beyond -</div><div class="indent0">God’s content -</div><div class="indent0">with things as he left them -</div><div class="indent0">will very soon perish -</div><div class="indent0">for want of the dross -</div><div class="indent0">from which it is parted. -</div><div class="indent0">Why hath each thing its cinder?— -</div><div class="indent3">even the sweetest desire? -</div></div></div></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[1]</span></p> - -<p class="center xxlargefont" >THE CINDER BUGGY</p> - - -<h2 class="no-break">I</h2> - - -<p class="dropcap">A generation has fled since a stranger was -seen in the streets of New Damascus on an errand -of business.</p> - -<p>The town has nothing to sell except the finest -wrought iron in the world. As the quality of this iron -is historic and the form of it a standard muck bar for -use in further manufacture you order it from afar at -a price based on what is current in Pittsburgh.</p> - -<p>Sellers of merchandise miss New Damascus on purpose. -It is a catalogue town. It buys nothing because -it is new, nothing it does not need, has no natural pride -in waste whatever.</p> - -<p>Strangers are not unwelcome, only they must not -mind to be stared at. The town is shy and jealous and -has the air of keeping a secret.</p> - -<p>There are no sights to see. Once people came great -distances, even from Europe, to see the New Damascus -blast furnaces. They were the first of their kind to be -built in this country, had features new in the world, -and made the scene wild and awesome at night. All -that is long past. There is only a trace of the mule -railroad by which ore came down from the mountains. -Where the furnaces were are great green holes. Nature<span class="pagenum">[2]</span> -has had time to heal her burns. No ore has been -mined or smelted at New Damascus for many years. -Yet the place is still famous for its fine wrought iron. -The ore now comes from the top of the Great Lakes, -stops at Pittsburgh to be smelted, and arrives at New -Damascus in the form of pigs to be melted again, -puddled and rolled into malleable bars. That may be -done anywhere. It is done at many places. But it is -so much better done at New Damascus than anywhere -else that the product will bear the cost of all that -transportation. The reasons why this is so belong to -tradition, to the native pride of craftmanship, to that -mysterious touch of the hand that is learned only in -one place and cannot be taught. The iron workers -here, descended from English, Scotch and Welsh -smiths imported to this valley, are the best puddlers -and rollers in the world. Therefore as people they are -dogmatic, stubborn and brittle.</p> - -<p>There is the old Woolwine mansion on the east hill, -there is the Gib mansion on the west hill. Nobody -would recommend them to the sense of wonder. Besides -they are disremembered. They were once very -grand though ugly. They are no longer grand and -have been made much uglier by architectural additions -of a cold ecclesiastical character. One is a nunnery. -One is a monastery. The church got them for less than -the walks and fences cost. Only a church could use -them. All that the indwellers knew about them is that -the woodwork polishes easily and must have been very -expensive. The grounds are still nice.</p> - -<p>The river is lovely, but nobody has ever cared for<span class="pagenum">[3]</span> -it esthetically. The town is set with its back stoop to -the river, as to an alleyway or tradesmen’s entrance, -facing the mountains where its wealth first was.</p> - -<p>Sights? No. Unless it be the sight of a town that -seems to exist in a state of unending reverie. This is -fancy. New Damascus appears to be haunted with -memories of things confusedly forgotten, as if each -night it dreamed the same dream and never had quite -remembered it.</p> - -<p>In the Woolwine library there is a memory of distinction -in sixty parts,—bound volumes of the <span class="smcap">New -Damascus Intelligencer</span> back to 1820. There was -a newspaper! An original poem, a column humorous, -a notable speech on the slavery question, the secret of -Henry Clay’s ruggedness discovered in the fact that -he bathed his whole person once a day in cold water, -and the regular advertisers, all on the first page. One -of the advertisers was a Wm. Wardle, bookseller, stationer, -importer of all the current English imprints, -proprietor of a very large stock of the world’s best -literature, periodicals, and so forth. Wm. Wardle’s -name is still on the lintel of the three-story building he -occupied until about 1870. The ground floor now is -rented to a tobacconist who keeps billiard tables in the -back for the iron workers, the upper floors are in disuse, -and there is no bookshop in New Damascus. Well, -that is a sight, perhaps, only nobody would think to -show it to you, because much stranger than the disappearance -of that important old bookshop is the fact -that no one can remember ever to have missed it.</p> - -<p>If you mention this curious fact to the First National<span class="pagenum">[4]</span> -Bank president he helps you look at the faded name -of Wardle above the tobacconist’s sign and says, -“Well!” precisely as he would help you to look at one -of the great green holes where a blast furnace was -and say, “Well, well!” never having seen it before.</p> - -<p>“What do people now read in New Damascus?”</p> - -<p>“Magazines,” says the banker. “I find if I read -the Sunday newspapers I get everything I want.”</p> - -<p>“How do you account for the fact that New Damascus, -an iron town, has fewer people to-day than it had -fifty years ago?”</p> - -<p>“You’ve touched the answer,” says the banker. “It -is an iron town. Always was. When modern steel -making came in fifty or sixty years ago anybody might -have known that steel would displace iron. New -Damascus stuck to iron.”</p> - -<p>“Lack of enterprise, you mean?”</p> - -<p>“Something like that.”</p> - -<p>“Yet New Damascus had the enterprise to roll the -first rails that were made in this country.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, they rolled the first American rails here,—iron -rails.”</p> - -<p>“And having done that there was not enough enterprise -left merely to change the process from iron to -steel?”</p> - -<p>“Well, there was some reason. I’ve heard it said a -committee of New Damascus business men went out to -investigate the steel process. They reported there was -nothing in it. Then the steel rail knocked the iron rail -out completely. There isn’t an iron rail made anywhere -in the world now.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[5]</span></p> - -<p>“And nails. New Damascus was once the seat of the -nail industry. What became of that?”</p> - -<p>“Same thing. They made iron nails here,—what -we call cut nails. The cheap steel wire nail knocked -the iron nail out. Then, of course, you must remember -that when the Mesaba ore fields were opened we had -to close our mines. We couldn’t compete with that ore. -It was too cheap.”</p> - -<p>“That wasn’t inevitable, was it? Since New Damascus -stopped, other towns have grown up from nothing -in this valley,—towns with no better transportation to -begin with, no record behind them, hauling their raw -material even further.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” says the banker. “Well, I don’t know. -There’s something wrong in the atmosphere here.”</p> - -<p>The banker on the next corner has another explanation.</p> - -<p>“It’s the labor,” he says. “People who’ve been -around tell me, and I believe it’s true, that labor here -is more independent, more exacting, harder to deal -with, than labor anywhere else. In other mill towns -you’ll find Italians, Hungarians, Polacks and that like. -All our labor was born here. Jobs go from father to -son. Foreigners can’t come in.”</p> - -<p>“That’s strange. One never hears of any serious -labor trouble at New Damascus—not the kind of -trouble they have in other mill towns.”</p> - -<p>“Not that kind,” says the banker. “There’s a very -peculiar thing about labor in New Damascus. It can -live without work.”</p> - -<p>“How?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[6]</span></p> - -<p>“I don’t know how. It just does. When anything -happens these people don’t like they stop work. That’s -all there is to it.”</p> - -<p>“Is it a union town?”</p> - -<p>“They don’t need a union.”</p> - -<p>Bankers in New Damascus are like bankers anywhere -else. They know much more than they believe -and tell only such things as ought to be true. It is -scandalous for labor to be able to live without work. -That offends the economic law. It ought not to be so. -Yet in so far as it is there is no mystery about it. The -town is invisibly rich and has a miserly spirit. There -are as many banks as churches,—and the people are -very religious. The banks are full of money that cannot -be loaned in New Damascus. It is sent away to -Pittsburgh, Philadelphia and New York to put out at -interest on other people’s enterprise. If you ask why -that is the answer is cynical.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps,” says the banker, “we know each other -too well.”</p> - -<p>But you see how it is that labor may live without -work. Everybody has something by,—a home, a bit -of land, a little hoard to sit upon. Spending is unfashionable. -Carried far it is sinful. Living is very -cheap. Three mornings a week the farmers come in -with fresh killed meat, sausage, poultry, eggs, cheese, -butter and vegetables and turn the main street into an -open air market; and there is an ordinance which forbids -the shopkeepers to buy any of this produce before -ten o’clock. By that time there is nothing left, or if<span class="pagenum">[7]</span> -there is no dealer wishes to buy it, since the demand is -already satisfied.</p> - -<p>But there is still the question: What happened to -New Damascus?</p> - -<p>Ask John Tizack, the tobacconist, in the old Wardle -building. He meets you with the air of a man of the -world and pretends to be not in the least surprised -when you say: “I’ve asked everybody else and now I -ask you. What’s the matter with this place?”</p> - -<p>“Neighbor,” he says, “I was born here, my father -before me and his before him. I began as a lad in the -mill here. Everything in New Damascus came out of -that mill. I say everything. That isn’t exactly right. -Them mansions on the hill,—they came out of it. The -library, that row of fine houses you may have seen on -what we call Quality Street, all the big and little fortunes -you see people living on here, came out of that -mill. When I was twenty-five I says to myself, ‘I’ll see -a bit of the world before I die. Some of it anyhow.’ -That was thirty years ago,—yes, thirty-two. I’ve been -to New York City and Buffalo and around. Now I’m -back. I’m going to die here. This ain’t a bad business -if you look at it right. Not so bad. And you want to -know what’s the matter with this place? You’ve been -asking everybody else. What do they tell you?”</p> - -<p>“This and that. No two alike.”</p> - -<p>“S’what I thought,” he says. “I couldn’t agree with -them. There’s men in this town, merchants, mind you—well, -you wouldn’t believe it. There’s not ten business -men in this town been as far away as Philadelphia. -I know what I’m saying. I won’t mention any names,<span class="pagenum">[8]</span> -but I happen to know the president of the biggest bank -in town was never in New York City.”</p> - -<p>“Is that what’s the matter?”</p> - -<p>“Now wait,” he says. “You see the kind of place I -got here. No profanity. Nothing at all. I know the -boys that come here every night. Iron workers you -might say, but they’re gentlemen, in a way of speaking. -They play billiards, smoke, talk. Not one of them -under thirty. Went to school with most of them. Their -fathers was born here like mine. And they don’t get -treated right. Now I’m telling you. They’re the best -iron men in the country, bar none, and they don’t get -treated right.”</p> - -<p>“So that’s it?”</p> - -<p>“No, that ain’t it either. I’m just telling you some -of the things that’s wrong with this place. You asked -me the straight question, didn’t you?”</p> - -<p>At this point he gives you a piercing look. Are you -also a man of the world? He seems to doubt it. You -may be one of those people who go around talking just -for the excitement of it.</p> - -<p>It is necessary to remind him that he was apparently -coming to something else,—to the point, perhaps. He -waits for you to do so. Then with an air of extreme -asperity, meaning that you shall get all you came for, -he clears the top of the showcase and leans at you with -his bristles raised, looking first toward the back room, -which is empty, then towards the street, which is clear, -and lastly at you in a pugnacious way.</p> - -<p>“You asked me, didn’t you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[9]</span></p> - -<p>“Do you happen to believe in any of them unnatural -things?”</p> - -<p>“Such as what?”</p> - -<p>“Such as haunts and spells?”</p> - -<p>“More or less.”</p> - -<p>“All right,” he says. “Now neighbor, take it or -leave it. Suit yourself. I’ve seen my share of this world -and I know what I’m talking about. That’s what’s the -matter with this place.”</p> - -<p>“What?”</p> - -<p>“What I’m telling you, and I’m going to die here. -There’s a spell on it. Nobody can help it. There’s a -spell on it. Now that’s all.”</p> - -<p>“Who put it on?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, well, n-o-w,” he says, becoming irresponsible. -“That’s different. That’s very different again. I’m -not telling you anything I don’t know. Who put it on? -I tell you frankly I don’t know. Maybe you’ll be smart -enough to find that out. To speak the truth, I don’t -know as it’s anything I want to meddle with.”</p> - -<p>There is a difference, you see, between a banker and -a tobacconist. A tobacconist believes more than he -knows and tells things that ought not to be so.</p> - -<p>Still, there is the fact. New Damascus, having -cradled the metallurgical industry, ought to have -grown up with it and simply did not. A town that -rolled the first American rails smaller now than it was -fifty years ago! Why? If it had died you could understand -that. But it is not dead. Its health is apparently -perfect. There is not a sore spot on its body. It -functions in a kind of somnambulistic manner. The<span class="pagenum">[10]</span> -last thing you hear as you fall asleep at the old Lycoming -House is the throb of its heart. That is the great -engine of the Susquehanna Iron Works, muttering—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza italicfont"> -<div class="indent0">Wrought iron -</div><div class="indent0">Wrought iron -</div><div class="indent0">Wrought iron -</div></div></div></div> - -<p>It never stops.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[11]</span></p> - - - - -<h2>II</h2> - - -<p class="dropcap">When in <a id="Ref_11"></a>1789 Gen. Aaron Z. Woolwine founded -this place all the best Palestinian names, such as -Philadelphia, Lebanon and Bethlehem, were already -taken in Pennsylvania, so he called it New Damascus; -and this name when he thought of it was perfect. The -Damascenes were famous artificers in metal. He -imagined even a geographical resemblance,—a plain -bounded on one side by a river and on the other three -by mountains representing the heights of Anti-Lebanon.</p> - -<p>He resolved a city and that its character should be -Presbyterian, and entered in his diary a prophecy. -With ore, coal and limestone in Providential propinquity, -with a river for its commerce to walk upon and -with that spirit of industry which he purposed to -teach and exemplify, aye, if necessary to require, New -Damascus should wax in the sight of the Lord, partake -of happiness and develop a paying trade.</p> - -<p>Besides capital and imagination he brought to this -undertaking a partner, three sons and a new wife.</p> - -<p>For thirty years he fathered New Damascus. He -saw it become the most important point of trade between -Philadelphia and Wilkes-Barre, with five notable -inns, two general supply stores, three tanneries, six -grist mills, two lumber mills and the finest Presbyterian -conventicle in that part of the state. The river was a<span class="pagenum">[12]</span> -disappointment. It was high and swift in flood and -very low in the dry season, all very well for lumbering -and seasonal traffic, but not a true servant of steady -commerce. To bring the canal to New Damascus he -entered politics and continuously thereafter represented -his county in the legislature. He did not live to see the -rise of the iron industry. That was left to the wonder -of the next generation.</p> - -<p>One of the disasters of his old age was with stone -coal, the name by which anthracite was first known. -All the coal around New Damascus was anthracite. -For all that could be made of it commercially it might -as well have been slate or shale. Nobody knew how to -burn it. The fuel of industry was soft coal, which -ignites easily; and wood was burned in open grates, -not in New Damascus only but everywhere at this time; -and as anthracite or hard coal would not burn in the -same furnace and grates that burned either soft coal or -wood people were sure it would not burn at all. General -Woolwine knew better. Wherever he went he -carried with him samples of hard coal, even in his -saddle bags, begging people to try it, but the notion -against it was too strong to be overcome by propaganda. -Only time and accident could do that. Once he -freighted a large quantity to Philadelphia, resolved to -make it burn in some of the large forges there. The -result was a dismal failure. Others before him on the -same crazy errand had been arrested for obtaining -money under false pretences, selling black stone as -coal, and the prejudice was irreducible. He abandoned -the stuff in Philadelphia; it was broken up and spread<span class="pagenum">[13]</span> -in walks. Later,—too late to benefit him,—the secret -of burning anthracite in furnaces was discovered by -accident. A perverse foundryman, who believed less in -hard coal than in the probability that what everybody -disbelieved was for that reason true, spent a whole -day trying to make a fire of it. Then he left it in disgust -and went home to supper. Returning some hours -later he found an amazing fire,—hotter than any soft -coal fire he had ever seen. The secret, beyond having a -strong draught, was to let it alone. In a little while -everybody was saying that you could burn stone coal -if only you let it alone. That simple bit of knowledge, -derived from trial and error, was worth more to Pennsylvania -than a thousand gold mines.</p> - -<p>In the last few years of his life General Woolwine, -by his efforts to exploit stone coal and in various -schemes of the imagination, lost a considerable part of -his fortune by not attending to it. He was not a sound -man of business in that sense. Ideas obsessed him. -The idea that stone coal would burn was an obsession -on which he made large outlays of time and money. -He pursued the idea to failure. A more practical man -would have first invented a grate suited to the fuel. -A more conservative, selfish man would have sat on -his anthracite beds until someone else had invented a -grate. Yet he was never discouraged. The day before -he died he wrote in his diary:</p> - -<p>“As I lay down this life I am moved to reflect on -its beauty and fulness to me. I have used up my -strength in works. Nothing have I withheld from the -Lord. I have walked in the faith. I have imagined<span class="pagenum">[14]</span> -civilization in a wilderness. Then I have seen it with -my eyes.”</p> - -<p>That was all he said of New Damascus. Other -memories crowded in.</p> - -<p>“In 1774,” he wrote, “I married a pious, sensible -woman, who bore me two sons. In 1781 I married an -eminent, worthy woman, who bore me a third son. In -1788 I married a delightful, affectionate woman, whom -God was pleased to spare me to the end. She bore me -my one daughter, Rebecca.”</p> - -<p>The two sons by the first wife were already dead. -This he did not mention in his testimony. The third -son, born of the eminent and worthy woman, was at -this time thirty-seven and unmarried, unlikely to perpetuate -the line or to grace it if he did. All the Woolwine -vitality went into Rebecca, born of his union with -the delightful affectionate woman. Rebecca had married -Phineas Breakspeare, the inn keeper, and was for -a long time estranged from her father on that account. -He forgave her on the head of a grandson, his -namesake, Aaron Breakspeare.</p> - -<p>The founder’s affairs were left in a somewhat involved -condition. Everyone was surprised that the -estate was not greater. His partner had large claims -upon it and the accounts were in confusion.</p> - -<p>The widow survived the General but one year. The -third son died the next year. The whole estate then -passed to Rebecca, who had buried her inn keeper; she -held it in trust for the founder’s grandson, Aaron.</p> - -<p>Here ends the Woolwine line. The name disappears -suddenly from the annals of the county.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[15]</span></p> - - - - -<h2>III</h2> - - -<p class="dropcap">Nowhere in the annals of the county nor in -those lymphatic biographical histories, quarto, -half or full leather, profusely illustrated with steel -engravings, which adorn the bookshelves of posterity, -is there any mention of General Woolwine’s partner -and man of business. This was Christopher Gib, cold, -and logical, with a large broad face, dull blue eyes, a -long bleak mouth line and a hard apple chin. People -feared him instinctively. He inspired them with dread, -anxiety and a sense of injury; yet in practical matters, -especially in great emergencies, he commanded their -utmost confidence. Those who complained of his oppression -were certain to have been weak or wrong. -That made no difference,—or made it worse. In every -dispute he was technically, legally, perhaps morally -right. By all the rules of law his acts were blameless. -Nevertheless they outraged that subtle sense of the -heart, higher than the sense of right and wrong, to -which human conduct is referred for ultimate judgment. -He acquired his rights fairly. His way of making -a bargain was to let the party of the second part -propose the terms. Then he would say yes or no, and -that was final. Higgling disgusted him. But having -made a bargain he insisted upon it in a relentless, dispassionate -manner. No one could say he was unjust.<span class="pagenum">[16]</span> -But from one who is never unjust you shall not expect -generosity. Human beings do not crave justice; they -accept it. What they long for is understanding through -sympathy. Christopher Gib had no chemistry of sympathy. -It was left out of him. Therefore he had no -emotional understanding of people and people had no -rational understanding of him. His tragedy was invisible. -He was denied what he could not give, namely, -bread of the sweetened loaf without price, for which -everyone hungers. Contempt for all the sentimental -aspects of life was the self-saving device of his ego. -He treated people as children. The more they disliked -him the more bitterly he took his due.</p> - -<p>He was ten years younger than General Woolwine -and dominated the elder man in all their joint affairs, -as a rational nature may dominate a romantic one. -They quarreled a great deal;—one in a low, cynical -voice; the other in loud, righteous tones. These disagreements -were private. Outwardly to the end they -maintained an appearance of unbroken amity. As to -his ideas the old founder was immovable and pursued -his own way. In matters of business he would sooner -yield than continue the argument. One neglected business; -the other lived for it. As the Woolwine estate -declined that of Gib increased. There was no inequity -in this. It was inevitable. The General drew out his -profits and spent them; Gib reinvested his in undertakings -outside the partnership. At the beginning the -coal and iron lands were divided between them in the -proportions of one-third and two-thirds, according to -the amounts of capital respectively invested. The one-third<span class="pagenum">[17]</span> -was Gib’s share. In the end the proportions were -exactly reversed. The Woolwine estate owned one-third -and Gib two-thirds. It was all perfectly correct -and legal.</p> - -<p>At the age of fifty Gib married Sarah, of the Withy -family, that came from New Jersey and built the first -grist mill in New Damascus. Sarah was a dutiful, reconciled -woman of strong, uncomplaining fibre, who -could not fold her hands until the work was done. She -never understood her husband. He never understood -her. It wasn’t necessary. She was thirty-five and had -once loved a young man who never even suspected it.</p> - -<p>Of this inarticulate union came one son, named -Enoch, born on the same day with Aaron Breakspeare, -Rebecca’s child, grandson of the founder.</p> - -<p>Christopher Gib lived fifteen years more, growing -steadily richer and more misunderstood. Then he built -himself a tomb, the walls of which were three feet -thick, reinforced with bar iron, and died in the night -alone.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[18]</span></p> - - - - -<h2>IV</h2> - - -<p class="dropcap">Aaron Breakspeare, grandson of the -founder, and Enoch, son of Christopher Gib, -being of the same age, inheriting parallel estates in a -town realized from a joint impulse of their forbears, -grew up together. They were never friends. They -were rivals, unable to conceal or control their rivalry, -the essence of which was antagonism. But they were -inseparable. They could not let each other alone. -Enoch was the stronger physically. In their earliest -games and contests his object was to make Aaron say, -“I quit.” And Aaron would sooner die than say it. In -this strife Enoch had always the advantage of a definite, -aggressive purpose. He created the occasions. -Instinctively he knew that the way to save oneself in -a trial of endurance is to keep one’s mind not on one’s -own discomfort but on the agony of one’s adversary.</p> - -<p>Aaron’s power was of pride and spirit. He would -never say quit, no matter how much it hurt to go on, -and when he was beaten he did not complain. Once -Enoch invented a way of locking their arms so as to -exert a mutual and very painful torsional leverage, -perhaps enough to break the bones. The game was -that each should go as far as the other could stand -it. All the other had to do was to say enough. It was<span class="pagenum">[19]</span> -fairly played. But the word was never uttered and -Aaron went home with a broken arm.</p> - -<p>The imponderable values of life,—admiration, sympathy, -sudden friendships, understanding, liking and -being liked,—belonged to Aaron as by right. He was -that kind of being toward whom the heart yearns for -no reason but its own. Men and women loved him -without knowing why. The people of New Damascus -spoke of him with possessive affection and worldly -misgiving; he would do himself no good, they said. -That means whatever you make of it.</p> - -<p>Enoch, pretending to be contemptuous, was secretly -torn with envy. People looked at him and said: “The -spit image of his father.” He had many of old -Christopher’s facial expressions, especially one that -was unnatural and very disconcerting. Anger or any -strong adverse emotion caused the face to appear to -be smiling. It wasn’t; nor was the expression assumed -as a mask. The effect was accidental, produced by -some peculiarity in the action of the retractor muscles. -He was by nature more saturnine than his father, or -perhaps it was only that he more indulged the impulse -to cruelty. At fifteen he was already feared by his -elders for what he might say.</p> - -<p>His character developed in a true line. The traits -of his youth became only more pronounced as he grew -up. To take the pride out of Aaron became almost -a passion. He delighted to expose his frailties and -limitations. Aaron bought a fast horse. Enoch hating -horses bought a faster one and drove it to death.<span class="pagenum">[20]</span> -Aaron on a dare swam the river at flood, which was -thought a fine feat. Enoch swam it with his legs tied.</p> - -<p>Aaron apparently did not mind. If he suspected -the envious motive in Enoch’s conduct he never spoke -of it, but generously applauded the other’s triumphs. -Whatever else happened their intimacy remained unbroken. -This seemed to be no more of one’s seeking -than the other’s. Those of their own generation wondered, -but the elders, hearing it spoken of, said it was -no more strange than the way General Woolwine held -with Christopher to the end of his days, though it more -than half ruined him.</p> - -<p>They went to the same school at Philadelphia. -Enoch worked just hard enough to beat Aaron in everything -except mathematics and popularity, and spent -a great deal of his leisure prowling about the iron -foundries. They fascinated him. There was iron in -the blood of his family. His grandfather and great-grandfather -had been smiths in England. And his -father had laid upon him one injunction, which was -never to part with an acre of ore or coal land, for -some day these undeveloped possessions would make -him rich. Then secretly he took up the study of metallurgy.</p> - -<p>Yet it was Aaron who proposed to Enoch that they -should pool their interests in ore and coal and found -an iron industry at New Damascus. This fatal thing -happened sometime between midnight and dawn after -a disastrous twin celebration of their twenty-first birthday -with a party of friends at Fingerboard Inn.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[21]</span></p> - -<p>Aaron’s mood was sentimental. He felt a great -twinge for Enoch, because of what occurred at the party. -He himself was the one to blame. First he had demanded -of his friends, when he heard what they were -doing, that they should invite Enoch, too, as an equal -guest; then with great difficulty, he had persuaded -Enoch to come. It was bound to be dismal. Only one -of Aaron’s reckless spontaneity could have imagined -otherwise.</p> - -<p>An archaic, mystical man rite survives in the panegyric -supper. The root is hero worship. The impulse -is exacting, jealous and sacrificial. Its chosen object, -according to the rules, must submit to be clothed in the -colors of perfection, set upon a pedestal and gorged -with praise until he is purple. As the hero’s embarrassment -rises his makers become more solemn and egregious, -until suddenly with rough hands they drag their -colossal effigy down and embrace it and everything, -itself included, dissolves in maudlin ecstasy.</p> - -<p>Obviously two human objects cannot be equally inflated -in this manner at once. The impulse cannot -divide itself. If it tried, no matter with what pains of -tact, the effort would fall.</p> - -<p>Having invited Enoch, whom they all disliked, -Aaron’s friends felt acquitted toward him, and then, -knowing how he hated to see Aaron preferred, they -carried praise of Aaron to a point grotesque. As the -wine flowed they became heedless and took delight in -Enoch’s chagrin. No toast was drunk to him; his -name was not mentioned. It was cruel but not premeditated.<span class="pagenum">[22]</span> -He ought not to have come. Aaron was -ashamed to look at him.</p> - -<p>Enoch, from having been at first merely bored, -turned hot with anger, thinking the situation had been -purposely created to humiliate him. He did not suspect -Aaron of conscious part in that design; he blamed him, -however, for having lent himself to it unwittingly. -Hitherto convivialities had depressed and disgusted -him. Now in the bitterness of his heart he made a -judgment concerning them, that they were utterly beneath -him; and made also a resolution which endured -to the end of his life. That was to accept once for all -the fact of people’s dislike and turn it against them.</p> - -<p>Was he not stronger than any of these who presumed -to belittle him? One by one he passed them -through a test. There was not one he could not break -in any trial of mind or body. Perhaps it was for that -reason they disliked him. No matter why. He did not -return the feeling in kind. They were not important -enough to call forth from him either dislike or hatred. -They merited only his indifference. That put them in -their right place. He would be indifferent to them so -long as they stood out of his way. If they came in his -path he would break them indifferently. His mind -became cold and glittering. He no longer cared -whether anyone liked him or not. But they should -never be indifferent toward him. He would attend to -that. They should fear him. That was it. He would -rather be feared than liked.</p> - -<p>With these self-saving thoughts he had become absent<span class="pagenum">[23]</span> -and oblivious when suddenly on both sides he was -nudged to rise, join hands, and sing to the hero. He -rose, but instead of joining hands he rapped heavily -on the table for attention. There was much surprise at -this. Everyone stared at him in silence.</p> - -<p>“Gentlemen,” he said, with the astonishing effect of -a cold, sober voice, “I call your attention to an unfortunate -omission. I propose that we shall drink to -Aaron Breakspeare’s ancestors,—to the man but for -whom there would be no New Damascus nor any one -of us here present, and to the woman without whose -assistance even that great pioneer would be now entirely -forgotten. We shall drink, I say, to Aaron -Breakspeare’s distinguished ancestors,—to Adam and -Eve, if you please.”</p> - -<p>There was a sound of embarrassed laughter. It -immediately broke down. Gib was holding up his glass. -His expression was sneering. He had paid them off, -going just far enough to do so cleanly, yet not so far -as to give actionable offence. For a long awkward -moment they could not think either how to turn it back -on him or redeem their own conduct from the ludicrous -light in which he had placed it. Then Gearheart, -who was taking law, he who afterward became a great -jurist in the state, lifted his glass and spoke in a calm, -judicial manner.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Gib is right,” he said. “We regret the omission. -Let us drink to Adam and Eve.”</p> - -<p>So they did and that ended the party. Nobody disliked -Gib less; everyone respected him more.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[24]</span></p> - -<p>Aaron, who by this time was feeling very miserable, -made a point of walking off with him. He wished to -speak of what had happened. Yet what could he say -that would not recognize the fact of Enoch’s humiliation? -There was no way to speak tactfully of it. Still -he could not let it alone.</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry,” he said, blurting it out.</p> - -<p>“For what?” Enoch inquired dryly.</p> - -<p>“I’m afraid you had a wretched time. I’m to blame -for getting you into it.”</p> - -<p>“Not at all,” said Enoch. “To the contrary, I’m -indebted to you for the most profitable evening of my -life.”</p> - -<p>He meant this. Those emotions of anger and mortification -from which he had suffered so bitterly seemed -now remote and insignificant. They had been swallowed -up in a sense of deliverance. He had delivered -himself from the torment of being disliked. The fact -was unchanged, but he no longer cared. Therefore it -had lost its right to oppress him. From this sudden -birth of indifference he derived a feeling of solitary -power. His mind was disenthralled. His whole outlook -upon life was altered. For the first time he did -not wonder whether Aaron really liked him or not, or -how much, since it did not matter in the least. And -also for the first time he did not dislike Aaron. His -indifference included everyone, and it was sweet.</p> - -<p>Aaron misunderstood the nature of Enoch’s placidity. -He thought it a kind of sublime generosity and -felt deep remorse. He would not have believed it was<span class="pagenum">[25]</span> -in him to take a hurt to his pride so magnanimously. -He was wrenched with a sudden desire to offer some -sign or token of durable amity. So it was that as in -one the well of friendship dried up in the other it -overflowed.</p> - -<p>They walked for some time in silence. On the first -eminence east of the town their ways parted. There -Christopher Gib had built the dark iron-stone house -which was still Enoch’s home. The Woolwine mansion -where Aaron lived was higher up. Enoch would have -turned his way, leaving it as usual for Aaron to say -goodnight; Aaron detained him by the arm.</p> - -<p>They stood for several minutes with their faces -averted, gazing alternately at the stars that were -God’s, at the mountains that were theirs, and at the -town beneath them, showing in silhouette against the -moon-lacquered river, a dream of their forebears -realized. It was a beautiful night. Their thoughts ran -together. Both were stirred by a vague sense of freedom, -knowledge and responsibility. Each had that day -come into the possession of his estate. It was Enoch -who spoke.</p> - -<p>“What will you do with yours?” he asked.</p> - -<p>Until this moment Aaron had never once thought -what he should do with it. But at the sound of Enoch’s -voice asking the question so bluntly a complete idea -crystallized in his mind. It had clarity and perspective, -like a vision, and sudden as it was he felt very familiar -with it.</p> - -<p>“Look, Enoch,” he said. “There is the New Damascus<span class="pagenum">[26]</span> -we grew up with. How still it lies in the moonlight! -How permanent it looks! Yet when we were -born it was not here. Before we die it will have disappeared. -In its place will be a city that shall walk out -of those mountains,—a city of furnaces, full of roaring -and the clangor of metal, flaming and smoking to -heaven. Your father and my grandfather imagined it. -They could not themselves bring it to pass. It was not -for their time. They left it for us to do. We have -a destiny here. Let’s take it together. Let’s form a -partnership and found an iron industry.”</p> - -<p>“That’s what I am intending to do,” said Enoch. -“Not the partnership. I was not thinking of that. But -the iron business,—I’ve had that in mind all the time. -I’ve made a study of it.” After a pause he added: “I -didn’t know your thoughts turned that way. You never -spoke of it before.”</p> - -<p>“You never mentioned it, either,” said Aaron. “You -would prefer to go alone?”</p> - -<p>“The idea of a partnership is new to me,” said -Enoch.</p> - -<p>“But wouldn’t it be advantageous to develop our ore -and coal holdings jointly? They lie together.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Enoch, “I can see that.”</p> - -<p>“Is it only the newness of the idea that bothers -you?”</p> - -<p>“I would not have entertained the thought as my -own,” he said. “Since it comes from you I do not -reject it. I merely do not wish to be responsible for it. -You are not a man for business. Your father was not.<span class="pagenum">[27]</span> -Your grandfather distinctly was not. You would do -better in law or politics. Still, as you say, there’s an -obvious advantage in bringing all the properties together. -We’ll talk about it to-morrow if you like. It’s -on your initiative, remember.”</p> - -<p>“Let’s agree on the main point now and leave the -details,” said Aaron. “I’ll take my chances with business.”</p> - -<p>He held out his hand. Enoch took it slowly. They -looked at each other steadily in the moonlight.</p> - -<p>“Is it agreed?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Enoch.</p> - -<p>Then they said goodnight.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[28]</span></p> - - - - -<h2>V</h2> - - -<p class="dropcap">Enoch’s misgivings notwithstanding, the partnership -of Gib & Breakspeare was very successful. -This was owing partly to the ripeness of the opportunity -and perhaps even more to the sagacity with -which Enoch allotted to Aaron the tasks that were -suited to his temperament. They put in equal amounts -of capital and pooled their ore and coal lands on a -royalty basis. Enoch was the dominant partner by -right of knowledge and force of doggedness. He had -studied the business. He took the manufacturing end -and spent the whole of his time in New Damascus. -Aaron took the selling end and made all the outside -contacts.</p> - -<p>It was easy to open the mines. That kind of work -was already well understood in Pennsylvania.</p> - -<p>Building a blast furnace was much more of an undertaking. -It was in fact a daring adventure. Older and -wiser heads had left it to the foolhardiness of youth.</p> - -<p>Hitherto iron had been produced in this country, as -elsewhere in the world, by primitive methods. Ore was -wastefully smelted in rude charcoal furnaces unimproved -in design since the Middle Ages. The process -was of great antiquity. It was uniform in India at the -time of Alexander’s invasion. Its origin even then was<span class="pagenum">[29]</span> -lost in myth. Tubal Cain, “an instructor of every artificer -in brass and iron,” was master of it in the city of -his distinguished ancestor, Cain, which was in the land -of Nod.</p> - -<p>Between the old iron master of the Himalayas, -1,500 years before Christ, with his little clay oven -resembling an overturned pot, urging the fire with a -bellows clasped in his arms—(a bellows made from the -skin of a goat stripped from the animal without ripping -the belly part, then tied at the leg holes, fitted with a -wooden nozzle at the neck and stopped with an air -valve in the tail orifice)—the difference between him -and the iron master if the early 19th century was only -that the latter had learned to build his forge of rude -masonry and to make nature blow his fire.</p> - -<p>The prize in both cases was a nugget of glowing -iron, the most useful non-digestible substance yet discovered -by man. It is tenacious, ductile, easily tempered, -malleable at red heat, marriageable at white -heat and possesses one miraculous quality. It is magnetic. -It calls electricity out of the void, snares it, -delivers it helpless into the hands of man. Without -this blackhearted substance, fallen from the sun, natively -pure only in form of a meteorite, lightning could -not have been captured and enslaved on earth.</p> - -<p>The glowing nugget on the forge hearth, called the -loup or bloom, is in a crystalline condition. It is removed -and further refined by hammering, drawing and -rolling at red heat. It may be hammered by hand on -an anvil, or beaten under a trip-hammer, or rolled<span class="pagenum">[30]</span> -between rollers. The effect of this treatment is to -elongate the crystals into tough fibres.</p> - -<p>A blast furnace differs from a forge not in principle -so much as in audacity, method and degree. The forge -pricks nature and extracts iron one molten drop at a -time. The blast furnace cuts a gash in her side and -extracts iron in a blazing stream.</p> - -<p>There were blast furnaces before those of Gib and -Breakspeare, in England, Germany and France, but -they were few and still in the stage of wonder. They -were very costly to build, many failed for unknown -reasons, and the conservative old iron masters stuck to -the forge. Nowhere had a blast furnace been worked -with anthracite or stone coal. All that had so far -succeeded used wood, charcoal, bituminous coal and -coke. The fuel at New Damascus was anthracite.</p> - -<p>So it was in all respects a rash experiment and in -one respect unique. The partners were sure of the -theory. The thing was scientifically feasible. Yet in -practice it might fail for want of handiness with a -strange process or because of some malicious chemical -enemy lurking in the elements to be acted upon. And -failures in iron experiments are ruinous. Nothing ever -can be saved and the capital outlay will have been -enormous.</p> - -<p>The skill to build such a blast furnace as they required -was not only dear and hard to find: when found -it was pessimistic and disbelieving and disclaimed all -responsibility for the outcome because it was something -that had never been done before. Expert iron workers<span class="pagenum">[31]</span> -to man the process were of the same grey mindedness -about it.</p> - -<p>These iron workers had to be imported from England -under guarantees and inveiglements. Nearly all -the new iron working methods of that time originated -in England and were as jealously guarded as military -secrets. The rise of American industry against European -competition was greatly hampered by lack of industrial -knowledge. Europe would not part with it, -or share it, since to possess it exclusively gave her -manufacturers a world-wide advantage. So it had to -be obtained surreptitiously. Much of it was smuggled -out in the heads of English, Scotch and Welsh artisans -who could be bribed to evade the embargo upon the -emigration of skilled workmen and try their luck in -the United States.</p> - -<p>While Enoch worked indefatigably at New Damascus, -tapping the mountains and preparing the mule -roads by which to drain away their coal and ore and -limestone, Aaron was abroad impressing the skill that -should convert those raw materials into iron.</p> - -<p>Two years from the time they started, one evening, -the first miniature volcano went into action.</p> - -<p>That precisely is what a blast furnace is. The hollow, -cylindrical furnace is the mountain cone, charged -from the top with fuel, iron ore and limestone flux. -The mass is fired at the bottom. The gases go off at -the top in flame and smoke, an upside-down cataract -of lost affinities, giddy, voluptuous, hungry and free. -An odd circumstance has released them from the cold<span class="pagenum">[32]</span> -inert embrace in which they have lain for ages of -years. Cinders and gross matter flow away below as -lava. The iron, seeking itself, falls like rain into the -hearth at the bottom and runs out on the sand, forming -there a molten lake. Around the edges of this lake, -taking off from it, is a series of moulded depressions. -The lake drains into these depressions. They suck it -dry. Ironworkers call the lake the sow. The forms -that appear in the depressions, having devoured the -sow completely, are called the pigs. The product -is pig iron,—a lump of rough metal the size of a man’s -thigh.</p> - -<p>After the fire is lighted at the bottom there is nothing -to do for several hours but wait. In this interval -the partners went to supper at Enoch’s house. They -ate in silence. Aaron made several ineffectual attempts -at conversation. Their thoughts were far apart. One -was thinking of details, of faults to be remedied, of -errors in the next instance to be avoided; the other -dwelt upon the achievement as a dramatic whole. -Enoch was anxious to get back.</p> - -<p>At a point from which the blast furnace was visible -as a complete spectacle Aaron stopped and seized him -by the arm.</p> - -<p>“Take a look at it, man. There’s plenty of time for -that.”</p> - -<p>A blast furnace even then was what a blast furnace -is,—the most audacious affront man has yet put upon -nature. He decoys the elemental forces and gives them -handy nicknames. Though he cannot tame them, he<span class="pagenum">[33]</span> -may control them through knowledge of their weaknesses. -He learns their immutable habits. From the -Omnipotent Craftsman he steals the true process. In -the scale of his own strength he reproduces in a furnace -the conditions under which the earth was made, -and extracts from the uproar a lump of iron.</p> - -<p>By the very majesty of the effects he conjures up he -is himself absurdly diminished, to the point of becoming -incredible. As you look at him he is neither impressive -nor august. Perhaps if one had witnessed the -creation the appalling effects in the same way would -have seemed much more wonderful than the Creator. -In His old clothes, anxious, preoccupied, intent upon -results, He probably had been very disappointing to -the eye.</p> - -<p>From where he stood, detaining Enoch against his -mood, Aaron could see the workers moving about the -furnace hearth,—tiny, impish figures, grotesquely insignificant, -scornfully manipulating the elemental intensities. -The surrounding slopes were lined with people, -their faces reflecting a dull, lurid glow; and there was -an ominous, swooning vibration in the air.</p> - -<p>“Admit it, Enoch,” he said, “You get a thrill from -that.”</p> - -<p>“I want to get back,” said Enoch.</p> - -<p>They remained at the furnace the whole of that -night and handled the first cold pig iron.</p> - -<p>“It’s good,” said Enoch.</p> - -<p>It was a fine quality of pig iron. The demand for it -was immediate and profitable. Furnaces were added<span class="pagenum">[34]</span> -one or two at a time until there were eight. Pig iron -was for some time the sole product. The mill to draw -and roll the iron came later.</p> - -<p>In five years the population of New Damascus -trebled. The mines, the blast furnaces and later the -drawing mill,—the first in this country to pass iron -through rollers,—employed thousands of workers. -Their wants made business. The town was rebuilt. -That made more business. Enoch on his own venture -built houses for the iron workers and opened a large -company store.</p> - -<p>There was a third reason why the partnership, to -everyone’s surprise, was successful as a relationship -between two antagonistic natures.</p> - -<p>Aaron had all the popularity still. The social life of -New Damascus centered upon him. The Woolwine -mansion where he lived in bachelor eminence was full -of entertainment and gaiety. His hospitality was -memorable. Guests came from afar, from Pittsburgh, -Philadelphia and New York, to attend his parties.</p> - -<p>Enoch continued to live morosely in the old iron-stone -house below. The contrast was notable, even -painful, but if Enoch minded at all there were compensations. -Within the partnership and outside of it -his power increased. There was never any doubt as -to which of them exercised ultimate authority in matters -of business. When it came to borrowing capital, -as they did to build the mill, it was Enoch’s word that -persuaded the lenders. He made a sound they understood,—a -crunching, horizontal sound that was not<span class="pagenum">[35]</span> -in Aaron at all. The instinct that preferred Aaron in -friendship and the instinct that preferred Enoch in -business could exist, and did, in the same people. Enoch -was preferred where his vanity was. People feared and -trusted him. That kept the scales even.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[36]</span></p> - - - - -<h2>VI</h2> - - -<p class="dropcap">Having heard of New Damascus that it was -marked to become the seat of the American iron -industry, there appeared at this time one Bruno Mitchell, -a capitalist, thinking to open a bank if the repute -of the place should prove to be well founded. He had -prospered in New England, where the practice of banking -was already well advanced; but he believed in the -star of iron and it led him hither. In his active character -he was hard and avaricious, yet there was a -quaintness about him that first contradicted that fact -and then mitigated one’s opinion of it. He had never -filled his skin, or perhaps it was a size too large in the -taking. Instead of hanging loosely, as an over-size -skin does on wavering natures, it had shrunk to measure, -so that he was prematurely wrinkled and had a -leathery look. His face wore a quizzical expression. -His eyes were blue and restless. He walked softly.</p> - -<p>Enoch Gib impressed him deeply. They understood -each other at sight.</p> - -<p>Persuaded by omens and discoveries that New -Damascus was the place, Mitchell moved himself there, -together with all his means and chattels and a daughter -named Esther. He was an important addition to the -community. He gave it the prestige of having one of -the first banks west of Philadelphia. To Gib and<span class="pagenum">[37]</span> -Breakspeare he was very helpful. Not only did he discount -their bills and effect payments on their account -at distant points in a manner then new and miraculous; -he also advanced them considerable sums of credit and -capital. He was anxious to make a permanent investment -in the business, and Enoch was willing that he -should. Aaron objected, as he had a right to do, and -although both Enoch and Mitchell were disappointed, -there was no open feeling about it.</p> - -<p>Esther Mitchell was twenty-four. Since the death -of her mother five years before she had lived alone -with her father, who took it each day for granted that -she should be content to manage his household until -whatever it is that happens to women happened to -her. They never spoke of it and nothing happened. -So time wore on. Once in a while he said to himself, -“I wonder why Esther never has a beau,” and then -put it out of his mind. They behaved toward each -other like two married people who run in parallel -grooves and never touch.</p> - -<p>When at the death of his wife the daughter returned -to him from a convent school he hardly knew her. She -was still, after five years, as much a stranger to him -as on the day she voluntarily assumed the responsibilities -of her mother. He never had been able to penetrate -her reserve. When he tried, as he did at first, -he had a sense of trespassing and guiltily retired. She -had a way of looking at things, at people, at him, with -steady, wide-open eyes that never betrayed what she -was thinking. Sometimes a troubled expression would<span class="pagenum">[38]</span> -appear in them, like the shadow of a cloud on the surface -of a still blue pool. They talked very little. -What there was of it was friendly. He had no idea -what she did with her own time, if she had any, and -never asked.</p> - -<p>As a housekeeper she was faultless. As the female -adjunct of an elderly, selfish engrossed man she had -all the merits and none of the liabilities of a perfect -wife; besides she was in youth and sweet to the eye. -As a fellow human being she was a riddle. In that -light he knew hardly more than her name. Her castle -was invisible. There was no straight way to it. The -outermost signs were all misleading.</p> - -<p>The partners were frequent visitors in the Mitchell -household. The atmosphere was social. The subject -was business. They seldom talked of anything else. -Business of course has many facets. It was not merely -the affairs of Gib and Breakspeare they discussed. -They debated the future of iron, metallurgical processes, -the blundering stupidity of Congress.</p> - -<p>The feud between politics and business was never -new. An economic truth more obvious than daylight -to the industrial founders was even then a tangle of -obscurities to Congress. What statesmen could not -see clearly, once for all, was that without high tariff -protection the American iron industry would live at -the mercy of foreign competitors. On that text Enoch -said always the last word, which was his own, and -became a famous slogan among the ironmongers of -that generation. It was this:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[39]</span></p> - -<p>“War or tariff.”</p> - -<p>That now sounds cryptic. Then it was clear enough. -Everybody knew or could remember that there was no -iron working in this land before the war of Independence. -The mother country forbade it. What she -wanted from the American colonists was the raw material -to be worked up in her own iron mills with her -own skilled labor, for if the colonists produced iron -manufactures for themselves English exports to the -New World would suffer. An act of the British Crown -decreed that “no mill or other engine for slitting or -rolling of iron, no plating forge to work with a tilthammer -and no furnace for making steel” should be -erected “in any of His Majesty’s Colonies in America.” -Mills already existing were declared a public -nuisance and abated as such.</p> - -<p>So the colonists, forbidden to work their own iron, -were obliged to sell their raw materials to England -and buy it back from British merchants in the form of -manufactures. The war cut the colonies off from these -British manufactures. They were thereupon obliged -by necessity to found a native iron working industry. -After the war the British sent their products to the -United States at prices with which the new American -industrialists could not successfully compete, hence the -demand that British iron be excluded, or at least that -the importation of it be penalized by high tariff. This -was the historic experience that caused the prosperity, -in fact the life, of the early American iron industry to -be associated with war and tariff. They were in results<span class="pagenum">[40]</span> -the same. War had all the effects of a high tariff. It -kept the foreign stuff out.</p> - -<p>“And nobody wants war,” Enoch would add.</p> - -<p>Another topic endlessly debated was the railroad. -It had just come within range of practical vision. -What were its possibilities? Would it supplement or -supersede canals? Enoch could not imagine that the -railroad would ever take the place of canals. Aaron -thought it would. Mitchell thought with Aaron, and -Enoch for that reason was more rigid in his opinion.</p> - -<p>Once Aaron broke all precedent in this private chamber -of commerce by saying suddenly to Esther:</p> - -<p>“What do you think?”</p> - -<p>He had been observing her for some time. Through -all their interminable repetitious dinner table talk she -maintained an air of rapt attention, with her gaze on -the one who was speaking, and never uttered a word. -He wondered if she were listening or merely watching -them. Both her father and Enoch were surprised that -anyone should address her with that kind of question. -She was not startled.</p> - -<p>“I wonder which will make the world happier,” she -said.</p> - -<p>In the way she said it there was a kind of disbelieving -that referred neither to canals nor railroads but -to something represented by the discussion. The effect -was strange. All three men were disturbed in -their sense of importance. They attacked her in concert, -with a condescending manner, Enoch leading. -How like a woman to think that way! What had happiness<span class="pagenum">[41]</span> -got to do with it? The question was economic. -Which would be the more efficient means of transportation? -But anyhow—this was Enoch—anyhow, was -it not obvious that whatever increased the wealth of -the world increased also the sum of human happiness?</p> - -<p>“Is it?” said Esther.</p> - -<p>They could get nothing more out of her. She declined -to be argued with and smiled at them from a -great distance. Her smile was impassable.</p> - -<p>Several times after that Aaron tried to involve her -in their conversations, at dinner, or in the drawing -room where she sat apart with her needlework, but -never again with any success. She would look at him -with a bothered expression, and either recognize his -effort by no other sign or slowly shake her head. This -he took for disapproval and thereafter ignored her, as -the others did, except now and then to scrutinize her -in a surreptitious manner. When she surprised him at -that she returned his gaze with distant, impersonal -curiosity, until he was the first to turn away.</p> - -<p>A change took place gradually in the partners’ relations -with the Mitchell menage. Aaron’s visits were -no less recurring, but Enoch’s became more frequent -and regular. It was the only household in New Damascus -in which he felt wholly at ease with himself -and properly esteemed. He seldom went anywhere -else. Very soon the women people were saying they -knew what the attraction was. A certain expectation -began to crystallize. Enoch became aware of it, not -knowing how. Mitchell cultivated it adroitly. Since<span class="pagenum">[42]</span> -his offer to invest capital in the business of Gib and -Breakspeare had been declined the idea of marrying -Esther to one of the firm took possession of his -thoughts. His preference was for Enoch because more -securely through him than through Aaron would the -Mitchell chariot be hitched to the star of iron. He -talked of both of them to Esther, with an air of being -impartial, as if giving her his intimate, unguarded -impressions. As he understood women, their minds -worked on these matters in a contrary manner. To -disparage Aaron might be prejudicial to his ends. He -never did that. Nevertheless, Enoch came off by every -comparison as much the superior person. Esther listened -attentively and said nothing.</p> - -<p>“Do you ever think of getting married?” he asked -her. “I sometimes wonder.”</p> - -<p>“No,” she said. “I never have. Why do you ask -it?”</p> - -<p>“But you may,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Have you some one in view for me?” In her voice -was a certain elusive tone, unresolved between doubt -and irony, that he knew and hated. It made him uneasy. -Sometimes it made him feel small.</p> - -<p>“Seriously, I have,” he replied. “That is to say, I -have hoped you might become interested that way in -Enoch Gib. You know what I think of him. He will -be a great man in this country if nothing happens.”</p> - -<p>“Does it much concern your happiness?” she asked. -There was that tone again.</p> - -<p>“I wouldn’t put it that way,” he said. “I am thinking<span class="pagenum">[43]</span> -of your future. It would give me a sense of great -comfort.”</p> - -<p>This was at dinner’s end one evening when they were -alone. As he talked, with his eyes down, he traced a -figure on the table cloth with a spoon, making it deeper -and deeper as his unease increased. He felt all the -time that she was regarding him with a wide, impenetrable -expression.</p> - -<p>“Oh,” she said, after an interval of silence.</p> - -<p>He started and looked at her furtively. She was -regarding him freely. There was in her expression -the trace of an ambiguous, amused smile. He -blushed and rose from the table.</p> - -<p>Expectations increased. More marriages take place -under the tyranny of expectation than Heaven imagines. -New Damascus society became tensely expectant.</p> - -<p>Enoch proposed, as Esther expected, with an air of -bestowing himself where he was sure to be appreciated. -She took some time about it and then accepted him.</p> - -<p>Aaron was apparently the only person in New -Damascus who had not foreseen it. He was deeply -astonished. Why? It was not an improbable consummation. -Yet it seemed to him strange and unnatural.</p> - -<p>He first heard of it at dinner with the Mitchells. -Enoch was present. Mitchell announced it as if Aaron -were a large party of friends. He responded as such. -There was a false note in his felicitations. He was -aware of it; so was Esther. But in trying to cancel -the impression he made it worse. Enoch was protected<span class="pagenum">[44]</span> -as by wool with a sense of proprietorship and self-satisfaction. -Mitchell was insensitive.</p> - -<p>Esther kept looking at Aaron. There was a -troubled, startled expression in her eyes. He misread -it for distaste. He had long imagined she disliked -him. Several times that evening she was brief with -him, almost curt, and this had never happened before.</p> - -<p>His visits to the Mitchell house thereafter were -formal and less frequent. Enoch’s manner of making -himself paramount affected him disagreeably. And -Esther’s behaviour perplexed him. She was at one -time much more friendly than he expected and at another -so deliberately indifferent that he could only -conclude that she meant to estrange him.</p> - -<p>Yet now a fatality began to operate. By a law of -coincidence that we do not understand, and may not -exist, they began to meet outside the household, purely, -as it seemed in each case, by accident,—in unexpected -places, on the street again and again, once at night in -a crowd at an open air Punch and Judy show in which -neither of them was at all interested, once in Philadelphia -where he was transacting business and she was -shopping with her maid, and once in a memorable way -on a path through the woods to Throne Rock, a natural -seat on the mountain summit from which the view -of the valley was exciting.</p> - -<p>It was a Sunday afternoon in early May. He was -going; she was returning. They were at first surprised, -then embarrassed, and became absurdly self-conscious. -She wore a wide-brim hat, pulled down on both sides<span class="pagenum">[45]</span> -and tied under her chin. She was hot and tired; her -color was high. Her dress was torn. He noticed it.</p> - -<p>“I was after these,” she said, catching his glance. -She held out a bunch of dogwood blossoms, with a -gesture to share them. He admired them and there -was nothing else to say. So they stood, she looking -at him and holding out the dogwood flowers, he looking -fixedly at them, until her arm dropped and she -turned to go on. He let her go and went his way -up the path. But he looked back. She had stopped -and was seated on a fallen tree trunk. He returned. -She did not look up.</p> - -<p>“I’d like to give you a farewell party,” he said. -“Will you come?”</p> - -<p>“A farewell party?”</p> - -<p>“There ought to be a better name for it,” he said. -“A sour grape party, then. I’ve always wanted to -give you a dinner at the mansion. Will you come?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she said.</p> - -<p>And again there was nothing else to say. She rose -and he walked with her toward the town.</p> - -<p>“If Enoch won’t mind,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Why should he mind?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps he won’t,” said Aaron.</p> - -<p>This thought, as to whether Enoch should mind, had -far and separate projections in each of their minds and -kept them silent until at the natural parting of their -ways she turned to face him and held out her hand. -It was a gesture of dismissal. He bowed and left her.</p> - -<p>The dinner party took place just two weeks before<span class="pagenum">[46]</span> -her wedding day. It was perhaps too elaborate. It -contained every preparable element of success. Aaron -did his best to save it, and yet nobody enjoyed it. -Esther was visibly depressed. Enoch sulked. The -guests rallied them until it was seen to be hopeless and -then let them alone. They simply could not react with -gaiety.</p> - -<p>Aaron as host had special rights in the guest of -honor and took them. Enoch grew steadily worse. -Opinion upon him was divided. Some thought it was -the natural gloom of his nature and were full of foreboding -for Esther. Others said they did believe the -man was jealous.</p> - -<p>After a dance Esther and Aaron walked on the -terrace.</p> - -<p>“Forgive me,” she said. “I have spoiled the party.”</p> - -<p>“No,” he said. “It’s my fault. I knew better. Yet -I couldn’t resist it. And it is in a sense a farewell -party.”</p> - -<p>“What does that mean?”</p> - -<p>“After your wedding I may not see you again for -a long time. I’m only waiting on Enoch’s account. -Then I shall be going to Europe for a year, perhaps -more.”</p> - -<p>“On business?”</p> - -<p>“Y-e-s,” he answered slowly.</p> - -<p>They took several more turns without speaking.</p> - -<p>“What are your plans?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“None that I know of,” she said.</p> - -<p>She had stopped. He saw that her gaze was directed<span class="pagenum">[47]</span> -at Enoch’s ancestral iron-stone house below. -The fitful glare of the blast furnaces, lower down, -lighted its sombre nakedness and gave it a relentless, -sinister aspect. The windows, which were small and -unsoftened by copings, were like cruel, ferocious eyes -in a powerful, short-haired, suspicious animal.</p> - -<p>“Shall you live there?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she said, giving him a frowning, startled -look, as if he had surprised her at a disadvantage. -She added: “Enoch took me through it yesterday. -The room where he was born,—that will be mine. -The room where his father died is just as it was then. -He thinks we shouldn’t touch it.”</p> - -<p>She shivered. He asked her if she was cold. She -wasn’t, but on the next turn past the door she turned -and they went in.</p> - -<p>Enoch’s idea of marriage was inherited. You take -a wife from the church to the ancestral abode and -become jointly responsible with God for her past, -present, future and hereafter, for her body, her mind, -her way with the neighbors, for everything about her -save the separate flame of her individuality. That is -vanity. The house is yours, therefore she must accept -it. It was yours before she had any rights in it, therefore -she must get used to it, as she must get used to -you. And why not? If Aaron married would he not -take his wife to the Woolwine Mansion just as it was? -Well, what was Aaron’s was like Aaron and what was -Enoch’s was like Enoch, and what a woman married -was what she got.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[48]</span></p> - -<p>Enoch rode home with Esther that night in her -father’s carriage. Mitchell had gone home earlier and -sent the carriage back. As they were passing the iron-stone -house—fatally then—Enoch asked:</p> - -<p>“What do you and Aaron find to talk about?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing,” she said.</p> - -<p>That was literally the truth. It was with extreme -difficulty that they found anything to say to each other. -Never had they carried on an intimate, self-revealing -conversation. There was too much constraint on both -sides. But Enoch could hardly believe that Aaron was -under any circumstances inarticulate, like himself. Or -was it that he knew instinctively if what Esther said -was true there lay in that very truth a deep significance?</p> - -<p>Her answer made him seethingly angry. An ungovernable -feeling rose up in him spirally. It was as -an adder stinging him in the dark. He could not seize -it, for he knew not what or where it was. He could -not escape from it. The pain was horrible.</p> - -<p>Esther knew nothing of these violent emotions. She -had no more intuition of him than he had of her. That -sense by which natures attuned exchange thoughts without -words was impossible between them. Between -Esther and Aaron it already existed: it always had. -But it was unacknowledged.</p> - -<p>Enoch passed three days without seeing Esther, -hoping she might send for him. On the fourth day -he went to dinner and she treated him as if nothing -were the matter. She hardly knew there was. That -made it much worse. Then he flourished the wound<span class="pagenum">[49]</span> -by pretending heroically to conceal it. That method -will work only provided the woman cares and loves -the child in her man. Esther did not care. She refused -to discover the hurt. The man’s last recourse -is to injure the woman, to ease himself by hurting her. -Enoch became oppressive. He began to mention the -things that should be rendered unto Cæsar, categorically, -gratuitously; he revealed the laws of Gib; he -appointed how the concavities of her life should correspond -to the convexities of his; he spoke of penalties, -forfeits and consequences, and of the ancient legal -principle that ignorance of the statutes is no defence -provided the statutes have been duly published. She -listened with wide-open eyes. He believed he inspired -her with admiration for the stern stuff he was made of, -and thus blindly sought his fate.</p> - -<p>So his hurt was revenged but in no wise healed.</p> - -<p>On the eve of their wedding day, at dinner, Aaron’s -name was pronounced. The invisible circumstances -were tragic. Enoch happened at that instant to be -regarding Esther with a sensation that was new to him -and very disturbing. He knew not what to do with it. -Suddenly he had been seized with a great longing for -her, a yearning of the heart toward the fact of her -being that was savage, tender and desolate. He wondered -that Esther and her father both were not aware -of this singular and dramatic occurrence. It shook -him like an earth tremor. An impulse to speak, to -shout, to cry out words of fantastic meaning, to rise -and touch her, became almost uncontrollable,—almost. -It occurred to him for the first time, like a blow, that<span class="pagenum">[50]</span> -he had never discovered her nature, her true self. He -had not tried. The importance of doing so, the possibility -of it, had not been thought of. But he would. -He would begin all over again to get acquainted with -her.</p> - -<p>In that moment he loved her.</p> - -<p>And it was then,—just then,—that he heard the -sound of Aaron’s name. He could not say which one -of them uttered it. The sound was all he knew. Instantly -the hideous, stinging adder upraised from his -depths and began striking at the walls of his breast. -Vividly, stereoptically, as a series of pictures, there -flashed across his mental vision every situation in which -he had seen Aaron and Esther together.</p> - -<p>He had been able to control the impulse of love to -vent its untimely ecstasy; his rage he could not govern.</p> - -<p>To Esther’s and her father’s amazement he began, -with no apparent provocation whatever, to utter -against Aaron defamations of an extreme and irrevocable -character. His manner contradicted the violence -of his feelings. It was self-possessed, one would -almost say restrained; that was his way under stress -of emotional excitement. At no point did he become -incoherent. His words were chilled and came to him -easily. One might have thought he was thinking out -loud, very earnestly, in solitude. On his face was that -singular Gib expression, never witnessed before in the -Mitchell household,—the mouth contortion one mistook -for a smile. So far as Esther and Mitchell could -see the performance was gratuitous and premeditated. -It had gone far before they realized that his state was<span class="pagenum">[51]</span> -one of passion. But that discovery had no mitigating -value. They made no effort to stop him. He spoke -of things that are supposed to be unmentionable, and -of his private intentions, and closed abruptly with the -declaration that Aaron should never be received in his -house as a guest.</p> - -<p>“Let that be understood,” he said to Esther. Then -he rose from the table and departed.</p> - -<p>Mitchell was stupefied. He looked slowly at Esther. -Her face was a perfect mask.</p> - -<p>“Do you know what it means?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she said.</p> - -<p>“What? What?”</p> - -<p>“It’s the only way Mr. Gib has of paying your -daughter a compliment,” she said.</p> - -<p>And now Bruno Mitchell suffered another shock. -For the first time in her life Esther rose from the table -and left him there.</p> - -<p>She went to her room, sent her maid to bed, and -sat for a long time perfectly still, at the core of a maelstrom, -her emotions whirling and seething around her. -They were her emotions. She recognized them as such. -Only, they were outside of her. This had always been -true. Even before she understood what it meant, her -mother, a stoic, began to say: “Don’t give way to your -feelings. They will swallow you up. Watch them. -If you can see them they cannot hurt you.” So she -had watched them fearfully. To do that she had to -put them outside. She had seen them grow, change -and rise until they engulfed her, and then the only way -she could save herself was to give them that whirling<span class="pagenum">[52]</span> -motion, which caused them to incline from her, as the -waters of the whirlpool incline from the center. But -it was harder and harder to keep them whirling and -she dared not stop, for if she did they would swallow -her up.</p> - -<p>The spectacle became awesome and fascinating, as -a maelstrom is, and there were moments when the perverse -impulse to stop, surrender, cast herself headlong -away, was almost irresistible. She thought of this as -equivalent to suicide. And she had for a long time -secretly supposed it would ultimately happen. Now -she was terrified and thrilled by a premonition that it -was imminent. Never had the waters been so mad, -so giddy, so nearly ungovernable, so excitingly desirable.</p> - -<p>That is all she was thinking of,—if it may be called -thinking,—as she started up, drew on walking boots, -took a shawl and descended the stairs. In the hallway -she met her father. He looked at her with surprise.</p> - -<p>“Are you going out?”</p> - -<p>“For a walk,” she said.</p> - -<p>“But Esther! ... at this hour ... alone. I—”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she said, waiting. “Do you forbid it?”</p> - -<p>There was a note in her voice he had never heard -before. She wished him to say yes, he forbade it. -That was why she asked the question. And if he had -said that the whirling flood would have collapsed at -once. That again was all she was thinking. It was -a wild, liberating thought. But instead he took a step -toward her and scrutinized her face.</p> - -<p>“Esther, what has happened to you?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[53]</span></p> - -<p>“On the eve of my wedding, for the first and last -time, for an hour perhaps, I shall be Esther herself, -alone,” she said.</p> - -<p>Since the unprecedented uproar of the inclined -waters had begun an hour before she had not once -thought of her wedding. The word of it, as now it -came to her lips, seemed strange and fantastic, and -yet she had made no resolve against it.</p> - -<p>Her father stood aside and she passed out.</p> - -<p>Half an hour later the knocker sounded and Mitchell -himself went to the door, expecting to receive -Esther. There was Enoch. He asked to see her.</p> - -<p>“She has gone for a walk,” said Mitchell. “Won’t -you come in and wait? She can’t be long returning.”</p> - -<p>Enoch hesitated and turned away, saying he might -have the good luck to meet her.</p> - -<p>He had come to mend the impression he was conscious -of having left behind him. At least that was -the ostensible reason. That was what he would have -said. The fact was that the adder had suddenly slunk -away, and once more came that feeling for Esther -which was so new and irrational and caused his heart -to stagger back and forth. It was stronger than before,—stronger -than pride. He could scarcely breathe -for the ache of wanting to see her again that -night....</p> - -<p>Esther turned first toward the river path, changed -her direction aimlessly, walked for some distance -toward the limestone quarry, then suddenly swung -around, passed the blast furnaces, and presently, only -her feet aware of how they came there, she was high -on the mountain path to Throne Rock. She had been<span class="pagenum">[54]</span> -walking too fast. Her breath began to fail. She sat -on a log to rest. The moon came up. The log was -the same fallen tree trunk on which she sat with her -dogwood flowers the day Aaron turned round, came -back, and invited her to a farewell dinner party. She -knew it all the time. The scene restored itself, with -all the feelings it had evoked, and she did not push -them back. They detached themselves from the whirling -mass and touched her. There was a moment in -which she could not remember anything that had happened -since; and in that moment, as an integral part -of it, the figure of Aaron appeared, walking toward -her from above, exactly as before.</p> - -<p>She sat so still he might almost have passed her. -He did not start. For a long time he stood looking -at her. She did not move. He could not see her face. -Then without speaking he sat beside her, at a little -distance, on the log. The tree frogs informed on one -another—<em>peep</em>-ing—<em>peep</em>-ing. A dry twig falling -made a crashing sound. Far away below, at regular -intervals, shrill whistle blasts denoted stages in the -ring of smelting alchemies.</p> - -<p>Aaron spoke.</p> - -<p>“What day is tomorrow?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know,” said Esther.</p> - -<p>They were silent until the whistle blew again.</p> - -<p>“At ten o’clock,” said Aaron.</p> - -<p>“At ten o’clock,” said Esther.</p> - -<p>The exchange of wordless thoughts went on and on, -and Aaron was expecting what she said.</p> - -<p>“I do not love him.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[55]</span></p> - -<p>“He loves you,” said Aaron.</p> - -<p>“Does that so much oblige the woman?” Esther -asked.</p> - -<p>“The woman is obliged,” he said, “she is ... -unless——” He stopped.</p> - -<p>“Aaron,” she said, “tell me this. How do friends -regard each other’s wives and sweethearts?”</p> - -<p>“Sweethearts almost the same as wives,” he said.</p> - -<p>“So that if one loved the sweetheart of a friend he -could not tell her that?”</p> - -<p>“No, he could not.”</p> - -<p>“Not even if he knew the sweetheart did not love -the friend?”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Aaron.</p> - -<p>“Then should the woman tell?”</p> - -<p>“Tell whom?” asked Aaron, trembling.</p> - -<p>“The friend ... the other man,” said Esther.</p> - -<p>Aaron slowly dropped his head between his hands. -She could feel his body shake. A roaring blackness -filled her eyes. She rose and would have gone, but -he enfolded her, with arms that touched her lightly, -almost not at all at first, then tightened, tightened, -tightened, until her life was crushed to his, and all the -waters fell.</p> - -<p>He put her off at arm’s length to see her better.</p> - -<p>“Through all consequences ... forever ... to -finality,” he said.</p> - -<p>And she was satisfied.</p> - -<p>How long they stood so, either thus or as it was, -gazing one upon the other, with no words to say,—how<span class="pagenum">[56]</span> -long they never knew. A sound of footsteps very -near broke their ecstasy, and there stood Enoch.</p> - -<p>They had no sense of guilt. They were shy and -startled from the shock of coming back to earth.</p> - -<p>Enoch stood there looking at them. Aaron moved, -drawing Esther’s form behind him.</p> - -<p>At that Enoch turned away and laughed.</p> - -<p>Twenty paces on his way he laughed again.</p> - -<p>When he was out of sight he laughed.</p> - -<p>At intervals all the way down the mountain he -stopped to laugh.</p> - -<p>The sound of his laughter reverberated, echoed, -swirled, went and returned, filled the whole valley, -blasting the night. Then when he was far off he uttered -a piercing scream. It rose on the air like a -rocket, hissed, burst with a soft splash and pitched off -into space, and the world for a moment was deathly -still. The tree frogs were the first to recover and -began frantically to fill up the void.</p> - -<p>Aaron touched Esther. They descended. She inquired -of him nothing; he informed her of nothing. -They did not speak again for hours. They walked to -the Woolwine mansion. He called for horses, a light -vehicle, and wraps. And all that night they drove, past -the setting moon, into the darkness, through the dawn, -toward Wilkes-Barre.</p> - -<p>Next day at noon they were married.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[57]</span></p> - - - - -<h2>VII</h2> - - -<p class="dropcap">The partnership of Gib and Breakspeare was -sundered.</p> - -<p>Two weeks later, when Aaron returned to the little -red office building across the road from the mill, he -found on his desk a paper marked “Articles of Dissolution.” -Attached was a note of two lines from Enoch, -saying: “Let any changes proposed to be made herein -appear in the form of writing, or through an attorney -at law.”</p> - -<p>They never spoke again.</p> - -<p>The articles prepared by Enoch provided that the -ore and coal lands, which had been pooled on a royalty -basis, should release from that agreement and revert -to their respective owners; that the eight blast furnaces -should be divided equally, four and four; that Gib -should buy from Breakspeare, for cash, his interest in -the rolling mill, because it could not be divided, the -price to be one-half the original cost, according to the -books, and that all the money in the firm’s treasury, -less current liabilities, should be halved on the date of -signature.</p> - -<p>Aaron read the paper once through, put it down -and signed it. The terms were unfair. Yet he had -no impulse to change them. They were unfair because -nothing was made of those two intangible assets which<span class="pagenum">[58]</span> -sometimes in business are worth more than the physical -properties—namely, spirit of organization and -good will of trade—all of which would automatically -belong to the one who bought out the other’s interest -in the mill. This was so because the mill was now the -crown of the business. What the firm sold was no -longer pig iron, as at first, but wrought iron in standard -bars manufactured from the pig by remelting, kneading, -hammering and rolling it. The product of the -blast furnaces, instead of going to market, only fed -the mill.</p> - -<p>What would Aaron do?</p> - -<p>He could not sell the product of his blast furnaces -to Enoch. Business transactions between them were -unimaginable; besides, no sooner were the articles of -dissolution signed than Enoch went about building four -more blast furnaces of his own. That was to make -himself independent of Aaron’s product. Aaron, -therefore, might choose between seeking a market outside -for his pig iron or building a mill to work it. To -build a mill would require, first, a large outlay of -capital, then an organization of expert workers and -superintendents, and thirdly a market for his wrought -iron in competition with the product of the established -mill, now Enoch’s. For of course Enoch’s iron would -continue to be called Damascus Iron, which was its -trade name, and it was already famous in the country -for its fine texture and purity. Aaron’s might be just -as good, but it would have to take a new name and -earn its own good will.</p> - -<p>Well, but what he did was unexpected. He drew<span class="pagenum">[59]</span> -the fires from his blast furnaces and went to Europe -with Esther.</p> - -<p>It was more than a honeymoon, or less, as you may -happen to think. In Aaron’s case romance and work -were easily combined, for as love is an adventure of -the spirit, so to a man of his temperament work is a -romantic enterprise of the mind and creative in a -manner less wonderful than the mysterious life process -only because we take it for granted. What is an engine? -a steamship? a blast furnace? a tower? It is -the materialization in form and function of an idea -itself imponderable. It is the psychic power of man -exteriorized in substance and there is no accounting for -such phenomena save that it happens. Who knows -but the Gods are as much puzzled by that form of -glow worm full of parasites that we call a railroad -train as we are by the things of cosmic origin?</p> - -<p>Specifically Aaron was in quest of a secret that had -eluded and baffled iron masters always. They were -sure it existed. That certainty was deducible from the -data of knowledge. Many times they had almost -touched it; then it was lost again, like a coy, tantalizing -vision of loveliness, and the pursuers were discouraged. -Still, they never gave up. Whoever found it would -be made exceedingly rich and the iron industry at the -same time would be revolutionized.</p> - -<p>It is to be explained.</p> - -<p>Everybody probably knows that in the first place all -the iron was trapped in the blazing heart of the earth. -It forms no part anywhere of the earth’s true granite -crust. But it was rebellious and indigestible and had<span class="pagenum">[60]</span> -to be spewed up from the inflamed Plutonic belly -through the tops of volcanoes. At that time volcanoes -were near or under water generally, and when the -molten iron came jetting forth in red lava streams a -spectacular melodrama was enacted. Water was its -adverse element. At the lava’s touch the oceans boiled, -hissed, upheaved and draped themselves in steam. -They were not hurt really; they were outraged.</p> - -<p>What happened to the lava?</p> - -<p>The water shivered it to atoms and cast it high upon -the wind as dust and ashes.</p> - -<p>In that free and irresponsible condition iron travelled -far, made his bed in many places, took up with -new and strange affinities,—the flapper sisters Chlorine, -the Sulphur Gerties, the lazy Nitrate Susans, the -harmless Silicates, a score of others known and unknown, -and most of all with a comfortable, indispensable -element called Oxygen. The extent and variety -of his embracings may be imagined from the fact that -he is never found in a state of unattached purity save -now and then when he falls from the heavens as a -meteorite. In these haphazard, bigamous earthly alliances -he is of no avail to man. The problem is how -to disentangle him,—how to divorce him from his undesirable -affinities and wed him durably and in a lawful -manner to those elements which supplement his power.</p> - -<p>It becomes extremely complicated when you begin -seriously to consider it. How shall one be divorced -from many miscellaneous affinities? You have to have -been regularly wedded in order to get divorced. Well, -the only way is the long, pragmatic way. You wed<span class="pagenum">[61]</span> -him to the affinities that are to be legally got rid of -and then divorce him from them.</p> - -<p>Now take it: The iron ore is in the ore bed, embracing -those other elements at random, particularly -Oxygen. First you oxidize him by roasting. That is, -you wed him to Oxygen; you give him Oxygen until -he is sick of it. Then you melt him down with coal -in a furnace to deoxidize him—to divorce him, that is -to say, from his affinity Oxygen. It is the first fiery -ordeal. But at the same time you wed him to Carbon. -Thus deoxidized and carbonized, divorced and wedded -by one stroke, he becomes pig iron.</p> - -<p>The wedding with Carbon, however, is not permanent. -It has been contracted so to speak under duress, -a miserable makeshift, because his earthly nature is -such that he must be wedded to something all the time. -Besides, there is now too much Carbon for his own -good. So you melt him again and divorce him from -Carbon, by the unexpected method of blowing Oxygen -through him. At the end of this second ordeal he is -free of both Carbon and Oxygen, many other elements -have disappeared also, and you have wrought iron, -practically pure, limp and malleable.</p> - -<p>Now suppose you want to make him hard. You -want to convert him into steel. In that case you melt -him a third time and wed him permanently to a small -amount of Carbon, more or less, the amount to be -governed by the degree of hardness required. That -makes steel. But to make it has required one roasting -and three meltings.</p> - -<p>The dream of the iron masters, beginning with the<span class="pagenum">[62]</span> -19th century, was to make it all one continuous, fluid -process, and bring the complete result to pass at one -melting. If that could be done the cost of production -would be enormously reduced.</p> - -<p>The discovery of such a method now seemed imminent -in either England or Germany. Many experts -were pressing on the door. Suddenly it would fly open -and whoever was there at the moment would be able -to seize the secret. Rumors of success had been heard, -disbelieved, denied, scoffed at and repeated. Aaron -believed them, or believed at least that if the secret -had not already been captured it was about to be. -That was his quest in Europe.</p> - -<p>After a year he returned with a steel making patent, -enormous quantities of queer looking material, a crew -of expert English erectors, and proceeded to build -what the curious Damascenes called a concern. That -word was in lieu of a proper name for an object which, -without being supernatural, was unique on earth. In -shape it somewhat resembled a gigantic snail shell, in -a vertical position, open end up, thirty feet high, made -of iron plates bolted together, lined with fire clay and -so mounted at its axis that it could be tipped to spill -its contents. On the same foundation was mounted a -blowing engine to force air at high pressure through -perforations in the bottom of the shell; and there was -also a great ladle in chains for hoisting molten metal -to its mouth.</p> - -<p>The work of construction was slow and tedious; it -came several times to a full stop for want of something<span class="pagenum">[63]</span> -that had not been provided beforehand and could not -be made on the spot. Nearly another year passed.</p> - -<p>Then one day smoke appeared at the top of one of -Aaron’s four blast furnaces and people by this sign -were notified that the great experiment was about to -begin. In a general way the population knew, from -what the workers said, that the intention was to produce -steel and to produce it direct from the ore, and -also that if such a thing were possible the iron industry -would undergo a basic transformation.</p> - -<p>All of that was exciting and very important, especially -to a town like New Damascus, whose living was -in iron. Yet it was no technical interest in a metallurgical -process that moved people to gather in large -numbers to witness the experiment. What they sensed -was its human meaning. It symbolized a struggle -between the former partners. The outcome might -deeply affect the economic position of New Damascus -in the course of time. Immediately it had tense dramatic -value. It would prove which was the greater -man and which was right,—Aaron who believed steel -cheaply produced in large quantities by a continuous -one-melt process would supersede iron and bring a new -age to pass, or Enoch who scoffed, who was known -privately to have predicted Aaron’s ruin, and who held -that to think of getting steel direct from ore in that -manner, skipping the iron stage, was as absurd as to -think of getting a grandson from a grandfather, skipping -the father. It was contrary to the way of nature.</p> - -<p>All the iron wisdom of the community was with -Enoch. All the inert scepticism with which people<span class="pagenum">[64]</span> -behold the trial of a new thing was on his side. But -the heart was for Aaron. Everybody liked him still, -as in the old days, and ardently wished him success. -Besides, if he brought it off, Enoch Gib would be humbled. -His tyrannical ways were increasingly complained -of. New Damascus would rather be a steel -town under Aaron than an iron town under Enoch.</p> - -<p>With the outcome in suspense, the experiment itself -was worth seeing as a spectacle. Nothing like it could -have been imagined.</p> - -<p>First, that strange, enormous tilting vessel, resembling -a snail shell, was filled with fuel and fired under -blast from the blowing engine until its clay-lined interior -was white hot. Then it was tilted on its axis, -emptied and tilted back again. Next the molten iron -from the blast furnace, instead of being run off in the -sand to make the sow the pigs devour, was tapped -into that great ladle in chains, hoisted on high, and -poured into the white hot gullet of the tilting vessel. -At the same time the blowing engine to force air -through the perforations in the bottom was set in fast -motion with a terrible roar. A blast of air at high -pressure began now to pass upward through the fluid -metal.</p> - -<p>A series of awesome pyrotechnics ensued.</p> - -<p>In the belly of the tilting vessel occurred a dry, -chortling sound, followed by a dull, regular clapping, -as of Plutonic amusement and applause. From the -mouth of the vessel issued millions of sparks, particles -burning brilliantly in the air. This went on for seven -or eight minutes. Suddenly the sparks went out and a<span class="pagenum">[65]</span> -dull, sluggish red flame appeared, turning bright and -yellowish, then becoming high, brilliant and dart-like. -After several minutes terrific detonations began to take -place in the vessel. With each detonation the flame -shot higher. This uproar was succeeded by a period -of calm. The yellowish, dart-like flame rising from -the throat of the vessel was replaced by a long, white -flame, which stood for several seconds proudly, then -trembled, tore at the edges and abruptly collapsed. -Dense black smoke issued from the mouth of the crater -and the scene was dark. This was the moment at -which the metal itself began to burn. The workers, -uttering shrill cries of anxiety, readiness, encouragement -and damnation, seized the levers controlling the -vessel and tilted it over to a spilling position. Through -the black smoke that corked its throat burst the fluid, -blazing metal, hissing like a tortured serpent, alive in -every incandescent crystal, yet doomed quickly to cool -and blacken, every element touching it being fatally -adverse. Men in waiting caught it headfirst neatly -into a trundle pot and wheeled it off to be decanted -into sand molds, like pig iron molds, but smaller.</p> - -<p>The experiment was finished. The test was yet to -come. That waited on the cooling. What was in -those molds? Those squarish lumps blackening in the -sand,—what would they turn out to be? No one -knew.</p> - -<p>Aaron waited until one was cool enough to handle. -Then placing it like a stick of kindling against the -chopping block, he hit it one blow in the middle with -a sledge hammer. It broke with an ironic, ringing<span class="pagenum">[66]</span> -sound and lay in two pieces apart. He never stooped -to pick them up. Without a word he dropped the -hammer and walked away.</p> - -<p>Esther received him on the terrace. She had been -there for hours, anxiously watching the spectacle from -afar, then waiting for him to come and tell her what -the outcome was. But he did not have to tell her. -She knew by his look, by his walk, by the way he took -her arm. They sat for some time in silence.</p> - -<p>“It beats me,” he said. “I can’t explain it. I don’t -know what happened.”</p> - -<p>“What was it like?” she asked. “The product I -mean—was it iron or steel?”</p> - -<p>“Pot metal,” he said contemptuously.</p> - -<p>For a long time they stood there on the terrace -looking their thoughts into space. Hers were personal. -His were not. This she knew. There is probably no -sense of loneliness so poignant as that which a woman -feels when the idol of her being disembodies his soul -and departs with it, leaving in her hands the fact of -his empty presence. Lacking in herself his power of -abstraction she cannot understand this phenomenon. -But she verifies it and it fills her with terror. The -form is there at her side, even in her arms, as it was -a moment before. The man is gone. She has no idea -where he is or what he is doing.</p> - -<p>“Aaron!”</p> - -<p>Esther whispered his name as one who dreads to -wake the sleeper and yet cannot forbear to do so. -Impulsively she buried her face beneath his arm as if -she would enter the vacant premises. He laid his arm<span class="pagenum">[67]</span> -around her shoulder. It was an absent gesture. She -had not waked him quite.</p> - -<p>“Aaron!” she called again. “What does it matter? -Come back to me.”</p> - -<p>At that he started slightly and began to talk in a -slow, far-away manner, very much as he had talked -to Enoch that moonlight night after the birthday party -when the idea of making New Damascus an iron town -had suddenly crystallized in his mind. Esther, loving -the mere sound of his voice, did not at first get the -sense of his speech. He was saying:</p> - -<p>“Out there in unlimited space are the unborn....”</p> - -<p>These were the first words she understood. They -thrilled her. She was almost faint with an ecstasy -that ran through her fibre up and down. “So,” she -thought, “it was that.” And she had been thinking he -was far away. Now she listened tensely. He went -on:</p> - -<p>“... Millions, infinite millions, clamoring to get -born, perhaps dying because they cannot cross. Here -is life on this side. There, out there, is but the hope -of it.”</p> - -<p>“Cross what?” asked Esther, awesomely. “You -speak as if you were gazing at it.”</p> - -<p>“Between life that is and life unborn I see the -primal chasm,” he said. “We who live have crossed. -We do not remember how. The number that can -cross is small. You cannot imagine how small it is. -Only one in millions has the luck to get across. The -rest are crowded on the edge, weeping, reaching out -their hands, silently imploring us to get them over.<span class="pagenum">[68]</span> -They struggle, overwhelm themselves and fall into -the void like a cataract.”</p> - -<p>“Why is that?” asked Esther.</p> - -<p>“Because the number that can cross is limited by -the preparations of the living,” Aaron answered. “The -living are selfish and forgetful. All this I see as it -has been for ages, as now it is, and as it shall be. -Always it has been as it is on the other side—that infinite, -voiceless, despairing multitude pressing down to -the brink of the void. Here in the world of the living -there has been some change. We have the power of -preparation. How pitiably we have exercised it! I’ll -tell you all that has ever happened. Long ago, before -he began by imagination to extend his faculties, man -was like the other animals. He had only his hands -and legs, his sheer brute strength, to work with. He -housed himself in holes and caves and ate what the -untilled earth set forth. You must imagine then across -that primal chasm a chain of human bodies, a living -monkey bridge, by which the unborn came to life most -dangerously. How few they were! And yet, if more -had come just then they would have starved,—died -here instead of there,—because the means did not exist -to house and clothe and feed them. It is man’s business -not only to bridge the chasm; he must also beforehand -prepare the world for those who cross. Come -ten thousand years through time this way. Now see -him beginning to till the soil. See him building huts. -More life may be sustained. Above the void a swaying -bridge of sticks. More may safely get across. -And yet so very few! Another thousand years. Enter<span class="pagenum">[69]</span> -historic man. He builds him cities and fine temples -and there is a narrow stone arch to span the void. -The bridge, as you will note, is at any time of that -material in which mankind is working. This is better. -The unborn begin to rush across. But, alas! the case -is worse than ever. Many now are born that never -will be fed. Why?</p> - -<p>“Imagine the world at this time in panorama. There -are cities, noble cities walled about; but they are few -and very far apart, and the world at large is still an -untilled waste. Tillage is in small adjacent areas, and -when the produce of those areas is not enough the -people in the cities starve. Further away are vast -fertile plains uncultivated. They are of no use because -food cannot be transported thousands of miles in great -quantities. The art of transportation is undiscovered. -Hence frightful famines on the bounteous earth. Then -in his imagination man finds a ship. That makes it -possible to transport food long distances, and yet the -world is hardly touched. Life is increasable only on -the rim of the sea and in the valleys of rivers. An -inland city is impossible.</p> - -<p>“At length the iron age. It is our time. By mechanical -means man has enormously increased his power to -prepare the world for that infinite multitude unborn. -It is tremendously excited—the voiceless, spectral -multitude. It presses more wildly toward the void. -An iron bridge has replaced the stone arch. It is a -sign that many more may come. Now with railroads -it is possible to bring food quickly from afar. No -fertile area of the earth is inaccessible. Inland cities<span class="pagenum">[70]</span> -may begin to rise. More life in more ways can be -sustained than ever before. Nevertheless, the iron -bridge is a premature sign. The material is defective. -It is not hard enough to bear the strain of that host -pressing upon life. Besides, by no process yet discovered -can it be made fast enough.</p> - -<p>“And I see what has not yet happened. I see whole -cities built higher than the tower of Babel. Those -are steel buildings, sheathed with brick and stone. -Brick and stone upon mortar would not stand so high. -To serve but one of these cities,—to bring its food -and take away its manufactures,—I see a thousand -railroad trains,—trains of steel running on rails of -steel. Compared with these the iron shod trains we -know and think so marvellous are merely toys. I see -ships of steel so vast in size that on the side of one -the little vessel in which Columbus found a new world -would swing like a silly skiff. I see steel in all its -power—towers, tunnels, aqueducts, fantastic structures -I cannot sense the meaning of. I see miles of -smoking chimneys where steel is made for all these -uses in unimaginable quantities. And spanning the -prismal chasm I see a series of great steel bridges, -multiplying as I look, seeming to cast themselves in -air across the void like cobwebs. But reflect! We -have not yet discovered the way to make this steel. -Unless we find it quickly we shall fail that unborn host. -It cannot get across; if it did it could not live. The -iron bridge cannot bear its weight. Nor can the world -be prepared with iron. These things of iron are premature,<span class="pagenum">[71]</span> -too soft, too slowly made, not big enough. -Now do you know what it is we seek?”</p> - -<p>“Forgive me. I did not mean to speak lightly of it,” -Esther said. “None of this had been revealed to me.”</p> - -<p>“Nor to me,” said Aaron. “Not clearly until this -instant. Man works mostly in the dark, without knowing -what he seeks or why....”</p> - -<p>They repeated the experiment many times, never -with precisely the same technical result, though always -with the same disappointment. The metal they got -was worthless. It was neither iron nor steel. The -process was true. It remarkably foreshadowed the -Bessemer process which some years later did achieve -the result, revolutionize the industry and cause steel -to overlap iron. It failed in Aaron’s hands for want -of skill and chemical knowledge. The elements are -not passive. They are wilful and rebellious. In their -efforts to thwart man’s designs upon them they become -cunning and clannish. One helps the other to escape. -With this same mechanical equipment steel workers of -a later time would have been able to make a perfect -steel. They would have known how at a certain stage -of the process to cast into the fiery, detonating mass -a handful of some tame, cajoling substance, and then -the exact instant at which to stop the air blast and tilt -the vessel to a spilling position.</p> - -<p>Aaron was discouraged but not despairing. Half -his fortune was gone. Still, it was not an irretrievable -disaster.</p> - -<p>To hold his organization together he built a small<span class="pagenum">[72]</span> -rolling mill. He called it the Blue Jay. The site on -which it stood may still be seen in New Damascus after -all these years. Nothing else has ever occupied it. The -mill was large enough to keep two blast furnaces going,—that -is, it absorbed their output of pig iron. This -was merely to fill a gap. He was bent upon steel. -Having opened the mill and having found a market for -all the Blue Jay iron it could make, again he took -Esther and went to Europe on the same quest as -before.</p> - -<p>While they were abroad a son was born. They -named him John.</p> - -<p>On the homeward voyage Esther died and was -buried at sea. The waters at last did swallow her up.</p> - -<p>Aaron returned to New Damascus with a new steel -making patent, an infant and an empty heart.</p> - -<p>What there was in the patent nobody ever knew. He -did nothing with it. The whole steel adventure was -too intimately associated with memories of Esther. -To succeed without her would be worse than to fail. -He could not think of it. There was very little in this -world he could think of. He could not bear living in -the mansion without her. He closed it and went to -live at the inn with his child and nurse. Then presently -he could not bear living in New Damascus without her. -People said it was the state of his fortunes that made -him morose. He had meant to retrieve his fortunes -with Esther standing by. Now he neglected business, -caring nothing about it, until one day he came awake -to the fact that even so little business as it takes to<span class="pagenum">[73]</span> -support a lone man and child will not attend to itself. -He had to do something. But he could not do it there.</p> - -<p>One day he dismantled the mill, loaded it in a canal -boat, abandoned the irremovable blast furnaces, took -his child in his arms and disappeared.</p> - -<p>The Blue Jay Rolling Mill became famous not for -its output but for its migrations. He set it up in -Scranton, then moved it to Pittsburgh. It was next -reported in Texas and after that in Colorado. Then -he ceased to be heard of, except once, when the old -Woolwine Mansion was sold to a Roman Catholic -order.</p> - -<p>So he vanished from the light of New Damascus, -with his steel patent, his grief and the fourth generation -in swaddling cloths,—vanished away on a flying -iron mill.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[74]</span></p> - - - - -<h2>VIII</h2> - - -<p class="dropcap">Meanwhile what of Enoch?</p> - -<p>He prospered in power and wealth and his -soul turned black. From his birth he had been cruel, -legal, injurious. The tragedy of Esther’s elopement -left a horrible sting in his face for everyone to see. -After that he became, as the Damascenes said, unnatural. -In that word they characterized and judged -his conduct; they never understood it. They could not -say in what his unnaturalness consisted. His acts were -not unnatural as acts in themselves, nor in contrast, sum -or degree. They were unnatural because they were -his. He disbelieved in friendship; he knew it not and -doubted its existence. He disbelieved in love, too, -though not for the same reason.</p> - -<p>Esther he had loved.</p> - -<p>A man mortally hurt in love may do almost anything -naturally. He is sick prey for the cuckoo woman -willing to lay her egg in another’s nest. She has only -to touch him with her fingers softly and hold her -tongue, but to make a soothing, mothering sound, and -he will impale himself without looking.</p> - -<p>But Jonet, daughter of Gearhard the blacksmith, -was not that kind of woman. She could not have -made that sound. And it seemed somehow unnatural -that Enoch should marry her. No sound that was in<span class="pagenum">[75]</span> -him could imaginably vibrate in her. According to the -local notion the girl was queer. Men let her alone because -she made them vaguely uneasy. Her phantasies -were of the primeval outdoors. She was sometimes -seen in the deep woods by herself, dancing and singing -as if she were not alone. She named the trees and -conversed with non-existent objects. Her hair was -black. Her eyes were brown and glistened. Her face -was the color of iron at cherry-red heat and she had -the odor of a wild thing. Enoch married her out of -hand. There was no courtship. Then he proceeded to -build a mansion on the west hill larger and more ostentatiously -ugly than the Woolwine Mansion on the east -hill. Some said, “Ah-ha! He has learned his lesson. -No woman would live in that gloomy iron stone -house.” Others said he did it neither in wisdom nor in -love of Jonet, but to spite Bruno Mitchell, who, though -he was blameless of anything that had happened, was -yet Esther’s father.</p> - -<p>A peculiarity of the Gib mansion was much talked -of at the time. It was built on a twin principle,—that -is, in halves, separated only by an imaginary bisecting -line. Each half was as like the other as the right hand -is like the left. There were two portals exactly alike, -two halls, two parlors, two grand stairways, two -kitchens, everything in parallel duplication until it -came to the enormous solarium, which was a glass -court between the two parts, the imaginary line cutting -through the fountain in the center. The Philadelphia -architect supposed there were two families. When he<span class="pagenum">[76]</span> -discovered it was all for one man and one wife not yet -long enough married to have children he could not conceal -his wonder.</p> - -<p>“Well, why not?” said Enoch. “Haven’t you two -lungs, two kidneys, two ears? One of each would do.”</p> - -<p>The idea may have been thus derived from a principle -of insurance through pairing which nature has -evolved. It may have been. Nevertheless in time the -imaginary dividing line became real. It was painted -through the middle of the solarium. Jonet lived on one -side and he on the other and there was no going to -and fro,—not for Jonet. Agnes, their daughter, was -brought to his side by the nurses until she was big -enough to walk. She could cross the line as she pleased. -But generally she had to be coaxed or bribed to cross -to Enoch’s side and was always anxious to cross back.</p> - -<p>Between Enoch and Mitchell the subject of Esther -was never mentioned, not even at first. For a while -they went on as if nothing had happened. Gradually -Mitchell became aware that Enoch was putting pressure -upon him, silently, deliberately. He made harder -and harder terms for the banker’s services, until Mitchell’s -profit in the relationship was destroyed, and -when this fact was pointed out to Enoch he suggested a -simple remedy, which was that the relationship should -discontinue. As Mitchell seemed disinclined to act on -this suggestion Enoch at length invited a Wilkes-Barre -man to come and open a bank in New Damascus. -Enoch himself provided most of the capital. The -town’s business went to the new bank naturally. It was<span class="pagenum">[77]</span> -Gib’s bank and Gib was a man to be propitiated in -the community. Moreover, his turning from Mitchell -caused Mitchell’s bank to be regarded with a tinge of -doubt. Thus Mitchell’s hope in the star of iron miserably -perished. His bank withered up. His years becoming -heavy he returned to New England to die.</p> - -<p>The saying was that Enoch broke him. It would -have been quite as easy to say that Mitchell broke himself -upon Enoch. Yet in putting it the other way -people implied a certain subtle truth wherein lay the -difference between Enoch Gib and other men,—the -fact of his being unnatural. His feeling toward Mitchell -was natural. Anyone could understand that. It -was a feeling transferred from Esther to her father. -Because he loved Esther he could not hate her as -much as his hurt required; therefore he hated her -father more. But where another man would have -manifested this feeling in some overt, unmistakable -manner, Enoch so concealed it that for a long time -Mitchell did not suspect its existence. And when he -was aware of it, then it was too late. If Enoch had -committed upon him some definite act of unreason -that would have seemed natural. Instead, he exerted -against him a kind of slow, deadly hydraulic pressure. -Nor was that all. Revenge may require the infliction -of a protracted remorseless torture. Even that one -may understand. But Gib, while exerting this killing -pressure, apparently had no more feeling about it than -one would have about an automatic, self-recording test -for torsional strength applied to a piece of iron, knowing<span class="pagenum">[78]</span> -that ultimately it was bound to break. If he had -enjoyed it, if he had seemed to derive malicious satisfaction -from the sequel, that would have made it -human.</p> - -<p>Yet here was a man but bearing witness for the -child. The trait of character which appeared in his -locked arm game with Aaron, in their boyhood, when -it was Aaron’s arm that broke, now fulfilled itself. -There was in him a strange passion for trying the -strength of materials. He invented various mechanical -devices for that purpose. He knew to an ounce what -iron would stand under every kind of strain. He knew -what it took to crush a brick. Apparently his first -thought on looking at anything was, “What is its breaking -point?” The only way to find out was to break -it. And people to him were like any other kind of -material. He had the same curiosity about them. -What could they stand without breaking? As in human -material the utmost point of resistance is a variable -factor, he had to find it over and over. It is by no -means certain that the mood in which he exercised this -passion was deliberately destructive. That the final -point of resistance is coincident with the point of -destruction probably never once occurred to him as a -tragic fact.</p> - -<p>He might have said of people that in any case they -were free to decline the test. They were not obliged -to measure their strength with his. Yet they did it and -they did it as if they could not help doing it. Here -was a strange matter.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[79]</span></p> - -<p>For example, how did he hold his iron workers? -They hated him. They cursed him. Their injuries -were as open sores that would not heal. Take the case -of McAntee. It was typical. Tom McAntee was one -of the best puddlers in the world. On a very hot day -at the puddling furnace, in the midst of a heat, with -six hundred weight of good iron bubbling like gravy, -turning waxy and almost ready to be drawn, Tom -dropped the beater he was working it with, wobbled a -bit, put his hand to his head, and said he guessed he’d -have to knock off and go home. Enoch, who watched -every heat, was standing there. He called Tom’s -assistant to take up the beater and then without a word -he handed Tom a blue ticket. The significance of the -blue ticket was this: A man in Gib’s mill had three -chances with failure,—that is, he was entitled to three -dismissals. The first was a yellow ticket. That was a -rebuke. After three days he could come back to his -job. The second dismissal was with a red ticket. That -was a warning. It meant two weeks off. Then he might -try again. But the third time it was a blue ticket, and -that was final. He could never come back. So McAntee -was fired for good, and this was without precedent -under the rules because that was the first ticket he -had ever got. The next day Enoch sent a clerk to -McAntee’s house with Tom’s wages. A widow received -them. Tom was dead.</p> - -<p>The man who picked up Tom’s beater and went on -with the heat that day, all the men of the puddling -and heating crews, every man in the mill, even the<span class="pagenum">[80]</span> -miners back in the mountains,—they were all white -with rage and horror, yet not one of them fumbled a -stroke of labor, or quit, or thought of quitting. The -effect of this incident, in fact, was to lift the breaking -point through the whole organization. Those who -had already had yellow and red tickets went on for -years and died without ever getting a blue one. Many -were dismissed. Almost never did a man quit. Why? -Because, more than anything else in the world they -feared Enoch Gib’s contempt for the man who broke. -They could stand his cruelty; they could not bear his -scorn. Also, in a strange way, the men themselves -shared his contempt for the one who broke. They -would not acknowledge it; they tried hard to conceal -it. Yet a man could not quit without feeling inferior, -not only in the sight of the tyrant but in the eyes of -his fellow workers.</p> - -<p>The demon who ruled them had no breaking point. -Continuously day and night he walked among them -like a principle of evil, calling to a spirit of demonry -within them,—a spirit that racked their bodies, scared -their souls, and responded in spite of their reason. -A maddened hand would sometimes be raised against -him. He never flinched. He was derisive. The hand -would drop. He never gave a man a ticket for that.</p> - -<p>Brains were another problem. He treated it separately, -though in the same way and with the same -consequences. Any inquisitive young man wishing to -learn the iron business could begin at the bottom. He -might begin in the mill and work toward the office or<span class="pagenum">[81]</span> -begin in the office and work toward the mill. He was -sure to move fast in either direction. If he survived -the ruthless selection that took place on the lower -rungs of the ladder he could count on gaining a small -partnership in a few years. An interest of two or -three per cent. in the business was more stimulating -than wages. As the business grew the number of junior -partners increased. There might be six or eight at -a time, all trying to keep pace with Enoch. They -emerged from the flux like a procession of sparks, -burned brightly for a little while and fell in darkness. -He used them up and bought them out.</p> - -<p>In time the town of New Damascus, like the yard -of his mill, was littered with things Enoch Gib had -strained to the breaking point. Some, like Tom McAntee, -were decently covered up in the cemetery. -Others were aimlessly walking about. Conspicuous -among these were the used up partners. They all had -nice houses and plenty to live on. The business was -profitable. But they were withered and rickety, older -than old Enoch in the midst of their years, and had -a baffled look in their eyes.</p> - -<p>The town became rich and famous. The mill was the -source of its greatness. There the first American rails -were rolled. For twenty years they were the best iron -rails in the world. There iron nails were first cut from -a sheet, like cookies out of dough. Then the Civil War -came and iron that cost ten dollars a ton to make -could be sold for fifty and sixty.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[82]</span></p> - - - - -<h2>IX</h2> - - -<p class="dropcap">One August evening in 1869 a number of Damascenes -were gathered as usual at the railroad -station to witness and audit the arrival and departure -of the seven o’clock train. This was an event still -miraculous and unbelievable, requiring verification of -the senses. A young man swung off before the train -had quite stopped, walked forward, and stood watching -the small freight unload. When the last of it was -off, one of the heavers, leaning from the car door, -called to the station agent, Andy Weir:</p> - -<p>“Give us an extra hand here. There’s a flat passenger.”</p> - -<p>Weir came and looked in.</p> - -<p>“Them’s rawkis words you use,” he said admonishingly. -“Suppose it was somebody we knew.”</p> - -<p>“Come on,” said the heaver. “Give us a hand. This -ain’t a hearse. It’s a railroad train.”</p> - -<p>Weir beckoned. Several men stepped out of the -crowd to help. With a hollow grating sound the end -of a long pine box was pushed into view. It came out -slowly. Weir felt for handles. There weren’t any. It -was a plain coffin case.</p> - -<p>“Shoulder it,” he said to his volunteers.</p> - -<p>They walked with it to the far end of the platform -and stopped.</p> - -<p>“Might rain,” said Weir, changing his mind. “Over<span class="pagenum">[83]</span> -there,” he added, after looking around. “Under the -overhang.”</p> - -<p>They turned back. Awkwardly, with scraping feet -and gruntings, they put it down against the station wall -under the projecting eave, and then stood looking at -it, all a little red from the exertion and stooping.</p> - -<p>“Tain’t yours, is it?” said Weir, turning suddenly on -the young man who had followed the box to and fro.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Who are you?”</p> - -<p>“John Breakspeare.”</p> - -<p>The station agent bent down and read the card -tacked to the top of the box. The name was Aaron -Breakspeare.</p> - -<p>“I knew him,” he said, now gazing at the young man. -“Knew him well, I might say. Everybody around here -did. You ain’t his boy?”</p> - -<p>“He was my father,” said the young man. “Will it -be all right to——?”</p> - -<p>“And he’s sent himself home,” said Weir. “Sent -himself home to be buried. You all alone?”</p> - -<p>“I’m the whole family,” said the young man with a -smile that made Weir look away. “Will it be all right,” -he began to ask again, and hesitated before the pronoun. -For nearly a week he had been travelling with -this freight and the dilemma was new each time. How -should one refer to one’s father in a pine box? Corpse -was a sodden, gruesome word. Body was too cold and -distant. Remains,—no. There were left only the pronouns—<em>it</em>, -<em>this</em>, <em>that</em>—and they were disrespectful.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[84]</span></p> - -<p>“It’s all right there,” said the station agent, seeing -what the young man meant. “But if you want to leave -it all night we’ll take it in.”</p> - -<p>“Only for a few minutes,” said the young man. “I’m -coming right back.”</p> - -<p>The idlers about the station waited until he was out -of sight and then gathered around the box, staring at -it, reading the card, looking away, commenting—</p> - -<p>“So that’s poor old Aaron.... As the fellow said, -we’re all alike at the end of the lane.... He wasn’t -so oldan, I ought t’know because wasn’t I born—?... -The young one brought him back.... Where’d he -come from, does it say?... Likely looking boy.... -What’s his name?... Wonder what old Gib’l -say.... This here one stole his sweetheart away back -there in....”</p> - -<p>To John Breakspeare, son of Esther, great grandson -of the founder, now turning his twentieth year, -New Damascus was a legend. He had never been -there. Yet without asking his way he walked straight -to the inn that was his grandfather’s, since named -Lycoming House, and wrote two names in the register -thus:</p> - -<div class="center"> -<p class="displayinline"> <span style="font-size:2.5em; vertical-align:10%">{</span></p> -<p class="displayinline">John Breakspeare.<br /> -Aaron <span style="padding-left:1em">ditto</span></p> <p class="displayinline"><span style="font-size:2.5em; vertical-align:10%">}</span></p> -<p class="displayinline" style="vertical-align:50%">Denver, Colo.</p> -</div> - -<p>They meant nothing to the clerk, who was new in -the place. He blotted the writing, looked at it, and -asked:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[85]</span></p> - -<p>“Is your party all here?”</p> - -<p>“Not yet,” said the young man. “We want two -parlor rooms on the ground floor.”</p> - -<p>“Connecting rooms?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“You are John Breakspeare?” the clerk guessed.</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“The other member of your party will be coming -tonight?”</p> - -<p>“He is waiting at the station,” said the young man. -“We shall want the rooms only for tonight and tomorrow. -I’ll pay now, please.”</p> - -<p>“We can send a rig to the station,” said the clerk.</p> - -<p>“No, thank you,” said the young man.</p> - -<p>He looked at the rooms. In the large one he set -two chairs six feet apart, facing. Then lighting all the -gas, he went out, locked the door, and carried the key -away in his pocket.</p> - -<p>One hour later an undertaker’s wagon, followed by -a hack, pulled up in front of Lycoming House. The -young man got out of the hack and stood in the main -doorway waiting. Four men drew the pine box out of -the wagon, shouldered it, and started in.</p> - -<p>There was a crash from end to end of the long front -veranda overhanging the street, as twenty men sitting -there in tilted chairs, their feet on the railing, smoking, -all with one impulse dropped their legs and sat up -straight to look. A rigid hotel custom forbids hospitality -to Mr. Death. There is only one way for a -corpse to pass through a hotel door. That is out. If<span class="pagenum">[86]</span> -you die inside that can’t be helped. You must go out. -But if you die outside you can’t come in.</p> - -<p>The clerk ran out to defend the threshold.</p> - -<p>“What’s this?” he shouted. “You can’t do this. -You can’t rent a mortuary chapel in a hotel.”</p> - -<p>His words were futile. The young man turned his -back, beckoned the undertaker to follow, and led the -way through the door and down the hall to the big -parlor room, the door of which he unlocked and threw -open. They put the pine box on the floor, opened it, -raised the coffin to rest on the chairs. The young man -followed the empty box to the street and returned -with two high candlesticks and candles. These he set -at the head of the coffin and lighted. Then, locking -the door behind him, he joined the undertaker outside -and drove away with him.</p> - -<p>The clerk, outraged in both his authority and his -traditions, meanwhile had fallen downstairs and was -shaking a red, tissue-logged hulk that dozed in a -hickory chair at the end of the bar. This was Thaddeus -Crawford, the proprietor. He never opened his eyes -but to eat and speak and look at the books. The sign -he gave of listening, or of waking when addressed, was -to open his mouth,—a small, cherubic orifice,—and roll -the tip of his tongue round and round it. When he -closed his mouth that was a sign he was no longer -interested. When he opened his eyes and spoke it was -a shock to discover that he could speak distinctly, that -his senses were alert, that the triumph of matter was -incomplete.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[87]</span></p> - -<p>During the clerk’s recital of what was taking place -upstairs he rolled his tongue excitedly without opening -his eyes. Then he heaved himself, achieved locomotion, -and went up to look at the names on the register. -He looked at them hard and long, dozed a bit, looked -at them again, then returned inarticulate to the hickory -chair downstairs and fell into it panting.</p> - -<p>“What shall we do?” asked the clerk, who had followed -him up and down again.</p> - -<p>“Do the dishes,” said Thaddeus. “Wouldn’t, anyhow.... -Won’t hurt the house.... Care a damn if -it does.... Time we had a funeral here.” He dozed -off for a minute, chortled in his depths, and spoke again -with his eyes closed.</p> - -<p>“Put it on you, didn’t he? Guess he did. Guess yes. -Damn smart.... Want to see him when he comes -back.... Knew his father.”</p> - -<p>When John Breakspeare returned, the clerk, now -very civil, took him down to Thaddeus.</p> - -<p>They talked until long after the bar closed. Thaddeus -was surprised to discover how little the young -man knew of his pre-natal history and proceeded to -restore him to his background. The picture was somewhat -blurred in the romantic passages, from a feeling -of delicacy. That loss was more than compensated by -high lights elsewhere. He told him in turgid, topical, -verbless sentences what the old Woolwine Mansion -was like in that other time, how Enoch and Aaron -founded the iron industry together, how they prospered, -how strange it was that they got along so well,<span class="pagenum">[88]</span> -how they parted suddenly when Esther, the banker’s -daughter, who was engaged to Enoch, changed her -mind suddenly and married Aaron instead, and finally -of Aaron’s failure with steel and how he changed all -over after Esther’s death.</p> - -<p>The narrative had form and drama and a proper -ending, very unexpected to the young man. The parlor -room in which the body of his father then lay and the -one adjoining in which he himself would spend the -night were rooms he had lived in once before. They -were the rooms his father took when he closed the -Woolwine Mansion, unable to live there without -Esther, and came to this inn with nurse and infant. -That infant was himself.</p> - -<p>It came two o’clock. With no premonitory sign -Thaddeus heaved himself out of the hickory chair and -called for the porter to put out the lights.</p> - -<p>“What are you going to do?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“I haven’t thought of it,” said the young man.</p> - -<p>“Stay with us,” said Thaddeus. “Long as you like.”</p> - -<p>On his way to bed Thaddeus said to the clerk: -“Give him anything he wants. Don’t send him a bill -till he asks for it. Don’t send him a bill at all.”</p> - -<p>A spiritual adventure awaited John Breakspeare to -complete his day. As he re-entered the room where -his father’s body was and closed and locked the door -behind him he got suddenly a sense of reality beyond -any perception of things. It was a reality to which he -himself merely pertained. This was a sense of existence. -The story he had just heard in the bar room,<span class="pagenum">[89]</span> -as he was hearing it, seemed to concern only his father; -and his father was a separate being who had lived and -was dead and about to be buried. But no. That was -not so. Vividly, yet with no way of saying it, no way -of thinking it, with only a way of feeling it, he became -in one instant aware that the story no less concerned -himself. Everything that had happened to his father -had happened also to him. His father was dead, for -there he lay. That was the evidence of things. Beyond -was the truth that his father was not dead. The same -life thread continued in him. That naïve delusion of -youth in which oneself is perceived as a separate -miracle, beginning at the toes and ending at the top -of the head, was shattered. Back of his father and -mother were others, numberless. Their history was his -history. He was but a link in a continuous scheme, as -his father was, and his father’s father, and so on and -on, back through an eternity of moments. The past -surrounded him. It was intangible, enormous, indivisible.</p> - -<p>One of the candles, dying with a splutter, startled -him. The other one also was low. He replaced them, -lighted the fresh ones, then slid back the panel of the -coffin cover and gazed at the face of his father with -strange, uneasy interest.</p> - -<p>How little he knew of him! Always he had thought -of him as a man of sorrow. Yet once he had been gay -and spontaneous, full of the enthusiasms and compulsions -of life. Never before had he sensed anything of -that. The first recollection of his father was sad. It<span class="pagenum">[90]</span> -was of going with him, hand in hand, to an open air -show, trembling with excitement. It was a special occasion. -His father had come a long distance to see him. -How he knew that he could not remember. There -were animals in the show and men and women who -made them perform, and noise and music and peanuts -and wonderful smells and much going on. He was -delirious with happiness until he noticed that his -father was weeping. That almost spoiled the day. -After that he could not remember him again until -somebody took him a long journey, lasting many days, -for aught he knew many years, and at last they found -his father, who was in bed, in a little white bed, and -very strange, and he had not liked kissing him. Then -was a time, rather dim, when they were together and -became great and equal friends. This could not last. -He was sent to school in Philadelphia and saw his -father only at long intervals; and each time they had -to get acquainted all over again. They both looked -forward eagerly to these meetings and always they -were disappointed, especially in the beginnings of new -acquaintanceship, until the strangeness wore off and -they had reconstructed their memories of each other. -At least, it had been so with him. He remembered it -as a fact. And now he realized that it had been so also -with his father. Intuition multiplied his recollections -and made them new. He remembered something he -had never once thought of before. They were together, -waiting for the train that was to take him back to -school. He was restless with childish impatience and<span class="pagenum">[91]</span> -counted the minutes that delayed their parting. The -train was late. When it came he clamored to get -aboard, lest he should be left, and almost forgot to -look back and wave. The wistful sadness in his father’s -face meant nothing to him at the time. Now he understood -it.</p> - -<p>Suddenly, as he stood there gazing at his father’s -face, his spirit of itself achieved a form of mystical -experience such as may occur naturally and surprisingly -at a certain time of youth and is seldom if ever repeated -save in the lives of ascetics. He felt himself -flooded with understanding, though he knew not in the -least what it was he so lucidly understood. There was -a sense of new friendship then beginning with his -father,—a friendship that should be perfect, wordless, -indestructible, beyond peril. Never had he felt so near -to his father, so alive to him, so communicative. Death -at the same time changed its aspect. It was a catastrophic -event, but inconclusive. It was not the final -enigma. It had nothing to do with life, for life was a -prior transaction and bound to go on. It had nothing -to do with love, for love was parallel to life and -reached beyond death. Life and love,—they were -truly mysterious. For death there must be some simple -explanation, like the explanation of night, without -which every sunset would fill mankind with the terror -of extinction. It was ... death was ... death itself -was only ... <em>what?</em> He had almost seen it, what -it was, and then suddenly it disappeared. He had -looked the wrong way. For an instant it was there. He<span class="pagenum">[92]</span> -tried to reconstruct the point of view. But when he -began to think of what he was thinking the dazzling, -jewel-like space he had been staring into collapsed with -an inaudible crash. All that was left of it was the dead -face, reflecting the light of the candles. That experience -was closed. Never in his life was it repeated. -He had no idea what it meant, then or afterward. Yet -the memory of it became his chief spiritual asset. One -thought thereafter controlled his life. He was his -father continued.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[93]</span></p> - - - - -<h2>X</h2> - - -<p class="dropcap">He was yet to see his father in another light. That -was the light of universal human affection. For -a day there were two kinds of people in New Damascus,—those -who knew Aaron and others. Nobody was -asked. It was meant to be a private ceremony. But -that was impossible. All who knew him came to assist -at the obsequies. They came from Quality Street and -they came from the company houses beyond the canal. -There were hundreds of old iron workers and miners, -who, at John’s suggestion, walked in a body behind -the hearse. He was amazed and deeply moved by all -this demonstration of feeling; and saddened by it at -the same time, for here were people strange to him -whose knowledge of his father was older and greater -than his own.</p> - -<p>Enoch Gib neither came nor stayed away. As the -funeral procession departed from the inn he was observed -sitting on the veranda, his feet on the railing, -his hat on his head, smoking a cigar, gazing vacantly -into space.</p> - -<p>Somebody said: “Tonight he will give a blue ticket -to every man in the mill who took time off for this. -That’s why he came.”</p> - -<p>That was not true. Then why did he come? There -is no answer. He himself probably did not know. The<span class="pagenum">[94]</span> -mourners returning saw him sitting there still. He sat -there for hours, until evening, utterly oblivious. Then -he rose, crossed the town and disappeared up the path -to Throne Rock.</p> - -<p>Late that night the furnace men at No. 4, deaf as -furnace men by habit are to the uproar of the smelting -process, looked at one another saying, “What was -that?”</p> - -<p>It was a sound of ribald laughter off the mountain, -home downward by the wind.</p> - -<p>An old man spoke, one who stood in an open shirt, -grey hair on his chest, stray grey curls below the edge -of his skull cap, alight in the furnace glow.</p> - -<p>“That’s Enoch,” he said, “crowing over Aaron.”</p> - -<p>They listened. The laugh was not repeated. But as -they turned away, letting down their breath, another -sound much worse came down the wind and caused -their skins to creep.</p> - -<p>That was Enoch screaming.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[95]</span></p> - - - - -<h2>XI</h2> - - -<p class="dropcap">John Breakspeare sat on the veranda of -Lycoming House thinking of this situation and of -what he should do. His father’s old friends had pursued -him with offers of hospitality, and as he had to -choose, he chose that of Thaddeus, for two reasons. -One was that he liked Thaddeus extravagantly; the -other was that living at the inn entailed no social -amenities. He was by no means a solitary person. -Naturally he was gregarious. But for the first time -in his life he wished to be let alone, and that great -friendly hulk dozing in the hickory chair at the end -of the bar was the only person who had no meddling -curiosity and tactfully ignored his existence.</p> - -<p>Well, first, there was no available estate, save only -a few thousand dollars in money. The wandering Blue -Jay mill wore out at last. Aaron’s final act of business -was to sell its good-will to a corporation. That was -where the few thousand dollars came from. The plant -itself was scrapped for junk. The day after that had -happened Aaron lay him down with a fever and never -got up again. John, in his junior year at college, was -summoned at once, at Aaron’s request, as if he knew -he were going to die. Yet he could not wait. He died -the night before the boy arrived.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[96]</span></p> - -<p>His will, written by himself on a sheet of foolscap, -was very simple:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“All I have whatsoever I leave to my son, John. -There is no one else.”</p></div> - -<p>Pinned to this was a personal note as follows:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“Boy of Esther, I am leaving you. Go straight -and God bless you. Bury me at New Damascus.”</p></div> - -<p>The writing, though clear, was evidently an achievement -of great effort. He was dying then and was gone -in less than an hour.</p> - -<p>The old Woolwine holdings of ore and coal, though -still intact, were in a state of suspended development -and not very valuable, perhaps quite unsaleable. As -for the ore, it would not pay to develop that any further. -The whole iron region was now beginning to be -flooded with cheap Mesaba ore from the head of the -Great Lakes. Gib, in fact, was already buying this ore -for his blast furnaces. He could buy it for less than the -cost of producing his own. As for the coal, the only -market there had ever been for that was at the New -Damascus blast furnaces. Gib owned all the furnaces -and had all the coal he needed. Coal is coal, of course; -it may be sold anywhere. But the Woolwine holdings, -which John Breakspeare inherited, were probably not -large enough to bear the capital that would be necessary -to put New Damascus coal into commercial competition -with the output of the big established collieries -up the river.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[97]</span></p> - -<p>These thoughts all wound up together in the young -man’s meditations led nowhere. They merely revolved. -They fell into a kind of rhythm. The same ideas kept -repeating themselves in an obsessed, uncontrollable -manner. “I’m stupid,” he said, and got up to walk. -Of a sudden he became aware of what it was that had -been making his thoughts go round like that.</p> - -<p>There was a throbbing in the air, a rythmic punctuation, -a ceaseless hollow murmur. He had heard this -voice before, continuously in fact, without attending to -it. Now he listened. It came from the chest of the -great driving engine in the rolling mill, at the other -side of town. It said:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza italicfont"> -<div class="indent0">Wrought iron -</div><div class="indent0">Wrought iron -</div><div class="indent0">Wrought iron -</div><div class="indent0">Iron, iron. -</div></div></div></div> - -<p>The mill!</p> - -<p>The mill his father founded!</p> - -<p>Volcanic fires, incandescent difficulties, quick, elemental -fluids,—in these his father wrought and failed. -Had not the son some pressing business with that same -Plutonic stuff? He moved as if he had. With no -shape of an idea in his mind he walked purposefully, -stalking the voice of the engine, and came to the rear -of the mill.</p> - -<p>It was evening.</p> - -<p>He had never seen an iron mill before. For some -time he stood outside the gate, viewing it at large,<span class="pagenum">[98]</span> -smelling and tasting its fumes, acquainting his senses -with its moody roar. There was at first no sign of -human agency. Then he made out figures passing back -and forth through bolts of sudden light. They seemed -solitary, silent, bored. The notion crossed his fancy -that man had tapped the earth of forces which turned -genii on his hands, enslaved him, commanded weary -obedience and in the end consumed him.</p> - -<p>Now a shift was taking place. Night crews were -coming on; day crews were going out. Those arriving -walked erect; their faces, white and clean, showed -vividly against the murky texture. Those going out -were limp and bent; their faces did not show at all. -Twice a day they passed like that, bodies healed by -sleep and food relieving those all fagged and bruised -from a twelve-hour struggle with the genii. Puddlers, -heaters, hammermen and rollers were marked apart -from common, unskilled labor by leather aprons on -their feet, tied round the ankles, flapping as they -walked.</p> - -<p>Curious glances fell upon the young man idling -there in the dusk. Nobody spoke to him. On the gate -was a painted sign: “Positively no admittance.” The -rule was rigid, even more so in Gib’s mill than at any -other in the country, and all iron working plants in -those days were guarded very jealously because spies -went to and fro stealing methods, formulas and ideas. -The weakness of a rigid rule is that everyone supposes -it will be observed. No doubt the men who saw Breakspeare -enter took him to be a young man from the<span class="pagenum">[99]</span> -office. No common trespasser would be so cool about -it; a spy would make his entrance surreptitiously. -Whatwise, nobody stopped him. He went all the way -in and was swallowed up in the gloomy, swirling, glare-punctured -commotion. And once inside he could move -freely from place to place. No one paid him the -slightest heed.</p> - -<p>The air was torn, shattered, upheaved, compressed, -pierced through, by sounds of shock, strain, impact, -clangor, cannonade and shrill whistle blasts, occurring -in any order of sequence, and then all at one time -dissolving in a moment of vast silence even more -amazing to the ear. Conversation would be possible -only by shrieks close up. The men seemed never to -speak at their work. They did not communicate ideas -by signs either. Each man had his place, his part, his -own pattern of action, and did what he did with a kind -of mechanical inevitability, as if it were something he -had never learned. They were related not to each -other but to the process, kept their eyes fixedly on it -for obvious reasons, and stepped warily. A false -gesture might have immediate consequences.</p> - -<p>The process just then was that of rolling iron bars. -From where Breakspeare stood he saw the latter end -of it. He saw the finished bars spurt like dull red -serpents from between the rolls. Two men standing -with their gaze on the running hole from which the -reptile darted forth snared it by the neck with tongs, -walked slowly backward with it as the rolls released -the glowing body, until its tail came free; then dragged<span class="pagenum">[100]</span> -it off, a tame, limp thing, turning black, and put it -straight along with others to cool.</p> - -<p>The whole process could not be seen at once. It -took place in a train of events covering many acres of -area. It could be followed backward,—that is by going -from the finished bars to the source of the iron, or in -the other direction downstream, from the puddling -furnaces where the iron is cooked, to the hammermen -who mauled it into rough shape and thence to the rolls. -Breakspeare, having started that way, traced it backward, -from the finished bar to the source of its becoming.</p> - -<p>He moved to a position from which he could see all -that happened at the rolls.</p> - -<p>The rolls were merely enormous cylinders revolving -together in gears, with grooves through which to pass -the malleable iron. The first groove through which it -passed was very large, the next one smaller, the next -one smaller still, until the last, out of which the final -form appeared. The iron had to be passed back and -forth through each of these grooves in turn.</p> - -<p>On each side of the rolls stood men in pairs with -tongs,—silent, foreboding men, with masks on their -faces and leather aprons on their feet, singularly impassive -and still, save in moments of action. At intervals -of two or three minutes a man came running with -two hundred weight of incandescent iron in the shape -of a rough log five or six feet long, held in tongs swung -by a chain to an overhead rail, and dropped it at the -feet of the rollers. Becoming that instant alive, the<span class="pagenum">[101]</span> -rollers picked it up with tongs, passed it through the -first groove of the rolls, giving it a handful of sand if -it stuck, and then stood again in that attitude of brooding -immobility, leaning on their tongs, looking at nothing, -bathed in sparks as the tail of the iron disappeared. -On the other side of the rolls similar men with similar -tongs seized it as you would take a reptile by the neck -in a cleft stick, controlled and guided its wrigglings, -turned and thrust its head into the next smaller groove. -Thus they passed and repassed it through the rolls, -catching it each time by the neck and returning it -through a smaller groove. Each time it was longer, -more sinuous, less dangerous, until at last, with the final -pass, it became what Breakspeare had first seen, namely, -a finished wrought iron bar, ready to cool.</p> - -<p>From the rolls he moved to the tilthammers. At -corresponding intervals the hammermen received on -tongs from the puddling furnace two hundred weight -of iron in the form of a flaming dough ball, laid it on -a block, turned it under the blows of the tilthammer -falling like a pile driver from above, until it was the -shape of a log, fit to be passed through the rolls. Then -helpers, lifting it in tongs, ran with it to the rollers.</p> - -<p>Beyond the tilthammers were the puddling furnaces. -There the process began.</p> - -<p>A puddling furnace is a long, narrow, maw-like -chamber of brick and fire clay with a depressed floor -for the molten iron to lie in and a small square door at -the end. It is heated to inferno by a cataract of flame -rising from a fire pit at one side and sucked by draught<span class="pagenum">[102]</span> -across the roof of its mouth. When the whole interior -is like a dragon’s gullet, white hot, wicked and devouring, -cold pigs of iron are cast in, the door is banged to, -the chinks are stopped and the puddler gathers up -his strength.</p> - -<p>In the door is a small round hole. Through that -hole the puddler watches. When the iron is fluid his -work begins. The thing he represents is Satan raking -hell. With his beater and working only through that -little round hole, he must stir, whip, knead and skim -the iron. The impurities drain away in a lava stream -beneath the door. He may not pause. The beater gets -too hot to hold, or begins itself to melt. He casts it -into a vat of water and continues with another.</p> - -<p>The puddler is the baker, the pastry cook, the -mighty chef. All that follows, the whole pudding, the -quality of the iron to the end of its life, will be the -test of his skill and daemonic impatience.</p> - -<p>Presently the iron begins to bubble gravely, turning -viscous. Now the art begins. The puddler, still working -through that small hole with a long, round bar, -must ball the iron. That is, he must divide the molten -mass into equal parts and make each part a ball of -two hundred weight just. Having made the balls he -must keep them rolling round without touching. If -they do not roll they will cool a little on the under -side and burn on top; and if they touch they will fuse -together and his work is lost. One by one he draws -them near the door. They must not all come done at -once. Therefore this one takes the hottest place; that<span class="pagenum">[103]</span> -one stays a little back. Then one is ready. The door -jerks open. A helper, working tongs swung by a chain -to a monorail overhead, reaches in, plucks out the indicated -flaming pill, rushes it headlong to the hammermen -and comes running back to get another.</p> - -<p>The puddling process fascinated Breakspeare. He -watched it for a long time. He particularly enjoyed -watching the work of a certain young puddler, tall and -lithe, in whose movements there was an extraordinary -fulness of power, skill and unconscious grace. He was -bare to his middle, wore a skull cap and gloves, and in -his outline, turning always in three dimensions, a -quality was realized that belongs to pure sculpture. -He moved in space as if it were a buoyant element, like -water. Never did he make a sudden start or stop. No -gesture was angular. One action flowed into another in -a continuous pattern. When with the furnace freshly -loaded, the door closed, the chinks all stopped and the -draught roaring, the moment came to rest he flung -himself headlong but lightly on a plank bench and lay -there on his side, his head in his hand, propped from -the elbow. And when he rose it was all at once without -effort.</p> - -<p>Standing in deep shadow, outside the area of action, -Breakspeare was not aware that the puddler had once -looked at him or knew of his presence there; and he -was startled when without any warning at all that -person departed from his orbit, came close to him, and -shouted in a friendly voice:</p> - -<p>“Well, how about it?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[104]</span></p> - -<p>“Bully,” Breakspeare shouted back at him.</p> - -<p>They looked at each other, smiling.</p> - -<p>“Don’t let the old man catch you,” said the puddler. -“He’s about due.”</p> - -<p>“All right,” said Breakspeare.</p> - -<p>The puddler went back to his work and never looked -at him again.</p> - -<p>Breakspeare liked the encounter. He liked the -puddler, whose friendliness was in character with his -movements, swift and unerring. He was at the same -time in a curious way disappointed. When the puddler -spoke he was a man, like any other, who made the -same sounds and had the same difficulty in overriding -the uproar. Speaking was the single act that visibly -required effort of him. But as a puddler, with the glare -in his face, an ironic twist on his lips, his body glistening -with perspiration, his left leg advanced and bent at -the knee and his other far extended, every muscle in -him running like quicksilver under satin,—then he was -a demon, colossal, superb, unique. When he spoke that -impression was ruined; when he returned to his work it -was restored.</p> - -<p>These were not Breakspeare’s reflections. They -were his feelings, and so engrossed him that he was -unaware of being no longer alone in the shadow. -Enoch Gib stood close beside him watching the -puddlers. The puddlers knew the old man was there. -One sensed their knowing it from an increase in the -tension of the work. But they did not look at him. -Breakspeare turned as if to move away.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[105]</span></p> - -<p>“Stay where you are,” said Gib, in a voice that -pierced the uproar. He seemed to do this with no -effort. It was in the pitch of his voice. When he had -seen the end of the heat and the iron was out he added: -“Come with me.”</p> - -<p>They walked out side by side through the front gate, -across the road to the little brick office building, into -the front room. The old man took off his coat, hung it -on the back of his chair, spread a towel over it, and sat -down at a double walnut desk the top of which was -littered with ragged books, unopened letters, scraps of -metals, sections of railroad iron, scientific journals, -cigar ashes and little models of machinery, in the utmost -confusion. Breakspeare, unasked, sat himself -down at the other side of the desk and waited. He had -a feeling that all the time Gib had been expecting him -to break and run and was prepared to detain him forcibly. -Why, he could not imagine. He knew nothing -about the sacredness of iron working premises nor of -the suspicion with which intruders were regarded.</p> - -<p>“What were you doing in the mill?” Gib asked, -brutally.</p> - -<p>“Looking at it,” said the young man.</p> - -<p>“Who sent you?”</p> - -<p>“Nobody.”</p> - -<p>“How did you get in?”</p> - -<p>“Walked in.”</p> - -<p>“At what gate?”</p> - -<p>“On the other side.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[106]</span></p> - -<p>Gib made mental note of that statement. Then he -asked:</p> - -<p>“Who are you?”</p> - -<p>“John Breakspeare.”</p> - -<p>Gib had been regarding the young man in a malevolent -manner. That expression seemed to freeze. -Then slowly he averted his face. His gaze fixed itself -on a burnt cigar hanging over the edge of the desk. -He sat perfectly still, as if rigid, and Breakspeare -could hear the ticking of a watch in his waistcoat -pocket.</p> - -<p>“What do you want?” he asked in a loud voice, as -if they were in the mill.</p> - -<p>Until that instant Breakspeare had no definite -thought of wanting anything in this place. First had -been that reaction to the throb of the engine. Then -came the impulse to visit the mill. That impulse was -unexamined. It had not occurred to him to think that -anything might come of it; he had not thought of meeting -Gib. Nevertheless the question as it was asked -started a purpose in his mind.</p> - -<p>“I want to learn the iron business,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Here?” said Gib, quickly.</p> - -<p>“Isn’t this a good place to learn it?” the young man -retorted.</p> - -<p>For a long time the old man sat in meditation.</p> - -<p>“The iron business,” he said. “Mind now, you said -the iron business.”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Not the steel business.... Iron! Iron!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[107]</span></p> - -<p>“I don’t know the difference,” said Breakspeare, -adding: “Anyhow, you don’t teach the steel business -here, do you?”</p> - -<p>The old man looked at him heavily. Then he got up -to pace the floor. Once, with his face to the wall, he -laughed in a mirthless way. That seemed to clear his -mind.</p> - -<p>“Come Thursday at eight,” he said.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[108]</span></p> - - - - -<h2>XII</h2> - - -<p class="dropcap">When John told his friend Thaddeus he was -going to work in the mill Thaddeus rolled his -tongue in a very droll way.</p> - -<p>“You seem surprised.”</p> - -<p>“Ain’t,” said Thaddeus. “Ain’t. Can’t tell when -I’m surprised.”</p> - -<p>That was all he would say.</p> - -<p>Everybody who knew the past was astonished. It -was supposed that the young man did not know what -he was doing. A very old citizen of Quality Street, -with a glass eye that gave him a furtive, untrustworthy -appearance, came to visit Aaron’s son on the hotel -veranda and approached the subject by stalking it. He -was not a presumptuous person. Never had he -meddled in the affairs of others, though he would say -that if he had it would have been more often to their -advantage than prejudice. This matter of which he -was making at his time of life an exception, a precedent -in a sense, was nobody’s business of course. Still, -in another way it was. There had been a great deal -of talk about it. Nobody wished to take it upon himself -to speak out. That could be understood. There -were so many things to think of. Feelings of great -delicacy were involved. Still what a pity, he said—what -a pity for any of these reasons to withhold from<span class="pagenum">[109]</span> -Aaron’s son information he would not come by for -himself until it was perhaps too late.</p> - -<p>“I must be very stupid,” said John at one of the -significant pauses. “You are evidently trying to tell -me something.”</p> - -<p>“You are going to work in the mill?” said the old -citizen.</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Do you know what happens to Enoch Gib’s young -men?”</p> - -<p>He did not know. The old citizen told him. When -he was through Aaron’s son thanked him and made -no comment. After that people said he knew what -he was doing. Some said he had a subtle design.</p> - -<p>That was not the case. He had an inherited feeling -for iron. Here was an opportunity to learn the -business. There was of course a romantic touch in -learning it on the ancestral scene. But that was an -after-thought. It never occurred to him that he had a -feud to keep with Enoch Gib. So far as he could see -there was more reason for Gib to hate him as his -father’s son than for him to hate Gib as a man who -might have been his father if his mother had not -changed her mind. His father had never spoken ill -of Gib—had never spoken of him at all in fact. It -was not in the Breakspeare character to bequeath a -quarrel. And since Gib had been willing in this strange -way to receive the son of a man whom he hated indelibly -why should the son be loath? As for what -happened to Enoch Gib’s young men,—and of this<span class="pagenum">[110]</span> -John heard more and more,—that was a matter he -lightly dismissed.</p> - -<p>A curious fact was that from the first Aaron’s son -liked Enoch Gib. Perhaps like is too strong a word. -His feeling for him was one of irrational sympathy, -which, though he did not know it, had been Aaron’s -feeling for Enoch to the end.</p> - -<p>When John presented himself at eight o’clock -Thursday morning Gib’s way with him was impersonal -and energetic.</p> - -<p>“Did you ever sell anything?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“No,” said John.</p> - -<p>“You will,” said Gib, “I see it in you.”</p> - -<p>He removed the towel from over his coat on the -back of the chair, folded the towel, laid it on the desk, -and drew on his coat, saying: “I’ll show you now the -difference between steel and iron. The first thing to -be learned. The last thing to be forgotten.”</p> - -<p>They went to the mill yard. Laborers were piling -up rails that looked all alike to John except that they -varied in length and weight. Gib led the way straight -to an isolate pile and pointed John’s attention to the -name of an English firm embossed on the web of each -rail.</p> - -<p>“That’s a steel rail,” he said. “It’s imported into -this country from England. Now look.”</p> - -<p>He beckoned. Four men who knew what he wanted -lifted one of those rails and dropped it across a block -of pig iron on the ground. It snapped with a clean, -crisp break in the middle.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[111]</span></p> - -<p>“That’s steel,” said Gib with a gesture of scorn.</p> - -<p>The men then laid half of the broken rail with one -end on the ground, the other resting on the pig iron -block, and hit it a blow with a spike maul. Again it -snapped.</p> - -<p>“That’s a steel rail,” said Gib, “to run locomotives -and cars over. It breaks as you see,—like glass. -When they unload steel rails for track laying they let -them over the side of the car in ropes for fear they -will break if they fall on the ground.”</p> - -<p>The same four men, evidently trained in this demonstration, -went directly to another pile of rails, carelessly -picked up the one nearest to hand, laid it on the -ground against a stout iron post and attached to each -end of it a chain working to a windlass some distance -off. Then they started the windlass. As it wound -in the chains, pulling at both ends of the rail, the rail -began to bend at the middle around the post. As the -windlass continued to wind the rail continued to bend -until it became the shape of a hairpin, without breaking, -without the slightest sound or sign of fracture.</p> - -<p>“That is one of our iron rails,” said Gib. “You -can’t break it. Look at the bend, inside and out.”</p> - -<p>John looked. The bent part was smooth on the -outside and a little wrinkled on the inside. There was -no break in the fibre.</p> - -<p>“Do it for yourself as often as you like,” said Gib. -“That’s what the men are here for. We buy steel -rails to break. Bring anyone who wants to see it. -Devise any other test you can think of. I want you to<span class="pagenum">[112]</span> -sell iron rails.” Suddenly he became strange from -suppressed emotion. “Steel is a crime,” he said, in a -tone of judgment. “The only excuse for it is that it’s -cheaper than iron. The public doesn’t know. Congress -doesn’t care. It lets these foreign steel rails -come in to compete with American iron rails. The -gamblers who build railroads are without conscience. -They buy them. Yet a man who lays steel rails in a -railway track is a common murderer! He will come -to be so regarded.”</p> - -<p>John was embarrassed. Gib’s exhibition of feeling -seemed to him inadequately explained by the technical -facts. The possibility that personal facts were primarily -involved made him suddenly hot and uncomfortable. -Steel, he knew, had been the symbol of his -father’s defeat in New Damascus. Correspondingly, -iron had been the symbol of Enoch’s triumph. Was -it that Enoch hated steel as he hated Aaron? That -his feeling for steel <em>was</em> his feeling for Aaron?</p> - -<p>It partly was. That day, twenty-five years gone, -when Aaron made his spectacular steel experiment, -with Esther watching from the Woolwine Mansion -terrace, was a day of agony for Enoch. To Aaron -and Esther a victorious outcome meant power, fortune, -the thrill of achievement. For Enoch it meant -extinction. He could not have survived it in mind or -body. Simply, he would have died.</p> - -<p>The failure of the experiment saved him. It plucked -him back from the edge of the void. It saved him in -the sight and respect of New Damascus. And he had<span class="pagenum">[113]</span> -a feeling that it saved him even in the eyes of Esther, -though from what or for what he could not have said. -Forever after the word steel had a non-metallurgical -meaning. It associated in the depths of his emotional -nature with black, ungovernable ideas, including the -idea of death.</p> - -<p>And now this rare, this altogether improbable irony -of teaching Aaron’s son the iron trade! of demonstrating -to him the fallibility of steel! of sending him -forth from New Damascus to sell iron rails against -steel!</p> - -<p>Did Gib relish the irony? gloat on it, perhaps? -That may not be answered clearly. There was at any -rate a strong rational motive in his behavior.</p> - -<p>Hitherto New Damascus rails had sold themselves. -Therefore Gib had no sales department in his organization. -Now steel rails were coming in and steel rails -were being <em>sold</em>. There was a powerful selling campaign -behind them. The competition was not yet -alarming, but it was serious and likely to increase, and -the way to meet it was to <em>sell</em> iron rails. Gib had business -foresight. It revealed to him the use of salesmanship -to meet a new condition. What he had been -seeking was not then so quickly to be found. That -was a selling genius. John Breakspeare was not the -first young man he had personally conducted through -the testing yard. Three had already failed him and -he was wondering where he should look for another -prospect when Aaron’s son appeared. Gib perceived -or felt in him the latency of what he wanted. If the<span class="pagenum">[114]</span> -same young man had been anyone else he would have -taken hold of him in precisely the same way. The fact -of his being Aaron’s son—no Esther’s—was one to be -set aside. The relationship was experimental, on the -plane of business, and what might come of it—well, -that would appear.</p> - -<p>On John’s part a personal sensibility at the beginning -gradually wore away as he discovered the drift of -events, which was this:</p> - -<p>The star of iron was threatened in the first phase -of its glory.</p> - -<p>The day of steel was breaking.</p> - -<p>It was not a brilliant event. It was like a cloudy -dawn, unable to make a clean stroke between the light -and the dark. Yet everyone had a sense of what was -passing in this dimness.</p> - -<p>Gib, whose disbelief in steel rested as much upon -pain memories and hatred as upon reason, was a -fanatic; but at the same time great numbers of men -with no such romantic bias of mind were violently excited -on one side or the other of a fighting dispute. -Fate decided the issue. The consequences were such -as become fate. They were tremendous, uncontrollable, -unimaginable. They changed the face of civilization. -Vertical cities, suburbs, subways, industrialism, -the rise of a wilderness in two generations to be -the paramount nation in the world, victory in the -World War,—those were consequences.</p> - -<p>It is to be explained.</p> - -<p>Less than ten years after Aaron’s failure the great<span class="pagenum">[115]</span> -Bessemer process, a way of producing steel direct -from ore, was successfully evolved in England, and the -British now were producing steel, especially steel rails, -in considerable quantities. Americans as usual were -procrastinating, digressive, self-obstructing. The Bessemer -patents were bought and brought to this country. -A Kentucky iron master filed an interference on the -ground that although he hadn’t developed it in practice -he had had that same idea himself, and had had -it first, and his contention was sustained. Several -years were lost in wrangling over rights. Meanwhile, -England entered the American market with steel rails. -These now were competing with iron rails. When at -last the Bessemer process began to be tried in this -country the principle of perversity that animates the -untamed elements bewitched it. Disappointments were -so continuous, so humiliating, so extremely disastrous, -that a period was when one would have thought the -whole thing much more likely to be abandoned than -persevered with. And when at length there was a -useable product at all it was a poor and very uncertain -product, comparing unfavorably with English steel, -and how the English steel rails compared with good -American iron rails has already been witnessed in Gib’s -mill yard.</p> - -<p>Man is the only animal that whistles in the dark. -Being so long in a dogged minority, so much discouraged, -so sore in their hope, the protagonists of steel -were boastful. They could not boast of their product. -It was bad. Nor of their success. It was worse. They<span class="pagenum">[116]</span> -had to boast of things which one could believe without -proof. The Bessemer steel process, they said, was -the enemy of privilege. It was for the many against -the few. It would transform and liberate society and -cast down all barriers to progress.</p> - -<p>They were the radicals, the visionaries, the theorists, -the yes-sayers of their time. Many a sound, conservative, -no-saying iron man was seduced by their faith to -exchange his money for experience.</p> - -<p>And all the time, bad as it was, steel kept coming -more and more into use, especially,—that is to say, -almost exclusively in the form of rails. And the reason -the steel rail kept coming into use was that an -amazing human society yet unborn, one that should -have shapes, aspects, wants, powers and pastimes then -undreamed of, was calling for it,—calling especially -for the steel rail.</p> - -<p>The steel men heard it. That was what kept them -in hope. The iron men heard it and were struck with -fear.</p> - -<p>Why was it calling for steel rails instead of iron -rails?—steel rails that broke like clay pipes against -iron rails that could be tied in knots? Did it care -nothing for its unborn life and limb? It cared only -a little for life and limb. Much more it cared about -bringing its existence to pass, and that was impossible -with iron rails, with anything but steel rails, for reasons -that we already know, having passed them. They -require only to be focused at this point.</p> - -<p>It was true of the iron rail that it was unbreakable<span class="pagenum">[117]</span> -and therefore safe and superior to the steel rail for -all uses of human society in the sixties and seventies -of the nineteenth century. That was still the iron -age. But human society as it would be in the twentieth -century was calling for a rail that would meet the -needs of a steel age. This was a society that was -going to require a ton of freight to be moved 2,500 -miles annually for each man, woman and child in the -country! Transportation on that scale of waste and -grandeur had never been imagined in the world. Iron -rails simply could not stand the strain. They would -not break under it. They would be smashed flat. -They would wear out almost as fast as they could be -spiked down.</p> - -<p>It was true of the steel rail, as the iron people said, -that it was very breakable, of tricky temper, dangerous -to life and limb. Society in 1870 ran much more safely -on iron rails. But the unborn society of the steel age -was making rail specifications beforehand. It was a -society for which a quarter of a million miles of railway -would have to be laid in one generation. That -simply could not be done with iron rails. There would -not be enough fuel, labor and time by the old wrought -iron process to make or replace iron rails on any such -scale. Shoeing that society with iron rails would be -like shoeing an army with eiderdown slippers.</p> - -<p>The iron people of course could make a steel in their -own way from wrought iron, melted again and carbonized,—fine, -cutlery steel, very hard and trustworthy,—but -you could not dream of making rails by the<span class="pagenum">[118]</span> -millions of tons from that kind of steel. The making -of it was too slow and the cost prohibitive.</p> - -<p>The three primary desiderata in the oncoming society’s -rail problem were <em>hardness</em>, <em>cheapness</em>, <em>quantity</em>.</p> - -<p>The new process produced a rail within these three -requirements. It was hard because it was steel. It -was cheap because the steel was got direct from the ore -at an enormous saving of time and fuel. And it could -be made in practically unlimited quantities.</p> - -<p>The Bessemer method made possible at once an -increase of one hundred fold in metallic production. -That was miraculous.</p> - -<p>The iron age took three thousand years.</p> - -<p>The steel age developed in thirty.</p> - -<p>Enoch Gib stood with his face to it. He fought it -with his eyes closed. His strength crystallized against -it. When it passed him by with a rush and uproar -it passed New Damascus. Never was a pound of steel -fabricated at New Damascus. It was an iron town. -Steel towns grew up around it. That made no difference -so long as he lived, and when he was gone, then -it was too late. Opportunity had forsaken that spot.</p> - -<p>The meaning of events is swift. Yet events are -spaced with days and days are of equal length, lived -one at a time. Historically you see that the iron rail -was suddenly and hopelessly doomed. But from a -contemporary point of view one might have been for -a long time in doubt. It was not until 1883, thirteen -years after John’s arrival in New Damascus, that the -steel rail definitely superseded the iron rail.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[119]</span></p> - - - - -<h2>XIII</h2> - - -<p class="dropcap">Enoch Gib’s knowledge of human nature in the -uses of business was deep and exact. He was not -mistaken in Aaron’s son. John Breakspeare could sell -iron rails. He could sell anything.</p> - -<p>Selling ability in its highest development is a strange -gift. There is no accounting for it. One has it or one -has it not. He had it in that all-plus-X degree, which -is the indefinite part of genius. The final irony was -that Gib should have discovered it, for it belonged to -the steel age and was destined to be turned against -him. In this young man who could sell iron rails he -prepared a weapon for his invincible adversary.</p> - -<p>The steel age always knew in advance what it -needed. Salesmanship was its very breath. Why? -Because when it came suddenly, like a natural event, -men found themselves in command of means for producing -wealth,—that is to say, goods, enormously beyond -any scale of human wants previously imaginable. -Production attended to itself. It ran utterly wild. -There was a chronic excess of producing capacity because -the supply of steel had been magically increased -one hundred fold and steel was the basis of an endless -profusion of new goods.</p> - -<p>The dilemma that presented itself was unique. Its<span class="pagenum">[120]</span> -name was over-production. It occurred simultaneously -in Great Britain, Germany, France and the United -States. They all had the same goods to sell, the very -same goods, rising from steel, and they sold them to -each other in mad competition. Prices fell steadily -for many years, continuously, until goods were preposterously -cheap, and always there was a surplus still. -Rails fell from $125 to $18 a ton, and the face of two -continents was netted with railways. Yet there was a -surplus of rails.</p> - -<p>Never before in the history of mankind did goods -increase faster than wants. It is not likely ever to -happen again.</p> - -<p>In a way that becomes clear with a little reflection, -a surplus of steel caused a surplus of nearly everything -else—food to begin with. There was a great surplus -of food because steel rails opened suddenly to the -world the virgin lands of the American west. The -iron age had foreshortened time and distance. The -steel age annihilated them.</p> - -<p>It made no difference how far a thing was hauled. -Transportation was cheap because steel was cheap. -Kansas wheat was sold in Minneapolis, Chicago and -in Liverpool. Minneapolis made flour and sent it to -New York, Europe and back to Kansas.</p> - -<p>The great availability of food released people from -agriculture. They went to the industrial centers to -make more steel and things rising of steel, so that -there were more of such goods to sell.</p> - -<p><em>More, more, more</em> of everything.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[121]</span></p> - -<p><em>Sell! Sell! Sell!</em></p> - -<p>That was the voice of the steel age.</p> - -<p>But we overrun the thread of the story. It lies still -in the iron age.</p> - -<p>How did John Breakspeare sell iron rails for -Enoch?</p> - -<p>It is to be mentioned that he founded the art of -Messianic advertising. He took the message of iron -rails to the people. He dramatized the subject.</p> - -<p>After four weeks of study and reflection, going to -and fro in the mill, absorbing all the technical literature -there was, acquainting himself with the way of -the trade,—Gib watching and letting him alone,—he -outlined a plan of campaign. It involved a considerable -outlay of money. Gib approved it nevertheless -and the young evangel set forth.</p> - -<p>At Philadelphia he arranged an exhibit the first feature -of which was a pair of New Damascus iron rails -that had bridged a perilous gap twelve feet wide and -twelve feet deep washed out under a railway track at -night. A locomotive and six passenger cars passed -safely over those rails in the dark. The miracle was -discovered the next morning. Steel rails under that -strain would have snapped. This was very effective. -He reproduced in public the breaking tests applied to -steel and iron rails alternately in the New Damascus -mill yard. He collected data on railway accidents, -which were then numerous and terrifying, and published -regularly in the newspapers a cumulative record -of those that were caused by the failure of imported<span class="pagenum">[122]</span> -steel rails, at the same time offering $10,000 for proof -of the failure of a New Damascus iron rail under any -conditions. He handled his facts in a sensational manner. -Public sentiment was aroused. In several state -legislatures bills were introduced requiring all new railway -mileage to be laid with iron rails and all steel rails -in use to be replaced with iron. None of these bills -was passed. Still, they were useful for purposes of -propaganda. A Committee of Congress made an extensive -inquiry at which the young Elias from New -Damascus appeared and made a worthy impression. -This was the beginning of his familiarity with the lawmaking -mentality. Without asking for it directly he -got what the iron people had prayed for in vain. That -was a punitive tariff against foreign steel rails. He -had moved public opinion; the rest was automatic.</p> - -<p>Thus he sold first the idea of iron rails. Next he -proceeded to sell the rails.</p> - -<p>Railway building at that time was the enchanted -field of creative speculation. Railways were made in -hope, rejoicing and sheer abandon of wilful energy. -Once they were made they served economic ends, as a -navigable waterway will, no matter where or how it -goes, but for one that was intelligently planned for the -greatest good of the greatest need four or five others -derived their existence fantastically from motives of -emulation, spite, greed, combat and civic vaingloriousness. -When in the course of events all these separate -translations of the ungoverned imagination were linked -up the result was that incomprehensible crazy quilt<span class="pagenum">[123]</span> -which the great American railway system was and is -in the geographical sense. It was more exciting and -more profitable to build railways than wagon roads. -That is how we came to have the finest railways and -the worst highways of any country in the civilized -world.</p> - -<p>Into this field of sunshine and quicksand marched -the young man from New Damascus. He could scent -a new railway project from afar, up or down wind, -and then he stalked it day and night. He sold it the -rails. Without fail he furnished the rails. He sold -them for cash when he could, and when he couldn’t -get cash he took promissory notes, I O U’s, post-dated -checks, bonds and stocks. He took all he could get -of what he could find, but whatever it was he sold -the rails.</p> - -<p>Enoch Gib, greatly startled at first, was willing to -see how merchandising by this principle would work -out. But as he was unused to excursions in finance -and as the notes and stocks and bonds of railways in -the gristle piled up in his safe he called in his banker -for consultation. John was present.</p> - -<p>“It’s not so much of a gamble if you go far enough,” -said John. “There’s a principle of insurance in it. It -would be risky to sell insurance on one ship. Nobody -does that. It is perfectly safe to sell insurance on a -thousand ships. This is the same thing. Some of these -railways will bust of course. But if we sell rails to -all of them we can afford to lose on the few that go<span class="pagenum">[124]</span> -down. The whole question is: do you believe in railways?”</p> - -<p>The two old men looked at their youthful instructor -with anxious wonder.</p> - -<p>“Is that your own idea?” the banker asked.</p> - -<p>“It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?” John answered.</p> - -<p>“When you mention it, yes,” said the banker. “I -should never have thought of it that way.”</p> - -<p>Later the banker spoke privately with Gib.</p> - -<p>“That’s a very dangerous young man.”</p> - -<p>“Very,” said Gib.</p> - -<p>Yet it worked out rather well, owing partly to the -principle and partly to John’s uncanny instinct for -making a safe leap. He could smell bankruptcy before -it happened. Moving about as he did continually -in the surge of the railway excitement he had access -to much private information. He knew pretty well -how it fared with the companies that owed the mill for -rails. If one were verging toward trouble he knew how -and where to get rid of its paper at a discount. There -were losses; but the losses were balanced by profits -in those cases where a company that had been charged -a very high price for rails because it was short of cash -and nobody else would take its notes was able at length -to redeem its paper in full.</p> - -<p>In John’s mind was no thought of either loyalty to -iron or disloyalty to steel. It was a question of American -rails against foreign rails. Steel rails were entirely -of foreign origin. The steel age had not crossed -the ocean. His work justified itself. It was immediately<span class="pagenum">[125]</span> -creative and greatly assisted railway building. -It was speculative also, and this is to be remembered. -A collateral and very important result was that it -hastened the advent of the American steel rail, since -the punitive tariff against foreign rails gave the American -steel people the incentive of greater profit. That -presently changed the problem.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, never had the New Damascus mill been -so active. Never had its profits been greater. Yet -Enoch Gib was uneasy. He had offered the young -man a partnership. John had flatly declined it.</p> - -<p>What did that mean?</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[126]</span></p> - - - - -<h2>XIV</h2> - - -<p class="dropcap">For twenty years the social life of New Damascus -had been as an untended orchard,—shapeless, perfunctory -and reminiscent. Its estate was a memory -running back to the old Woolwine Mansion and the -days of Aaron. It had no rallying point. There was -youth as a biological fact without gaiety, sparkle or -sweet daring. Quality Street lived on its income. -Young men succeeded their fathers in business. The -girls, after music and finishing at Philadelphia, returned -to New Damascus and married them.</p> - -<p>The Gib Mansion might as well have been a mausoleum. -Life was never entertained there. It did not -expect to be. Jonet was nobody until Gib married her. -After that she was the community’s commiseration. -She died when Agnes, their only child, was ten. The -obsequies were private. At the grave, besides the -sexton and the minister, and Gib holding Agnes by the -hand, there was one other person. That was Gearhard, -the father of Jonet, who stood with his feet -crossed and his left forearm resting on the sexton’s -shoulder as on the bellows-sweep, in a contemplative -attitude. People spoke of it literally. There, they -said, was another thing Enoch had broken and cast -away. No wonder he wished to bury it privately.</p> - -<p>Agnes was sent off to school. She had lately returned<span class="pagenum">[127]</span> -and was now living at the Gib Mansion alone -with her father. Nobody knew her. There was some -mystery about her. A story of unknown origin, and -unverified, was that she had been found out at school -in an unchaperoned escapade, which so enraged old -Enoch that he brought her home and deprived her of -liberty. It would be like him to do that. Moreover, -in the iron age such discipline was feasible. Youth had -not yet delivered itself from parental tyranny. That -was reserved to be one of the marvels of the steel age. -In 1870 any girl of seventeen was dependent, and one -in the situation of Agnes Gib was helpless.</p> - -<p>John’s advent on this iron grey scene produced a -magical change. He was rightful heir to all the social -tradition there was in New Damascus. This would -have meant nothing in itself. But he liked it. He was -not then nor did he ever become the kind of man who -must renounce life to reach success. That is a matter -partly of temperament and partly of capacity. Knowledge -necessary to his ends he acquired easily, seemingly -without effort, even technical knowledge. His imagination -worked with the ease of fancy and knew no -fatigue. Business was a game at which he played. -Therefore it could not devour him. Without a moment’s -notice he could turn from one kind of play to -another and back again. He would dance all night -and come with a crystal mind to the day’s work. Frivolity -seemed to stimulate or recharge his mind.</p> - -<p>The youth of New Damascus adored him. A group -spontaneously formed around him. He kept large<span class="pagenum">[128]</span> -rooms at the inn, where he entertained. More than -half his time was spent away from New Damascus, -but the new social order adjusted itself to his movements. -When he was at home there were parties, -dances, suppers, excursions, flirtings and episodes. All -this took place on the plane of Quality Street. But -his liking for people neither began nor ended there. -It knew no petty distinctions. There were two kinds -of people in the world,—his kind and others. And -his kind were all the same to him no matter where he -found them. He had friends among the mill workers—big, -roystering fellows with whom he often went -revelling to fill out a night. One of these was Alexander -Thane, the splendid puddler who had spoken to -him that first night in the mill. They became fast -friends.</p> - -<p>He scandalized people without offending them. -Whatever he did, that was John. He did anything -he liked and it was forgiven beforehand. His errancies -were extravagant and alarming, such as had been -almost certain to involve a superficial nature in disaster. -They were never wicked or immoral, never -hurtful to others and seemed but to innocently enhance -the romantic aspect of his personality. This may be -true only of one whose character is superior to his -follies. As his character came more and more to be -realized people began to say, “Well, that’s one young -man Enoch Gib won’t break.”</p> - -<p>Enoch regarded him with wonder and misgiving. -John’s impact on the business had been phenomenal.<span class="pagenum">[129]</span> -Perhaps no one else could have done it; certainly no -one else wasting so much of himself in ways for which -Gib felt the utmost contempt could at the same time -have attended to business at all. Yet his way with it -grew steadily stronger and more remarkable, no matter -what else he did.</p> - -<p>Gradually there grew up in Gib a vague baffled -sense of recurrence. As New Damascus had idolized -Aaron in the old time so now it idolized John. Was -that because he was Aaron’s son? For a while it had -that aspect. Then it could no longer be so explained. -Something that had been was taking place again. What -was it? The old man came to this question again and -again. It tormented him for a year of nights. Then -suddenly he had the answer.</p> - -<p>New Damascus idolized this person not because he -was Aaron’s son but <em>because he was Aaron</em>!</p> - -<p>Once this wild thought had occurred to Enoch it -expanded rapidly, filling his whole mind, and became -an obsession. Aaron lived again! He had returned -with youth and strength restored.</p> - -<p>The physical resemblance was in fact very striking. -Enoch began to study it surreptitiously. The sight -tortured and fascinated him. He could not let it alone. -He decided he had been mistaken about that look of -Esther which at first he had seemed to see in the young -man’s eyes. It was not there. Thank God for that. -This youth was Aaron himself.</p> - -<p>From the moment of perceiving this thing with hallucinated -clarity Enoch hated John and arranged his<span class="pagenum">[130]</span> -thoughts to dwell against him dangerously. How -should he deal with the situation? It had no tangibility. -If he spoke of it people would think he was -crazy. Yet there was the fact. Aaron by foul strategy -had entered the business again. The circumstances of -his entering it in the guise of a son were extraordinary. -As the old man reviewed the incident it assumed a -flagrant, preposterous aspect. Aaron had outwitted -him.</p> - -<p>Yes. Aaron had always been able to do that. But -this was an outrageous act! Nothing like it had ever -happened before in the world. And now it behooved -him to act cautiously, think cunningly, and above all -to conceal the fact that he knew. Merely again to -put Aaron out of the business, as he could easily do, -would be neither quittance nor justice.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[131]</span></p> - - - - -<h2>XV</h2> - - -<p class="dropcap">There was much curiosity about Enoch’s invisible -daughter. Was she really imprisoned in -that gloomy mansion on the west hill? Or was she -queer, like her mother? How did she live? What -was she like? The mill workers, passing the house -at all hours, were said to have seen her walking in the -landscape at twilight. There was also a legend that -she was beautiful.</p> - -<p>The young Quality Street set with whom John -played and danced talked itself into a state of romantic -feeling about her. There was competition in fanciful -suggestions. One was that twenty of them should become -a committee and move in a body on the mansion. -What could the ogre do then? Only of course nothing -so overt could really be done. Besides, that would be -too serious, not mad enough, and the prisoner might -turn out badly. Nobody knew what kind of person -she was. Whatever they did should be something to -which she assented beforehand.</p> - -<p>The suggestion that did at length unite all silly -young heads was this. They would give her a party. -That was a natural thing to do. She was a New Damascus -girl, wasn’t she? There was no reason in the -world why they shouldn’t give her a party. It was<span class="pagenum">[132]</span> -perfectly feasible in social principle. The difficulties, -as an engineer would say, were merely technical. They -were awkward nevertheless. How should they ask -her? And if she were unable to bring herself, as would -certainly be the case, how should they get her? They -appealed to John. He was responsive. It appealed -to his spirit of reckless frivolity. He undertook offhand -to bring Agnes Gib to a party. It might take -some time. He would tell them when and where.</p> - -<p>First he made a reconnaissance of the enemy’s position. -It had its vulnerable points, one of which was -an Irish gardener with a grouch on the place. Beginning -with him and working in, John proceeded to corrupt -the Gib menage. He learned that Agnes was -confined to that part of the mansion in which her -mother had been immured. She was not permitted to -go out, except to walk in the grounds with a woman -who was Gib’s servant, not hers, and performed the -office of a gaoler.</p> - -<p>In time he succeeded in getting a note to the prisoner. -In it he said simply that she was desired to -come to a party. There was no answer.</p> - -<p>He sent a second note. The party he had mentioned -before was one proposed to be held in her honor. -There would be introductions, then supper and dancing, -informal but all very correct and duly chaperoned. -Still no answer.</p> - -<p>He sent a third note in which for the first time he -recognized deterrent circumstances. However, all difficulties -should be overcome. She had only to consent.<span class="pagenum">[133]</span> -Then a way would be found. The young set of New -Damascus was very anxious to get acquainted with her, -hence this friendly gesture. To this was returned a -note, unsigned, as follows:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“Miss Gib thanks Mr. Breakspeare and his -friends and regrets to say she cannot come.”</p></div> - -<p>That was more or less what John by this time was -expecting. He was not discouraged, but he needed -light on the young person’s character and it occurred -to him in this need to explore Gearhard the blacksmith, -her grandfather. He melted the hoary smith’s ferocity -of manner, which was but a rickety defence of the -heart, by taking him headlong into the plot with an -air of unlimited confidence. Gearhard at first worked -his bellows furiously and stirred the fire in his forge, -pretending to be angrily absent. But the strokes of -the sweep-pole gradually diminished, the fire fell, the -bellows collapsed with a rheumatic commotion, and he -stood in his characteristic attitude of contemplation, -listening. When he spoke his voice was remote and -gentle.</p> - -<p>“She won’t,” he said. “That’s all there’s into it. -She’s as proud as that bar of steel.”</p> - -<p>Youth understands its own. It knows the chemistries -of impulse and how to challenge them. Curiosity -overcomes pride, shyness and fear; and if it be touched -through the arc of vanity all else is forgiven, for the -desire of youth to be liked for itself alone, in the sign -of its personableness, is a glowing passion.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[134]</span></p> - -<p>What followed was absurd. Youth delights in high -absurdities. It has a way with them that wisdom -pretends to have forgotten. Away wisdom! You -spoil the cosmic sorceries.</p> - -<p>John sent another note.</p> - -<p>It was to this effect. At the south boundary where -the boxwood grew he would be waiting Thursday evening. -She would have only to come straight on fifty -paces more instead of turning in her walk at that point -as her habit was, and the frolic would begin.</p> - -<p>There was no answer. He expected none. But on -Thursday evening he was there. From where he stood -behind the boxwood he could see all that part of the -grounds in which she walked. She appeared at the -usual time, attended by a powerful looking woman -who disliked exercise and made heavy work of it. -Their relations were apparently hostile. They never -spoke. The girl was supercilious; the woman grim. -After a while the woman sat on an iron bench. The -girl walked to and fro. Twice she came within a -stone’s throw of the boxwood and turned back. Once -she stood for several minutes, looking slowly up and -down the boundary line of hedge and stone, and at -the sky, and all around, with a wilful blind spot in -her eye. She did not for an instant look seeingly at -the spot her mind was focussed on. Yet John, who -watched her, knew she sensed his presence there. That -was all that happened. She presently went in without -notice to the woman, who saw her going toward the -house and followed.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[135]</span></p> - -<p>John sent another note. A second time he waited. -This time she changed her walk in oblique relation to -the boxwood and finished it without the slightest glance -or impulse in that direction.</p> - -<p>There was a third time. And that was different. -On the first turn she came closer to the boxwood than -ever before, closer still on the second turn, and then, -when the gaoler woman had become inert on the bench, -she came within speaking distance and sat on the grass.</p> - -<p>“We are here,” said John.</p> - -<p>“Who are we?” she asked.</p> - -<p>This was parley.</p> - -<p>“I am their deputy,” he said. “Constructively they -are here. Naturally, all of us couldn’t come at one -time and—” He stopped. She wasn’t the kind of -girl he was expecting. She embarrassed his style.</p> - -<p>“And hide in the hedge,” she said, finishing his -sentence. “Why not? It wouldn’t be any less rude -if twenty did it.”</p> - -<p>“That isn’t fair,” he said. “We don’t mean to be -rude. We only want to get you out.”</p> - -<p>“You think I couldn’t get out by myself if I wanted -to?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he said. “That’s what we thought. It’s so, -isn’t it?”</p> - -<p>She framed a reply, but withheld it, or, rather, she -bit it in two and threw it away, symbolically. It was -a clover stem. She sat on her feet, bent over, plucking -at the grass, with an occasional glance at the woman -on the bench.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[136]</span></p> - -<p>“Do you think it’s nice to spy on a girl as you have -been doing?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“Very nice,” he said, to tease her.</p> - -<p>“And is this the way you get girls for your parties?”</p> - -<p>“May we drive up to your door and ask for you -there?”</p> - -<p>“You may.”</p> - -<p>“Then will you come?”</p> - -<p>“No, I won’t be home.”</p> - -<p>“Why not?”</p> - -<p>“I won’t. That’s why not.”</p> - -<p>“Do you dislike parties?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Do you hate people?”</p> - -<p>“I hate people who feel sorry for me.”</p> - -<p>“Do you wish me to go away?”</p> - -<p>“Not if you like what you are doing.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not doing this because I like doing it,” he -answered. “I’m doing it because I was asked.”</p> - -<p>“Oh,” she said.</p> - -<p>“They felt—I mean, they had this friendly impulse -to give you a party. They didn’t know how to get -you and asked me to manage it. Now what shall I -say to them? Shall I say you hate parties and wish -them to mind their own business?”</p> - -<p>“Tell them what you like,” she said. “I can’t talk -to you any longer,” she added. “It will be noticed.”</p> - -<p>“I won’t tell them anything,” he said. “But I’ll be -here a week from tonight at this time if it doesn’t rain, -and the week after that if it does, and every week for<span class="pagenum">[137]</span> -the rest of the summer until you say positively you will -not come.”</p> - -<p>“Haven’t I said that?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>She got up, shrugged her shoulders and walked -away.</p> - -<p><em>Silly!... Silly!... Silly!...</em></p> - -<p>That was what John kept saying to himself without -subject or predicate. It was the way he felt. The -situation was absurd. His part in it was ludicrous. -They were all a lot of sillies,—save one. What he -really minded was the sense of having come off badly -with her. She was not the wistful, longing prisoner -people imagined her to be. He could not make out -precisely what she was. She was under restraint. Not -only had she not denied this; she had treated it as a -fact. But her attitude seemed to be simply that it was -nobody’s business. Meddling was unwelcome. And -such puerile interference as he represented had been -treated as it deserved, with high disdain. Never had -he met a girl with so much bite and tang. Well, however, -it was not all to the bad. She might have cut -him away clean. Instead, she had left it as it was.</p> - -<p>“I think she will come,” he said to his friends.</p> - -<p>“Have you seen her?” they asked.</p> - -<p>“Yes. I’ve talked to her.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, what is she like?”</p> - -<p>“Like a grain of salt,” he said, rather absently.</p> - -<p>At this several girls looked at him anxiously, and -although they pretended to be as keen as ever for the<span class="pagenum">[138]</span> -party, even more than before, still, misgivings assailed -them and secretly their enthusiasm fell. John was an -unenclosed infatuation on which everyone had rights -of commonage. Numbers preserved him. And here -he was keeping tryst with a girl they knew nothing -about. It was not his fault. But it was too romantic.</p> - -<p>Another thing youth knows is that there are sudden, -leaping, dare-me-not moments, wild moments of yes, in -which the most improbable events come naturally to -pass. It did not rain Thursday. John waited in the -boxwood. She came slowly, in the magnetized direction, -went back, returned, loitered about for some time, -then sat on the grass again.</p> - -<p>“Aren’t you ashamed to be standing there?” she -asked.</p> - -<p>“I feel a perfect fool,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Oh, do you?” she retorted, and with not another -word she rose and walked away.</p> - -<p>Whistling softly John departed. It became interesting. -Thursday he was there again, and so was she.</p> - -<p>“Then why do you do it?” she asked, resuming the -conversation at the point where she broke it, as if a -week had not elapsed.</p> - -<p>“I’ve told you why,” he said. “Can you see me?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“How did you know I was here?”</p> - -<p>“I didn’t. Only that you said you would be,” she -answered.</p> - -<p>“That meant last Thursday,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Do you mean to annoy me like this all summer?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[139]</span></p> - -<p>“As long as you will come to talk with me,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Or until I say positively I won’t come to the party. -That’s what you said before.”</p> - -<p>“Will you come?” he asked.</p> - -<p>So they went on in a spirit of banter, touching invisible -strings, attending less and less to the meaning -of words and more to the language of sound.</p> - -<p>Scientists ask: Is there such a thing as biactinism?—vital -animal magnetism, producing an effect apart from -itself with no mechanical means of transmission? Is -personality radio-active? Does the human organism -possess the property of radiating an influence capable -of acting at a distance upon another human organism? -Ask youth.</p> - -<p>The barrier gave way the next week.</p> - -<p>John dwelt as usual in the boxwood. The girl was -tardy. Portent one. She wore a pretty dress and -high heeled French boots. Portent two. She was on -terms of amiability with the gaoler woman. Portent -three. It was a musky, August evening, coming twilight. -For half an hour or more she walked in an -aimless, listless way, stopping, starting, plucking here -and there a flower until she had a handful, and then -with steps unhurried, with still an air of sauntering, -she came straight on.</p> - -<p>“Oh, here you are,” she said, in the cool, entrancing -way youth has of doing an audacious thing.</p> - -<p>“I’ll have to hand you down,” said John.</p> - -<p>Below them in the road, twenty paces off, a horse -and buggy waited.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[140]</span></p> - - - - -<h2>XVI</h2> - - -<p class="dropcap">The party took place in John’s rooms. First there -was a dainty supper; then dancing. It was a heart -breaking failure. Everyone tried to save it. A party -that needs to be saved is already hopeless. The more -everyone tried the worse it was until the lovely, dark-eyed -little matron who chaperoned it was on the verge -of tears, the girls were divided between sulks and -hysterics and the men wondered vaguely what was -wrong. It was inevitable. The fluids were perverse.</p> - -<p>In the first place, the guest of honor flatly declined -the rôle of Cinderella. She was not in the least grateful. -The little matron on receiving her said: “We’ve -tried so long to get you.”</p> - -<p>What could be more innocent.</p> - -<p>She replied, “Oh-h!” with ascending accent.</p> - -<p>The wreck began there. The matron’s tone and -manner revealed to her the light in which she was -regarded. She was an object of curiosity and a subject -of commiseration. One figure she hated as much -as the other. To be pitied—particularly that,—was -intolerable. She was stung with chagrin and humiliation. -It was nobody’s fault,—at least, no more theirs -than her own. She might have known it would be so; -she had placed herself in this position. None the less, -or perhaps all the more for that reason, she could not -help behaving in that way which is meant when one<span class="pagenum">[141]</span> -says she took it out of them. She took it out of her -own sex of course. Her power to do that was extraordinary.</p> - -<p>The matron did not know what next to say. That -was generally the trouble. None of the women knew -how to talk to her. There was nothing in common to -talk about, except the circumstances, and these could -not be mentioned. At the slightest reference to them -she coldly cut the conversation.</p> - -<p>“If she couldn’t get into the spirit of it why did she -come at all?” one girl asked another.</p> - -<p>“That’s easy to see, I should think,” the other said.</p> - -<p>What was easy to see was that she was too good -looking. No other girl was anywhere near so attractive -to the male principle. That was why she could -carry off a reckless part. She became more heedless -and dangerous about it as the psychic tension increased. -She did not care in the least what happened.</p> - -<p>It was nothing she did,—nothing you could isolate -as an example and criticise. Her behavior was basically -naïve. It was what she was. It was what she -had been for thousands of threaded years. It was life -at a pitch of intensity, life of a certain quality, looking -out of her eyes, seeking itself.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you see what she is doing?” asked a feline -girl, speaking to John in the dance.</p> - -<p>“No,” he said. “I don’t see what she is doing. I -see only that you are treating her badly. I suppose it -can’t be helped.”</p> - -<p>“She’s having a very good time, all the same,” the -girl retorted.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[142]</span></p> - -<p>Most of the young men felt as John did and took -pains to keep her supplied with attention. She received -it not ungraciously, but lightly, with an amused -and cynical smile. She seemed to be saying to herself: -“All grapes are a little sour.”</p> - -<p>The party was rapidly approaching a state of distress -when a call for Mr. Breakspeare was handed in -from the office. He went out. A feeling of suspense -went all around. It seemed only at that moment to -have occurred to anyone that there might reasonably -be some sort of sequel. John returned in ten minutes, -claimed his partner and entered the dance as if nothing -had happened. But there was an uneasy look on his -face. When the dance was over he went about looking -for someone. Then he began to ask.</p> - -<p>No one had seen her go. She had taken no leave. -She had simply vanished.</p> - -<p>When the fact was definitely established John excused -himself and went in pursuit. He hoped to overtake -her on the road home, supposing, as was true, -that she had scented trouble and wished to meet it -alone. That much of her character he understood. -His anxiety was real.</p> - -<p>The man who had called for him at the inn was no -other than his corrupted gardener. And what he had -come to say was that whoever brought the young lady -home had better be careful. He would do much better -not to bring her at all. For Enoch Gib, in waiting -with a blunderbuss, yearned to abate his existence.</p> - -<p>“An’ he is after findin’ out who be takin’ th’ young<span class="pagenum">[143]</span> -laday away,” the news bringer said at the end of his -tidings.</p> - -<p>All that had happened might have been foreseen if -anyone had been thinking of consequences.</p> - -<p>When the gaoler woman discovered that Agnes was -gone the first thing she did was to go to her room and -search it. She found John’s notes—all of them. As -the whole exhibit made too strong a case against her -gaolership she destroyed all but the last two. These, -which referred only to the surreptitious meetings at -the boxwood, she took to Enoch, saying she was sure -from certain other evidence that it was not an elopement -but an escapade. Agnes would return before -daylight.</p> - -<p>The result upon Enoch may be imagined.</p> - -<p>This was Aaron again,—the same Aaron who stole -Esther away from him. The terrible wound fell wide -open. The pain of it wrecked his mind. It would -have killed him, perhaps, but for the solacing thought -that revenge was near.</p> - -<p>So John pursued Agnes, Agnes was lost, and Enoch, -waited with death in his heart.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[144]</span></p> - - - - -<h2>XVII</h2> - - -<p class="dropcap">Agnes expected to be followed.</p> - -<p>Instead of going directly home she made a wide -detour, skirting the town, and ascended the west hill -obliquely by a path the mill workers used. Nobody -would think to look for her there.</p> - -<p>She meant to enter the grounds by the main gate, -defiantly, but she would take her time. As for the -consequences,—well, the worse the better. Any change -would be welcome.</p> - -<p>What made the feud with her father unendurable -was its monotony. She had meant to fight it out with -him alone to the end, with no outside help or interference. -That was the true impulse of her nature. -But it had begun to be like fighting it out with some -colossal stone image. What terrified her was nothing -he did, or could do, but the sheer glacial mass of his -hostility. No,—not hostility. It was something else. -It was a kind of malevolent indifference.</p> - -<p>The feud was about nothing. It rested on their -mutual obstinacy. A word would deliver her. That -word she could not utter, or would not, which is all -the same matter.</p> - -<p>At school she had been one of ten girls suspected -of having taken part in a frolic much more exciting -than wicked yet deserving the extreme penalty. The<span class="pagenum">[145]</span> -nine denied it. When she was asked she said yes, she -had done it. When they asked who the others were she -refused to tell. They disciplined her. Still she refused. -They offered her immunity if she would tell. -She refused all the more. They sent for her father. -He rashly said he would make her tell, and walked -head-on into an impassable wall. After an hour alone -with her in the reception room he marched her off, -just as she was, saying as he crossed the threshold -that her things were to be sent after her. Defiance -was something he knew little about. Disobedience he -could not comprehend at all. All the way home he -pondered it.</p> - -<p>“I understand why you refuse to tell on the others,” -he said. “Now I waive that. You do not have to tell -on them. But you shall tell me you are sorry.”</p> - -<p>She wouldn’t. She would say she was wrong; she -had broken rules. But she would not say she was -sorry, for the reason that she wasn’t. This she explained. -That made no difference.</p> - -<p>“You shall tell me you are sorry,” he said.</p> - -<p>She refused.</p> - -<p>“You will,” he said. “When you do you may have -your liberty again.”</p> - -<p>With that he banished her beyond the white line -that had divided the household in her infancy, set a -woman to be her keeper, and then apparently forgot -her. She sometimes saw him at a distance. He never -looked at her.</p> - -<p>The girls on whom she would not tell sent her a -beautiful present. She sent it back. That was the<span class="pagenum">[146]</span> -last of her contacts with the outside world. Her mail -was cut off. No one was permitted to see her. More -than a year had passed in this way. Once she sent -word she wished to see him. He answered: “If she is -sorry she may come.” That ended her overtures. -Fighting it out with him apparently meant living it -out, as her mother did, and that for her was grotesque. -Besides, in that kind of contest he had the advantage -of age. Age has all the time there is. Youth has -neither past nor future,—only the present. The situation -was impossible. It could not go on. Yet she had -found no clear way out. She was too proud to seek -refuge with anyone she knew. Moreover, she was a -minor with no rights of her own. And as for casting -herself free upon the wide world,—well, she had not -yet come to that desperate thought.</p> - -<p>As she ascended the hill a mood that had been rising -in her for several days became suddenly intense and -exulting. It made her short of breath. The excitement -of breaking bounds, of going to the party, of -what she did there, now a feeling of utter contempt -for all the human values it represented, an emotion of -trampling upon her adversaries among whom to her -surprise was foremostly John, a sense of unknown -power, particularly that voluptuous unconcern with -consequences—all these different actions and reactions -were as one effect. The cause was the mood. She -recognized it. She knew about how long it should last. -Never before had it been so tormenting. Never had -she let it possess her entirely. Surrendering to it was -like a physical experience, fearful and sweet.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[147]</span></p> - -<p>She sat on a stone at the edge of the path, on the -lower side, with a wide view of the valley and gave -herself up to ecstasy. She was attuned to wonder and -understood it. The hymn of night bewitched her. Becoming -luminous, her thoughts touched objects and -subjects alike and returned to her charged with sensation. -In the vastness of space, in one’s impulse toward -it, in the thrust of the church spire through the black -panoramic foliage, in the tearing way the moon sliced -his path through the clouds, in the shapes of the -clouds, in convexity, concavity, temptation, and selfness, -in hereness and thereness, in all that one saw and -felt there was one meaning,—and she almost knew -what it was. But the thought that excited her to suffocation -was the thought of all that had not yet happened -to her,—in that same one meaning. The rest of her, -most of her in fact, was out there in the void. It was -everything that had not happened. It might be anything. -Whatever it was she embraced it, accepted it -unreservedly, consented to it beforehand for the thrill -of consenting.</p> - -<p>For the first time in her existence she felt knowingly -the passion of youth to pierce itself with life.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[148]</span></p> - - - - -<h2>XVIII</h2> - - -<p class="dropcap">There came a sound of footsteps on the path,—that -plunging sound of muffled resonance men -make in iron-studded raw hide footgear, with also in -this case a swishing minor note from the play of the -ankle aprons worn by the mill workers. Agnes had -never heard any sound like it. Not until two men met -and passed in the path, so close that she could smell -them, did she quite make out what it was; and by that -time her heart was making more noise than the men’s -feet. They did not see her. They passed without -speaking to each other, which was strange for mill -workers; but when they had walked maybe twenty -paces in opposite directions one cast a taunt backward -over his shoulder. What it was Agnes could not tell. -The other answered it. Both stopped. Then she heard -them slowly returning.</p> - -<p>They met again at the same spot where they had -passed and stood there looking at each other warily, -suspiciously, their eyes rolling in the moonlight. She -could see them distinctly, for they were very close, yet -as it happened she herself was so concealed that the -men, though they might have touched her, did not see -her.</p> - -<p>One had a very pleasing aspect. He was tall and<span class="pagenum">[149]</span> -vibrant with a fine profile and no bristles. That was -Alex Thane, the magnificent puddler.</p> - -<p>The other was of lower stature, much heavier, massive, -in the form of a wedge, with a width at the top -across the shoulders that was almost a deformity. He -was neckless. His head started from between his -shoulders like a gargoyle. Coarse black hair grew all -over him. His moustache was like a worn brush. His -eyes were wide apart, set very high, denoting enormous -animal vitality.</p> - -<p>It was he who had cast back the taunt; and it was -he with his chin thrust out who spoke first when they -met again and stood facing each other in that singular -way. He was a Cornishman. What he said Agnes -could not understand. Thane answered him in words -which, though she knew them as words, most of them, -imported to her mind no sense whatever. Still she got -the drift of what they were saying, for they said a -good deal of it in a universal language more gleaming -and subtle than the language of words. She got it -from their tones and gestures and what radiated from -their eyes. And it was the drift of what men have been -saying to each other from the beginning.</p> - -<p>First it was, “Which of us can kill the other?”</p> - -<p>After a very long time, millions of years maybe, it -became, “Which of us <em>could</em> kill the other?”</p> - -<p>That was the leap that placed an abyss between man -and animal. No creature but man exists on this side. -The animals still say <em>can</em>. He says <em>could</em>. It was the -beginning of civilization. And all that we have done<span class="pagenum">[150]</span> -since has been to elaborate the ways of could, ways to -conquer without killing, and to evolve the sporting -code in which the potentials of could are standardized. -According to that code one may acknowledge that another -could have killed him without losing one’s life, -one’s self-esteem or one’s social caste.</p> - -<p>These two, Thane and the Cornishman, had been -egged by their fellows into a state of intense rivalry. -They were the most powerful men in the mill. Each -in his daily work easily performed feats of strength -beyond the power of others, but with this difference, -that while Thane exerted himself only now and then -for the mere feeling of it and the sooner when no one -was watching, the Cornishman exhibited his superiority -continuously because his vanity required it, and set a -killing pace for the men of his crew. He was brutal -and laughed exultingly if one of them dropped.</p> - -<p>There was much debate as to which was the better -man. A majority inclined to the Cornishman for that -he was always and instantly ready to try it out, whereas -Thane put every challenge aside, not as if he were -afraid but with an air of distaste.</p> - -<p>“I’m making no show of myself,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Show be damned,” the eggers said. “The man is -braggin’ he can do yu. Ain’t that a show?”</p> - -<p>No use. He could not be goaded into a public -match. Many misunderstood it. The Cornishman particularly -was misled. He got the notion that Thane -was afraid of him, and so he became arrogant and -offensive.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[151]</span></p> - -<p>This is what had been going on for some time. It -was what was going on now in the path to the great -wonder of a special, fascinated audience of one.</p> - -<p>The Cornishman, jutting his chin piece further and -further out, did the boasting. Thane answered him -with contemptuous looks and now and then a derisive -word. Suddenly they brought it to a head. As with -one impulse they walked a little apart, put down their -dinner baskets, threw off their caps and slipped out -of their shirts. This seemed all one movement. Then, -facing at the same instant, they drew slowly together. -Their bodies, nude to the middle, were crouched in a -manner that gave Agnes a new and terrific sensation of -the human form, especially of its splendid, destructive -power. Each had his left arm upraised and bent, -as if to guard his face and head, and in their eyes the -lust of combat glistened.</p> - -<p>Agnes was transfixed with horror and at the same -time thrilled as she had never been thrilled in her life -before. No excitement she had ever imagined, waking -or dreaming, was remotely comparable to this. She -perhaps could not have run if she had tried; she would -not have tried if she had thought of it. She thought of -nothing. She sat perfectly still, her mouth hard set, -her hands clenched, a look in her eyes she would not -have believed in her own mirror.</p> - -<p>The fighters seemed to pursue each other slowly in -a small circle, eye to eye, sparring a little, and Agnes -gasped with delight. They moved with the fluid ease -and unconscious grace of leopards, and gave the same<span class="pagenum">[152]</span> -impression of tense coiled strength. She had not the -faintest idea hitherto that the man thing could be like -this.</p> - -<p>Then, so swiftly that she did not see it, the first -clean blow went in, with the sound of a butcher’s -cleaver falling on the block. The effect of that sound -upon Agnes was tremendous. She felt a swooning of -worlds in the pit of her stomach. Solids were fluid. -Her moorings gave way. Nothing in her experience -of men had prepared her for the possibility of this. -She had seen below the surface. The surface would -never be the same again. What an awful sound! She -felt she could not bear to hear it again; yet she listened -for it breathlessly, frantically.</p> - -<p>She saw blood on the tall one’s face. That did not -make her sick. It made her violently partisan. She -has been so all the time without knowing it. Thought -of the heavy brute winning was intolerable. She could -not see his face distinctly, for he crouched much lower -than his antagonist and looked out from under his -shaggy eyebrows, thus presenting the top of his head. -When by accident, however, his face did come into full -view she was relieved to see that he was bleeding -freely. The tall one in fact was not bleeding at all. It -was the other’s blood transferred to him. And then, as -she saw how it was really going, she beat her knees -with her fists and could hardly restrain the impulse to -cry out.</p> - -<p>The Cornishman was Thane’s equal in strength and -vitality and forced the fighting at first with ferocious<span class="pagenum">[153]</span> -onsets. But he was as a bull against a tiger. His blows, -falling short or going wild, landed always where his -enemy precisely was not. Thane, doing it thoughtfully, -planted his blows unerringly. He let the Cornishman -come to him so long as he would and simply cut him -to pieces, keeping some of himself all the time in -reserve.</p> - -<p>The end came in that instant when Thane really -exerted himself. The Cornishman changed his tactics. -He stopped lunging, stood on the defensive, and waited -for Thane to come to him.</p> - -<p>In this attitude it happened that the Cornishman’s -back was to Agnes, not squarely, but only slightly oblique. -Therefore, she had a fair full view of Thane -as he came toward the Cornishman. The cool, easy -purposefulness of him agitated her in a most extraordinary -way. She knew he had won.</p> - -<p>He walked straight into the Cornishman’s guard -and without any feint or pass he did two things at once -with such amazing swiftness that the eye could not -follow. With his left hand he put aside the Cornishman’s -defending arm and with his right he hit him, on -the point of his offensive chin, a blow the sound of -which was like the snapping of a great tree trunk on -the knee of a windstorm.</p> - -<p>For an instant nothing happened, except that Thane -folded his arms and stood looking seriously at the -Cornishman. Then the Cornishman’s arms fell, his -form swayed, and he began to go around in a circle, -faster and faster, as if one leg at each step became<span class="pagenum">[154]</span> -shorter and was letting him down in spite of his efforts -to overtake his balance. He was going to fall. Where?</p> - -<p>The battle had taken place all at one side of the path -where a level space was. From the other side of the -path, where Agnes was, the ground pitched off. The -stone on which she sat was two feet below the level -of the path. The grass concealed her head.</p> - -<p>The spinning Cornishman was almost in the path, -directly above her. It seemed probable that he would -fall in a heap, pitching forward. It was incredible that -he should catch himself up; yet he did it with a mighty -effort, stopped spinning, stood upright for a moment, -then unexpectedly toppled backward over the edge of the -path and fell with all his weight upon Agnes.</p> - -<p>She screamed and tried to parry the awful mass. It -bore her under and she rolled with it a little distance -down the hillside. Before she was free of it she saw -above her the face of Thane, white and scared.</p> - -<p>He picked her up, all of her, bodily, as if she were a -doll, carried her back to the path, and stood her on -end experimentally.</p> - -<p>“Hurt?”</p> - -<p>“No,” she said, grimacing with pain.</p> - -<p>“You are,” he said. “Let’s see you stand up.”</p> - -<p>He let go of her and she began to go over.</p> - -<p>“My ankle,” she said. “It got a little twist. Let -me sit down.”</p> - -<p>Having lowered her gently to a sitting posture he -got down on his knees and regarded her anxiously.</p> - -<p>“That all? Just the ankle?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[155]</span></p> - -<p>“I’ll be all right in a minute or two,” she said. -Pointing to the vanquished lump she asked: “What -about him?”</p> - -<p>“That?” he said. “Don’t worry. It ain’t dead. -It’ll come to after a bit.”</p> - -<p>Her breath was in her throat and her mind was -filled with after images of the event. She was still outside -of herself with excitement.</p> - -<p>“I was on your side,” she said naïvely. Some secret -thought then touched her and she doubled up with a -tickled sound. Her suppressed feelings were exploding.</p> - -<p>Thane at that moment realized that she had witnessed -the fight. Next he became painfully conscious -of himself. He felt a burning sensation from his -middle to the roots of his hair; and as he rose and went -looking in the grass for his shirt his movements were -awkward, almost clumsy. Having found his shirt he -walked a long way off to put it on. When he returned -he had the Cornishman’s shirt. That hulk of vanity -was beginning to stir as from a deep sleep. Thane -helped him to his feet, set him in the path with his face -averted, put the garment in his hands, and earnestly -desired him to disappear.</p> - -<p>Then he stood looking down at Agnes. A moment -before they had been as free and natural as children. -Now they were false, self-embarrassed.</p> - -<p>“How is it now?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Better,” she said.</p> - -<p>Silence.</p> - -<p>“Maybe you could rub it.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[156]</span></p> - -<p>“It’s getting all right,” she said.</p> - -<p>More silence.</p> - -<p>“My name is Alexander.”</p> - -<p>“My name is Agnes,” she replied.</p> - -<p>Silence again.</p> - -<p>“Agnes what?”</p> - -<p>“Gib,” she said.</p> - -<p>“You old Enoch’s girl?” he asked.</p> - -<p>She did not answer.</p> - -<p>“Was you cuttin’ it?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Was I what?”</p> - -<p>“Givin’ ’im the slip?”</p> - -<p>“I’m on my way home,” she said. “Please don’t -bother any more about me. I’m quite all right now.”</p> - -<p>Her manner had changed. Her tone was formal and -dismissive. Thane moved away from her, uncertain -what to do, looked about in the grass for his lunch -basket, found it, stood for some minutes twirling it in -his hands, and slowly came back.</p> - -<p>“Better’d let me take you home.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you,” she said. “I know my way home.”</p> - -<p>“It ain’t no place for you out here. Them from the -mill is all right, but these new miners, they go back -’n forwards singing and fighting. They’d scare you -most to death ... or worse.”</p> - -<p>She was looking off into the valley and made no -reply.</p> - -<p>“Better’d let me take you home.”</p> - -<p>“Please,” she said, “I don’t wish to be taken home.”</p> - -<p>“Ain’t you got to go home?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[157]</span></p> - -<p>To this her only answer was an exasperated shrug of -the shoulders. All he could see of her was the expression -of her back and it was so unfriendly that it took -everything out of him but the doggedness. He waited -until it was evident she did not mean to speak again. -Then he walked about in a fumble of perplexity and at -length threw himself on the grass and comfortably -lighted his pipe.</p> - -<p>After a while she spoke without turning her head.</p> - -<p>“Are you there for the night?”</p> - -<p>“Jus’ standing by,” he said. “Can’t leave you here -like you was a cripple bird.”</p> - -<p>Agnes was secretly entertained. She had also a feeling -of being wonderfully safe. Yet the absurdity of -her predicament filled her with chagrin. She hated to -be helpless. “I can walk,” she said to herself. “I will.”</p> - -<p>She got up, took one step bravely and came down -again with an involuntary cry of pain.</p> - -<p>At that Thane rose with a fixed intention, knocked -his pipe clean on his heel, dropped it in his pocket, -and came toward her, hitching at his belt. She knew -intuitively what he meant to do and felt herself for an -instant in the place of the Cornishman as he stood -waiting for Thane to come and finish him.</p> - -<p>He did not speak. Leaning over, he picked her off -the ground and settled her high in his arms.</p> - -<p>First she was furiously angry. Her thoughts were: -“How dare you! Put me down instantly and be gone.” -The words did not come. She noticed how lightly he -carried her, almost as if he were not touching her,<span class="pagenum">[158]</span> -and how easily he walked. She was helpless. If she -resisted he would only hold her differently and go -steadily on. She could scream or struggle. To scream -would be childish. She had not the least inclination to -scream. And to struggle would be futile. So she took -refuge in passivity. Then sensations began to assail -her. She was suddenly afraid. Fear was an emotion -she seldom experienced. Never had she been afraid -like this. What she was afraid of she did not know. -She was not sure it was fear. It was more like the -thrill one gets in a high swing from the thought, “What -if the rope should break!” or in the phantasy of taking -the place of the animal trainer, from the thought, -“What if the lion should turn!” She remembered not -the words but the sense of a line of Greek poetry about -maidens swooning from fear of finding that which not -to find would grieve them unto death.</p> - -<p>She was still herself, Agnes, furiously angry at being -carried without her consent. At the same time she -was not Agnes. The Agnes she knew was but a name -and a memory. She herself, now existing originally, -was someone whose only desire was to be carried further, -faster, higher, off the edge of the world. She -breathed deeply, inhaling his odor.</p> - -<p>Seeing that he should carry her more easily if her -weight were somewhat distributed by her own effort -she put an arm around his neck. It tightened there as -she suspended her weight to relieve his arms. Then -came an instant in which she was amazed at the impulse, -which she restrained, to fasten the other arm<span class="pagenum">[159]</span> -about his neck. In the rough places he began to hold -her a little closer each time and not to relax when it -was smooth again. She was not aware of it. Her odor -intoxicated Thane. Sometimes he lost the path and -stumbled. That she did not notice. She listened to his -breathing, counted it against her own, and felt the -rythmic rise and fall of his powerful chest.</p> - -<p>At a point where they turned out of the path through -a piece of high grass to enter the highway both of them -as it were came awake.</p> - -<p>“Put me down, please,” she said in a low voice, -hardly above a whisper,—a voice she did not know.</p> - -<p>He apparently did not hear her.</p> - -<p>They came to the great iron gate.</p> - -<p>“Put me down,” she said again.</p> - -<p>Still he seemed not to hear. With his foot he rattled -the gate, calling in a loud, uncontrolled voice,—the -voice of a man in danger—“Hey! Hey!” He was -trembling all over.</p> - -<p>Three times he rattled the gate and called. Twice -he was answered only by the reverberations of his own -clamor, which shocked the stillness of the night and left -a vacant ringing in the ears. In the grass the crickets -sang. Far away a dog barked once and a cock woke -up. Each could hear the beating of the other’s heart.</p> - -<p>What happened the third time was apparitional. -Suddenly, there was Enoch, behind the gate, looking -at them. He had been there all the time in the shadow -of the wall. He held a lighted lantern. That also had -been concealed. Slowly he raised the latch-bar and<span class="pagenum">[160]</span> -swung the gate ajar. Then he held the lantern high -and gazed unbelievingly at Thane, who was the first -to speak.</p> - -<p>“Found her up there in the grass. Was having a bit -of a tiff, two of us, me ’n the Cornishman, ’n he fell -on her when I knocked him out, ’n hurt her ankle, -hiding there so as nobody could see her. She couldn’t -walk, so’s I brought her home.”</p> - -<p>Agnes neither stirred nor spoke. In the light of the -lantern her eyes gleamed with a trapped expression. -Enoch did not look at her, not even on hearing that -she was hurt, but continued to stare fixedly at his -puddler, repeating after him: “In the grass.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you want her?” Thane asked.</p> - -<p>At that Enoch lowered the lantern, swung the gate -open and stood aside.</p> - -<p>“Take her in,” he said.</p> - -<p>As the puddler passed, Enoch closed and barred the -gate; he followed them up the driveway toward the -mansion. The only sound was the crunching of the -two men’s feet on the gravel.</p> - -<p>Then Enoch laughed. It was an abominable sound, -denoting a cruel conclusion in his mind. Agnes shuddered. -Her hold around the puddler’s neck involuntarily -tightened. So did his hold of her. Thus a subtle -sign passed between them. Neither one spoke.</p> - -<p>At the entrance Enoch overtook them, opened the -door, and walked ahead. There were no servants in -sight. In this household servants appeared when summoned -and never otherwise.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[161]</span></p> - -<p>“In here,” said Enoch, opening the hall door into the -back parlor on the ground floor. This was his side of -the house. The room was dimly lighted. The puddler -put his burden down on a couch and turned to look at -Enoch, who stood in the doorway.</p> - -<p>“Stay here, both of you, until I return,” he said. -With that he closed the door and turned the key from -the outside.</p> - -<p>Thane in his mill clothes,—iron studded shoes, ankle -aprons, trousers, shirt open to the middle of his -chest, and cap,—was bewildered and overcome with -conscious awkwardness. He looked at things as if they -might bark at him and stood with his weight on one -leg, having no use for the other. It stuck out from -him at a great distance, and terminated absurdly in a -performing foot, rocking on its heel and wearing a -place in the varnished surface of the floor.</p> - -<p>Agnes, who had been straining her faculties to hear -what might be taking place outside, became aware of -his distress.</p> - -<p>“Please sit down and listen,” she said. “Over -there,” pointing to an arm chair.</p> - -<p>They heard the jangling of bells, the opening and -closing of doors, and presently a carriage went off in -haste. It must have been waiting. There had not -been time to harness a team. Then faintly they -heard footsteps patrolling the hallway. They were -Enoch’s.</p> - -<p>“I haven’t any idea what I’ve got you into,” said -Agnes.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[162]</span></p> - -<p>“Seem’s it ain’t ready yet,” he said, and smiled at -her.</p> - -<p>His smile was a revelation, swift and unexpected, -like an event in a starlit sky. Agnes had not seen it -before. It gave her a start of joy. She smiled back at -him and then blushed. That made her angry. She was -always angry at herself for blushing because it gave -her away. Her defense was to look at him steadily -and that made him self-conscious again. She had -discovered that when his thoughts were dynamically -engaged, or when his mind was intended to action, -instantly all awkwardness left him. Then he was -graceful unawares, as children and animals are, never -thinking of themselves. She could not bear to see him -fidget.</p> - -<p>“You don’t seem to care,” she said.</p> - -<p>“He bears down hard on you, don’t he, Enoch?” -he asked.</p> - -<p>“His nature is hard,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Maybe you was cuttin’ it an’ here I brought you -home. Ain’t that so?”</p> - -<p>“No,” she said.</p> - -<p>He came half way across the room and regarded her -earnestly.</p> - -<p>“If that’s it, it ain’t too late now. I’ll take you anywhere -you want.” As she did not answer, he added: -“Jus take ’n leave you there so’s you need never see -me again.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you,” she said, gently. “That wouldn’t be -nice, would it,—never to see you again after that?<span class="pagenum">[163]</span> -No. I’m—what was it you said?—I’m standing -by.”</p> - -<p>He sat down again, disappointed.</p> - -<p>“I must tell you what happened,” she said. “I broke -out and went to a party in town. That isn’t allowed. I -expected a scene when I got home. It might have been -very disagreeable for the—for my escort, you know. -So, having first run away to go to the party, I next -ran away from the party and started home alone. You -know the rest.”</p> - -<p>“Oh,” said Thane, thoughtfully.</p> - -<p>A sudden constraint fell upon them. Their eyes did -not meet again.</p> - -<p>They were sitting in silence, she in reverie, when a -sound of commotion was heard in the hallway. The -carriage had returned. Double footsteps approached.</p> - -<p>The door opened, admitting Enoch, and with him -the Presbyterian minister, a clean, tame, ox-like man -with a very large bald head, no eyebrows and round -blue eyes. Enoch closed the door. Thane stood up. -The minister looked first at him and then at Agnes. -Her eyes were full of wonder, tinged with premonition. -Enoch spoke.</p> - -<p>“We found her in the grass. That’s the man. -Marry them.”</p> - -<p>The minister, regarding both of them at once in an -oblique manner, began to nod his head up and down -as if saying to himself, “Oh-ho! So this is what we -find?”</p> - -<p>Thane was slow to understand Enoch’s words. He<span class="pagenum">[164]</span> -had the look of a man in the act of doubting his familiar -senses.</p> - -<p>Agnes, very pale, lips slightly parted, nostrils distended, -sitting very erect, turned her head slowly and -gazed at her father. The muscles around her eyes were -tense and drawn, her eyes were hard and partially -closed as if the sun were in them, and she looked at him -so until his countenance fell. But not his wickedness.</p> - -<p>“Marry them,” he said.</p> - -<p>Thane reacted suddenly. He cleared his throat, -swallowed, glanced right and left, and took a step forward, -with a tug at his belt.</p> - -<p>“You’re supposing what ain’t so,” he shouted at -Enoch. “What do you mean by that about finding her -in the grass? What does that mean? Me ’n the Cornishman -was racketing up there in the path like I told -you at the gate. He ain’t come to yet, so there’s nobody -can say as what happened but me ’n the girl. She -oughten have seen it. That’s correct. But there ain’t -no harm done—none as you could speak of. If you -don’t believe me ask her.... You tell them,” he said, -turning to Agnes.</p> - -<p>“My father is mad,” she said.</p> - -<p>Thane began to tell them what had passed on the -path and became utterly incoherent. Despairing, he -made a move toward Enoch. The minister raised his -hand.</p> - -<p>“What is your name?”</p> - -<p>“Alexander Thane.”</p> - -<p>Enoch, who had been standing with his back to the<span class="pagenum">[165]</span> -door, opened it, reached around the jamb and drew it -back holding a shot gun, the barrel of which he rested -on his left arm.</p> - -<p>“Marry them, I tell you.” His voice was low. -“Make it short.”</p> - -<p>Thane made another move toward him. The minister -raised his hand again,—a fat, white hand. It -fascinated Thane and calmed him.</p> - -<p>“Thane,” said the minister, “do you take this woman -to be your lawful wife?”</p> - -<p>“Not as he says it. Not for that shooting thing as -he’s got there in his hand,” said Thane. “Not unless -the girl wants it,” he added, as a disastrous and extremely -complicated afterthought.</p> - -<p>If he had flatly said no, the shape of the climax -might have been different. There was no lack of -courage. What stopped him was a romantic seizure.</p> - -<p>The minister turned to Agnes.</p> - -<p>“Will you, Agnes, take this man Thane to be your -husband?”</p> - -<p>The die was then in her hands. Thane had not -meant to pass it. Gladly would he have retaken it if -only he had known how to do so. The situation was -beyond his resources. Moreover, the question—“Will -you, Agnes, take this man Thane to be your husband?”—was -so momentous to him that it deprived him of his -wits and senses, save only the sense of hearing.</p> - -<p>Emotions more dissimilar could scarcely be allotted -to three men in a single scene, one of them mad, yet -for a moment they were united by a feeling of awe and<span class="pagenum">[166]</span> -regarded Agnes with one expression. The woman’s -courage surpasses the man’s. This he afterward denies -in his mind, saying the difference is that she lacks a -sense of consequences.</p> - -<p>Agnes was cool and contemplative, and in no haste -to answer. She kept them waiting. They could not see -her face. Her head was bent over. With one hand -she plucked at the pattern of her dress and seemed to -be counting. Then slowly she began to nod her head.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she said, distinctly, though in a very far -voice, “I will.”</p> - -<p>“Stand up, please,” said the minister.</p> - -<p>Thane made his responses as one in a dream. Hers -were firm and clear, and all the time she was looking at -her father as she had looked at him first, with those -tight little wrinkles around her eyes.</p> - -<p>So they were married.</p> - -<p>“That’s all,” said Enoch, to the minister, curtly. -“The carriage is at the door.”</p> - -<p>The minister bowed and vanished.</p> - -<p>Enoch drew a piece of cardboard from his pocket -and handed it to Thane. It was a blue ticket,—the -token of dismissal.</p> - -<p>“Now go,” he said, “and let me never see you -again.”</p> - -<p>Agnes looked up at Thane.</p> - -<p>“I can walk,” she said, taking him by the arm. It -was so. She could, with a slight limp. Enoch, seeing -it, sneered. He watched them walk into the night and -closed the door behind them.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[167]</span></p> - -<p>At the gate Thane said: “But you can’t,” and -started to pick her up.</p> - -<p>“Don’t,” she said.</p> - -<p>They had changed places. She was no longer afraid -of him. He was afraid of her.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[168]</span></p> - - - - -<h2>XIX</h2> - - -<p class="dropcap">All this time John had been seeking Agnes. First -he went the high road to the mansion until he was -sure she had not gone that way, for if she had he would -have overtaken her. Turning back he began to make -inquiries and presently heard of someone, undoubtedly -she, who had been seen walking wide of the town, past -the mill, toward the mountain. Knowing the path and -divining her intention he walked in her footsteps.</p> - -<p>The smell of Thane’s pipe was still in the air when -he arrived at the place where the fight had taken place. -A thing of white in the grass drew his eye. He picked -it up and got a bad start. It was a tiny handkerchief. -By the light of a match he made out the initials A. G. -embroidered in one corner. Looking further he found -a scarf that he instantly recognized. He had particularly -noticed it on their way to the party. Now in a -panic he began to examine the ground closely and discovered -extensive evidence of a human struggle. Running -up and down the path a short distance each way -he came on the Cornishman’s shirt a little to one side -where the groggy owner had tossed it away. To John’s -disgust it was slimy with something that came off in -his hands; as this proved to be blood his disgust gave -way to horror.</p> - -<p>Without actually formulating the thought, because -it was too dreadful to be true, he acted under the<span class="pagenum">[169]</span> -tyranny of a fixed idea, which was that Agnes had met -with a foul disaster. The possibility was real. Lately -there had come to New Damascus a group of mill -hands whose ways and morals were alien to the community. -They were bestial drinkers and had been -making a great deal of trouble.</p> - -<p>In a state of frenzy he explored the mountain side, -calling her name. His panic rising, it occurred to him -to ask at the mill among the men who continually used -the path. He found several who had been over it within -a hour or so. Someone was missing, he told them. -Something unknown had happened. Had they seen or -heard anything unusual. They became individually -contemplative, made him say it all over again, repeated -it after him, thought very hard and shook their heads. -Nobody had seen or heard the least thing strange. -But somebody did, by a freak of intelligent association, -remember the Cornishman. He was out there under -the water tank, speechless and weeping, not caring -whether Enoch saw him or not. Maybe something had -happened to him.</p> - -<p>John found him as indicated, with his face in his -hands, water dripping on his naked back.</p> - -<p>“What happened to you?” John asked, shaking -him.</p> - -<p>“Gotten m’dam head knocked off,” he groaned, -without moving. It was a refrain running through him. -John’s attack had made it once audible.</p> - -<p>“Up there in the path?”</p> - -<p>He grunted.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[170]</span></p> - -<p>“Who was it?”</p> - -<p>Faintly, though very definitely, the Cornwall beauty -expressed a passionate desire to be let alone.</p> - -<p>“Was there a girl?” John asked.</p> - -<p>“Huh!” said the hulk, instantly penetrated by the -sound of that word.</p> - -<p>John repeated the question.</p> - -<p>The Cornishman stirred painfully, sat up, turned a -stupidly grinning face and nodded—yes.</p> - -<p>“Who took her away?” John asked, thumping the -body to keep the mind afloat. “Tell me,” he said, -shaking him by the hair. “Where did they go?” he -asked, kicking him in the shins.</p> - -<p>But the Cornishman was either slyer or more -stupefied than one could imagine. He relapsed. Nothing -more could be got out of him.</p> - -<p>There now was but one rational thing to do—report -to Enoch and raise a general alarm.</p> - -<p>From running hard with a load of dread John was -almost spent when he arrived at the mansion gate. It -was shut and barred; the house was dark and where -he had expected to find alarm and commotion everything -was strangely still. Foreboding assailed him. -Thinking it might be quicker to open the gate than to -climb the wall he put his hand through and began to -fumble with the latch bar inside. He was so intent -upon the effort that a certain indefinable sense one may -have of another’s invisible proximity failed to warn -him of Enoch’s presence.</p> - -<p>There was a swift, noiseless movement in the darkness<span class="pagenum">[171]</span> -and a hand clutched him powerfully by the wrist. -The physical disadvantage of his position made him -helpless. Over the vertical bars of the gate ran a -pattern of wrought iron ornamentation in the form of -vine and leaves; the interstices were irregular, with -sharp edges. It was impossible to use his free arm -defensively because there was no other opening through -which he could reach far enough in. Besides, if he -resisted Enoch could instantly snap the bones of his -trapped arm. He was utterly bewildered by the circumstances. -Enoch’s gesture was menacing, even terrifying -in its sinister precision, and yet John could -scarcely imagine that his intentions were destructive. -So he submitted his arm passively to the old man’s -dangerous grip and spoke.</p> - -<p>“It is I,” he said. His voice betrayed his spirit, -which was at the verge of panic. Enoch did not speak. -His hold tightened. “I was trying to let myself in to -save time,” said John. “Agnes is lost. That is, I can’t -find her. I was coming to tell you.”</p> - -<p>Enoch still did not speak.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps she is home,” said John. “Have you seen -her? If you haven’t I’m afraid something has happened -to her.”</p> - -<p>The old man’s continued silence was unnatural and -ominous. Slowly, purposefully, he drew John’s arm -further in, to almost the elbow; it came to him unresistingly -and bare, the cuffs of the coat and shirt -having caught on the vine work outside. Then he began -to explore it upward from the wrist, feeling<span class="pagenum">[172]</span> -through the flesh for the edges of the radius and ulna -bones, passing them an inch at a time between his thumb -and forefinger as if searching for something he was -afraid to find. John’s arm had once been broken in a -football game at school. There was a perceptible ridge -in the radius bone at the point of fracture. On this -ridge Enoch’s fingers stopped, lost their strength and -began to tremble. At the same time the grip of his -other hand around John’s wrist began to relax in a -slow, involuntary manner.</p> - -<p>“<em>Aaron!</em>” he whispered, awesomely.</p> - -<p>The next instant John’s arm was free and there was -the sound of a body falling on the gravel inside the -gate.</p> - -<p>Now John scaled the wall. He stopped to make sure -Enoch was breathing and to ease his form on the -ground; then he ran to the mansion. His furious alarm -brought a stolid, dark woman to the door, holding a -small oil light over her head.</p> - -<p>“Is Miss Gib at home?” he asked.</p> - -<p>The woman shook her head.</p> - -<p>“Does anyone know where she is?”</p> - -<p>In a dull manner the woman shook her head again.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Gib has fallen at the front gate,” said John. -“Go to him at once and send someone for the doctor.”</p> - -<p>The woman put the lamp down on the floor where -she stood and started alone down the driveway, running.</p> - -<p>“Call the servants,” said John. “You may have to -carry him in.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[173]</span></p> - -<p>But she went only faster. He followed her. Before -he could overtake her she met Enoch. He could see -them both clearly in the light streaming from the doorway. -The woman looked at Enoch anxiously and made -as if to touch him, solicitously. He did not exactly -ignore her; he seemed not to see her at all and walked -steadily on.</p> - -<p>John turned out of the light and passed unobserved -in the darkness. Then he ran headlong -off the grounds, feeling at each step that his knees -would let him down. His emotional state was almost -unmanageable. The episode with Enoch at the gate -had been not only very mysterious but fraught with -some ghastly inner meaning to which he had no clue -whatever. He knew nothing of Enoch’s obsession -that he, John, was Aaron reincarnated. He had never -heard of that boyhood contest in which Enoch broke -Aaron’s arm. Therefore he could not know what it -meant in Enoch’s troubled brain to find in the arm of -Aaron’s son the scar of a similar fracture at almost -precisely the corresponding place. To him it <em>was</em> the -same scar in the same arm. It was the last thing needed -to fix his hallucination and the discovery had momentarily -overwhelmed his senses.</p> - -<p>In that instant he had called John by his father’s -name,—Aaron!</p> - -<p>What did it mean? Intuitively John knew that here -was the key to the riddle. But he could not apply it. -He could see that in taking Esther, his mother, away -from Enoch his father had brought upon himself<span class="pagenum">[174]</span> -Enoch’s undying hatred. He could understand how -such hatred might naturally be transferred to the son. -Only, in that case, how could he explain the fact -that until now Enoch’s attitude toward him had been -friendly or indifferent?</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[175]</span></p> - - - - -<h2>XX</h2> - - -<p class="dropcap">So his thoughts were running in this perplexed and -absent manner when suddenly a very urgent question -burst through.</p> - -<p>“What of Agnes?”</p> - -<p>She was not at home. He could think of no way to -find her unassisted. He knew not where to look next -and time was pressing. It was necessary to raise a wide -alarm and organize a search. But he had no authority -to act. It was her father’s business to take such steps. -Now recalling what he had said to Enoch through the -gate about Agnes he realized that it was absurdly -inadequate. He had not at all communicated his fears -concerning her. Therefore, though the thought of -another encounter with Enoch made him shudder, he -would have to go back. On this decision he came to -a sudden stop and was surprised to see how far he -had come unawares, and that he was not on the highway. -When or how he had left it he did not remember. -“I must have come fast,” he thought. He was half -way back to New Damascus, not far from the mill, in -a road that further on became a street running into -sooty locust trees, cinder sidewalks, rows of company -houses and a stale, historic smell of fried food. Turning -in his tracks he was making back when his name -was called from the side of the road by a voice he -instantly knew.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[176]</span></p> - -<p>“Thane!” he said, going toward him. “I need you. -Please go—oh! I’m sorry. I thought you were alone.”</p> - -<p>He veered off at seeing the figure of a woman behind -Thane, leaning on the fence, her face averted; but -Thane, coming forward, caught him by the arm, saying -anxiously:</p> - -<p>“I need your advice is why I called you.”</p> - -<p>“Hold it, whatever it is, Thane,” John answered. -“I can’t stop now. I just can’t.” He was pulling away.</p> - -<p>“Won’t hold,” said Thane.</p> - -<p>“It must,” said John. “I can’t stop. I’m sorry.” -He liked Thane and was loath to leave him in a lurch. -“Go to the hotel and wait for me there,” he said, pushing -him off. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”</p> - -<p>With that he was going when the woman spoke.</p> - -<p>“Are you looking for me?”</p> - -<p>“Agnes!” said John to himself, as a declaration of -preposterous fact. He wheeled around and stood stone -still.</p> - -<p>One instant before he had been mad with anxiety to -hear her voice. Yet to the sound of it, so collected and -sure, his emotional reaction was one of fierce anger. -There was also a desolate world-wide sense of loss. -Why he was angry or what was lost he could not have -said in words. These feelings referred to her. Toward -Thane there was a thought that seemed to rise behind -him with purpose and power of its own; and he braced -his back against it.</p> - -<p>“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he said, -approaching her. “I found these.” He held out the<span class="pagenum">[177]</span> -handkerchief and scarf. She took them. “Then I went -to the mansion ... and....” There he stopped.</p> - -<p>“Yes. What did you learn there?” she asked.</p> - -<p>His anger kept rising. How could she be so suave -and frontal about it? He had actually the impulse to -set hands upon her roughly and demand to know what -she had been doing, how she came to be here alone on -a dark road with an iron puddler and how she could -pretend to be so unembarrassed.</p> - -<p>“Nothing,” he said. “It had just this instant occurred -to me to go back and try again. I was in a -beastly fume about you.”</p> - -<p>“And seem to be still,” she said, in a way to put him -in mind of the high tone he had been using.</p> - -<p>“For reasons to which you are pleased to be oblivious,” -he retorted. “It is to be imagined that I have -some interest in seeing you safely home. May I take -you on from here?”</p> - -<p>“Another one,” Agnes murmured in a tone of soliloquy. -“How repetitious!”</p> - -<p>The thought touched off her feelings. They exploded -in a burst of shrill, irrelevant laughter. John -was scandalized. His rage was boundless. Yet at the -same time his sense of responsibility increased. Abominable -thoughts assailed him. He wondered if perhaps -her father had not been right to keep her under -restraint. He fervently wished he had never tempted -her to break out. A resolve to get her home by force -if necessary was forming in his mind when Thane put -in.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[178]</span></p> - -<p>“They ain’t no home,” he said. “That’s the trouble.”</p> - -<p>“What do you know about it?” John asked, blazing.</p> - -<p>“Oughten I know somewhat about it seeing as she’s -my own wife?” said Thane, with dismal veracity.</p> - -<p>John, for an instant appalled, turned fiercely on -Agnes. “Now what have you done?” he asked. She -was so startled by his manner that she couldn’t speak. -“What have you done?” he demanded, now shaking -her and with such authority that for a moment her -spirit quailed. “Is it true? Are you married?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she said.</p> - -<p>“To a....” He caught the word just in time, -slowly let go of her and stepped back.</p> - -<p>“Say it,” she dared him. “To a ... to ... a -what? Go on. Say it.”</p> - -<p>John’s anger was gone. Other emotions had swallowed -it up,—sorrow, pity, remorse, that devastating -sense of loss again, more poignant than before in some -new way, and above all a great yearning toward both -of them.</p> - -<p>“Where?” he asked, in a changed voice.</p> - -<p>“In my father’s house,” said Agnes, derisively. -“What a pity you missed it!”</p> - -<p>“But what happened?” asked John.</p> - -<p>She answered weirdly, improvising silly words to a -silly tune:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry italicfont"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="indentquote0">“What hap-pen-ed -</div><div class="indent0">What hap-pen-ed -</div><div class="indent0">What hap-pen-ed<span class="pagenum normalfont">[179]</span> -</div><div class="indent2">Here Mildred? -</div></div><div class="stanza"> -<div class="indentquote0">“That hap-pen-ed -</div><div class="indent0">That hap-pen-ed -</div><div class="indent0">That hap-pen-ed -</div><div class="indent2">Sir, she said.” -</div></div></div></div> - -<p>A horrified silence fell.</p> - -<p>“Was it flat?” she asked. “I’m sorry. I know something -to do. Let’s each one tell the story of his life. -Shall I begin?”</p> - -<p>She began to sing again:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry italicfont"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="indentquote0">“What hap-pen-ed ...” -</div></div></div></div> - -<p>“Please,” said John. “Please don’t. You make my -blood run cold.”</p> - -<p>“She’s that way ever since,” said Thane, with an air -of sharing his misery.</p> - -<p>“Then you tell me,” said John.</p> - -<p>“I carried her home,” said Thane, now weary of -telling it, “from where she got hurt between me an’ -the Cornishman knocking ourselves around in the path, -an’ old Enoch he got a wicked notion as I don’t know -what an’ sent for the preacher an’ we was married. -Then he handed me the blue ticket an’ put us out of the -house.”</p> - -<p>John turned to Agnes with a question on his tongue. -She anticipated him and began to sing:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry italicfont"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="indentquote0">“What hap-pen-ed ...” -</div></div></div></div> - -<p>As he shuddered and turned away again she stopped.</p> - -<p>“I was coming for my street clothes to where I live,” -continued Thane, “being as I was all that time in my<span class="pagenum">[180]</span> -puddling rig an’ we got bogged here like you see us -now. Nothing I say let’s do will move her. And when -I say all right, what does she want, she chanties about -me, making them up out of nothing.”</p> - -<p>“When they get like that,” said John, “you have to -use force. You’ve got to pick them up.”</p> - -<p>“Can’t work it,” said Thane.</p> - -<p>“Why not? Does she bite?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“What then?”</p> - -<p>“Can’t work it,” said Thane. “Not since,” he -added.</p> - -<p>“The subject of this clinic is conscious,” said Agnes, -pleasantly.</p> - -<p>They paid no attention to her.</p> - -<p>“You board, don’t you? You were not intending to -take her there?” said John.</p> - -<p>“Only so as to get my clothes,” said Thane.</p> - -<p>“We can’t do anything until you get your clothes,” -said John. “That’s plain. I’ll stay here with her while -you go for them. But don’t be long. Then maybe we -can think of something to do.”</p> - -<p>Thane went off at once with a tremendous sigh -of relief in the feeling of action. His feet made a -cavernous <em>tlump, tlump, tlump</em>-ing on the hard dirt -road. John, who stood regarding Agnes from the side -of the road, was sure he saw her shudder. Then from -the heedless tone with which she broke the silence he -was sure he had been mistaken.</p> - -<p>“It seems you know my husband,” she said.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[181]</span></p> - -<p>He was surprised that she had no difficulty with the -word, though it must have been the first time she had -ever used it in the possessive sense—and in such circumstances!</p> - -<p>“Can’t you think of anything feasible to do?” John -asked.</p> - -<p>“Do you like him?” she inquired.</p> - -<p>“Because if you can’t,” said John, “I can. It’s too -much for Thane. That isn’t fair.”</p> - -<p>He supposed she was thinking. To his disgust she -began to sing, softly, tunefully:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza italicfont"> -<div class="indentquote0">“Lovely maiden, tell me truly, -</div><div class="indent0">Is the ocean very wet? -</div><div class="indent0">If I meet you on the bottom, -</div><div class="indent0">Will you never once——” -</div></div></div></div> - -<p>“Stop it!” He moved as if to menace her. She -stopped and looked at him soberly.</p> - -<p>“Is there nothing I can do to entertain you? I might -recite. And you haven’t answered my question.”</p> - -<p>“You give me the horrors,” he blurted. “No, no -I’m sorry. I’m unstrung, that’s all. Please do be -serious. We’ve got to think of what we shall do.”</p> - -<p>“Who are we?”</p> - -<p>“I beg your pardon. You, then,” he amended.</p> - -<p>“Who are you?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“Agnes, do for....”</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Thane, please.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t expect you to be amiable,” he said, “but -please for one moment be reasonable.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[182]</span></p> - -<p>“When they are like that you can’t do anything with -them,” she said. “Really you can’t. You will have to -see my husband.”</p> - -<p>She had seated herself on a grassy bench with her -back to the fence, her feet in the dry ditch, and was -viciously jabbing the earth with a limber stick. She -threw the stick from her, leaned back, folded her arms -and tilted her chin at the sky, with an air of casting -John out of existence. He had given up trying to talk -and stood observing her in an overt manner. It was -thus he saw how she looked at the moon, first vacantly -without seeing it, then with a start as of recognition or -recollection, and at length with an expression of such -twisted mocking wistfulness that he knew one shape of -her heart and turned wretchedly away, almost wishing -he had not seen.</p> - -<p>For a long time she did not move. She seemed -under a kind of spell. Thane found them so, in separate -states of reverie. Neither heard his footsteps -approaching.</p> - -<p>“I was thinking why should I bother you like this,” -said Thane, “being though as we are friends in a way. -If only it was so as I could touch something.”</p> - -<p>“Thane,” said John, slowly, “listen to what I am -thinking. The skeins of our three lives have run together -in a hard knot. Mine and that of Agnes were -already twisted together in a very strange history. -Yours got entangled by chance, heaven knows why. -Fate does it. Nobody is to blame. But I am responsible.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[183]</span></p> - -<p>“For us being married?” asked Thane.</p> - -<p>“For that, yes. But for a great deal more. I am -only beginning to see the meaning of things. By inheritance -I am responsible for something my father -and mother did to Enoch before I was born, for the -fact that Agnes is his daughter and he is not my father, -for the fact that he is mad. He has had his revenge -on Aaron’s son, greater than he knows. What that -means I cannot tell you. I shall never say it again. -But what I want you to see is that I cannot leave you -to face the consequences alone. It is not a matter of -friendship. You are married to Agnes. In a foster -sense I am married to both of you.”</p> - -<p>His face was lighted from within. He spoke in the -absent, anonymous manner of one undergoing a -mystical experience. Something of his mood entered -Thane. With one impulse they had struck hands and -now stood looking deeply into each other’s eyes.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know as I see what you mean,” said Thane.</p> - -<p>“No,” said John. “You wouldn’t. I’ve confused -you, trying to get it all said at once. There is first the -fact that we are friends. My feeling for you in that -way has increased suddenly, I don’t quite know why. -And now, above that, is my sense of responsibility for -what has happened. You must accept my view of that. -It shall be understood that I have a right to stand by -and that I may be trusted ... absolutely trusted ... -whatever comes....”</p> - -<p>He groped and stopped and seemed to have gone to -sleep with his eyes open.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[184]</span></p> - -<p>Thane moved uneasily. John, returning to himself, -started slightly and released Thane’s hand. When he -spoke his voice was altered.</p> - -<p>“I can’t make it come clear,” he said. “I thought -I could.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve looked my eyes out that way, too,” said Thane. -“Let’s take it as it is.”</p> - -<p>What John at first had so clear a vision of was an -act of heroic self-denial. It thrilled him with momentary -ecstasy. That may be understood. Man is an -emotional formation, subject to sudden passions, one -of which is the passion of sacrifice. Blindly on the spot -he rears an altar, lays the wood in order and looks to -see what offering hath in a miraculous manner provided -itself to be burnt. Lo! there stands the one thing most -beloved in all the world. The Lord sometimes interferes, -as for Isaac. Sometimes the victim saves itself. -Then again the man draws back. He has not the heart -to do it.</p> - -<p>John drew back. To conclude the covenant with -Thane meant forswearing Agnes in his heart forever. -That was a vow he could neither bring himself to make -nor trust himself to keep. And yet, any secret reservation -seemed treachery to Thane. So there he stood -before this truth of contradiction and “looked his eyes -out” at it. How came Thane to have a thought like -that?</p> - -<p>Agnes was observing them intently with one elbow -on her knee, her chin in her hand, eyes half closed. -She was not thinking. She was verifying a kind of<span class="pagenum">[185]</span> -knowledge that underlies the mind. She knew why -John faltered, why he lost his way toward what he -meant to do, what that was, and why he dropped -Thane’s hand. She knew what it was of a sudden to -become a woman and why a woman need never be -afraid.</p> - -<p>Far away in the sky of her immemorial self, so far -that what she saw of it was but its heat’s reflection, -passed a flash of contempt for those tame, romantic -vanities in which now man sublimates the reckless impulses -of his savage egoism. At that instant, too, as -it were in the light of this archaic intuition, there stood -upon her memory the figure of the Cornishman, and -she was horribly ashamed.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless she continued to feel cynical about the -emotional male principle. It bored her. There was one -obvious thing to do. There was in fact only one thing -possible to be done. But apparently neither Thane nor -John was ever going to think of it, or give her a chance -to suggest it without boldly naming it. One might have -thought they had forgotten her existence. They stood -in the middle of the road, John with his back to her, -Thane with his eyes in the heavens, sharing a vast man-silence. -She was at the core of that silence; she was -all there was there. That did not interest her at all. -She wished to be somewhere else.</p> - -<p>She got up quietly and walked away from them, -away from New Damascus, with a very bad list and -limp. They overtook her in four or five steps, one on -each side.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[186]</span></p> - -<p>“What’s this way now?” Thane asked.</p> - -<p>No answer.</p> - -<p>“She isn’t fit to walk,” said John. “Don’t let her -do it.”</p> - -<p>She looked at Thane; the gesture he was making -toward her froze in the air.</p> - -<p>“Take her as you would a nettle, firmly,” John -recommended.</p> - -<p>“’Tain’t what’s outside I’m afraid of,” said Thane.</p> - -<p>Stepping ahead and turning, John confronted her. -Thane did the same. She made to go around them, -right. They moved that way. She made to go around -them, left. They moved that way. With a frustrated -gesture she gave it up, turned a tormented profile and -made them feel how much she despised them.</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Thane,” said John, “do you wish to leave -New Damascus—leave it now—tonight?”</p> - -<p>Agnes turned on him in a sudden rage of exasperation.</p> - -<p>“Fly, I suppose! Fly away with a—a—what is he? -I forget.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, oh,” John groaned.</p> - -<p>“What are you?” she said to Thane.</p> - -<p>“Puddler,” he answered, with dignity, the look of -a hurt animal in his face.</p> - -<p>“It’s very well known,” she said, “puddlers don’t -fly. Besides it’s too late. We’ve stopped to think. -We had to take time to change his clothes. He’s out -of a job and has no money. He told me so. I wonder -what the wives of puddlers do.”</p> - -<p>“Some would envy you your sting,” said John, horrified<span class="pagenum">[187]</span> -at what she was doing to Thane. She understood -him perfectly.</p> - -<p>“But you are immune,” she said. “I have not married -you. Or have I? Are you this puddler’s David? -What are your rights in him? How come you to suppose -that you have rights in me?”</p> - -<p>“Tantrums, thank God, and not hysterics,” said -John.</p> - -<p>“Shall we spend the rest of the night in this way?” -she asked. “And what then?”</p> - -<p>“I am leaving New Damascus tonight,” said John, -pursuing a flash of intuition.</p> - -<p>Agnes gave him an incredulous glance.</p> - -<p>“So far as I know, forever,” he continued. “This -decision is my own. You have nothing to do with it. -But if you were also about to leave, perhaps taking the -same direction, why shouldn’t we go together, as far -as it’s parallel?”</p> - -<p>“Who goes or stays, no matter what happens, I -shall not be in sight of New Damascus at daybreak,” -said Agnes, her face averted from both John and her -husband, and she spoke as one making a vow. “So, -whatever you do,” she added, “please hurry.”</p> - -<p>Thane would have asked her a question, not knowing -how women consent; John restrained him with a -sign.</p> - -<p>“Then I’ll pick you up here,” he said, setting off -abruptly. “And I won’t be very long.”</p> - -<p>When he returned with a smart bay team and a light -road wagon, his own rig, the moon was sinking. Agnes -was asleep on the dewy grass in Thane’s coat. He<span class="pagenum">[188]</span> -wrapped her in the rug John held out to him and lifted -her to the seat. She was docile and limp, like a groggy -child. John had to hold her erect until Thane got -up on the other side. She sat between them.</p> - -<p>Where the road turns abruptly out of the valley -John pulled up and looked back. It was now quite -dark. All that he could see was the mill, like a live -malignant cinder in the eye of darkness, glowing -faintly, going almost out, then spurting forth quick -tongues of flame. He had the sensation of a great -solitary weight rolling about in his stomach. Tears -came to his eyes. Until that moment he had not known -that he cared for New Damascus. His caring was -like an inherited memory.</p> - -<p>And though he knew it not, this night was the time -and his exit the sign that sealed the fate of New -Damascus. It was left in the hands of Enoch, who -fanatically withheld it from the steel age.</p> - -<p>“Where to?” Thane asked.</p> - -<p>“Wilkes-Barre tonight,” said John. “Then to Pittsburgh. -I’m buying a mill at Pittsburgh that I want -you to take hold of. We’ll discuss it tomorrow.”</p> - -<p>“What shape of mill?” asked Thane.</p> - -<p>John hesitated.</p> - -<p>“Nothing like the mill behind us,” he said.</p> - -<p>The idea of buying a mill had only that instant come -to him. So of course he did not know what kind of -mill it was.</p> - -<p>He looked at Agnes. She was sound asleep, leaning -on Thane, who had his arm around her. Again -he looked at her. She was in the same position, but -her eyes were wide open, staring straight ahead.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[189]</span></p> - - - - -<h2>XXI</h2> - - -<p class="dropcap">The flying triangle reached Wilkes-Barre for -breakfast.</p> - -<p>While waiting for Agnes, John and Thane transacted -an important piece of business.</p> - -<p>“Look here,” said John.</p> - -<p>He sat at a desk in the office and wrote rapidly on -a sheet of hotel paper as follows:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p class="center largefont">MEMORANDUM OF CONTRACT</p> - -<p style="margin-bottom:-0.75em">In consideration of one month’s wages paid in hand on the -signing of this paper, Alexander Thane agrees to give his skill -and services exclusively to the North American Manufacturing -Company, Ltd., (John Breakspeare, agent), for a period of two -years, and the North American Manufacturing Company, Ltd., -agrees to pay Alexander Thane not less that five thousand -dollars a year, plus a ten per cent. share in the profits.</p> - -<p class="ir1"><span style="vertical-align:30%">Signed</span> <span style="font-size:2.5em">{</span> -<span style="vertical-align:-45%"><span class="smcap">John Breakspeare</span></span></p> -</div> - -<p>“Put your name over mine,” he said, handing the -paper to Thane, who read it slowly.</p> - -<p>“This the mill you meant last night?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said John.</p> - -<p>“How did you come to know as I could run a mill?”</p> - -<p>“I think you can,” John said.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[190]</span></p> - -<p>Thane signed his name in large, bold writing, blotted -it hard, and handed the paper back to John.</p> - -<p>“You’re right,” he said. “I can. And if it appears -for any reason as I can’t that thing ain’t no good and -you can tear it up.”</p> - -<p>It never occurred to him that the business had a -fabulous aspect. He took what John said at its face -value. He could imagine no other way of taking a -friend’s word. And if it were unusual for a young -puddler to become a participating mill superintendent -over night, so urgently wanted that he must sign up -before breakfast, that might be easily explained. His -friend, John Breakspeare, was an extravagant person, -very impulsive, with unexpected flashes of insight. -Who else would have known what Thane could do? -Anyhow he had got the right man to run the mill. -Thane was sure of that. He supposed John was sure -of it, too.</p> - -<p>John just then was sure of nothing. His one anxiety -was to get Thane and Agnes into some kind of -going order. He was aware that his motives were -exceedingly complex and would not examine them. He -let himself off with saying it was his moral responsibility; -he was to blame for having got them into a -dilemma that neither was able to cope with. Yet all -the time he was thrilled by what he did because he was -doing it for Agnes.</p> - -<p>Thane’s artlessness about the contract was an instant -relief. A fatal difficulty might otherwise have -arisen at that point. But it was also very surprising. -Was he so extremely naïve? Or had he such a notion<span class="pagenum">[191]</span> -of his ability to conduct a mill as to think he would -be worth five thousand a year and one-tenth of the -profits? Yes, that was the explanation, John decided: -and it gave him a bad twist in his conscience to think -how hurt and unforgiving Thane would be if he knew -the truth,—that he had signed a contract with a non-existent -company to superintend a mythical mill.</p> - -<p>They ate a hearty breakfast, coming to it from a -night in the open air with no sleep at all. Although -they talked very little they were friendly under a truce -without terms, all tingling with a sense of plastic adventure. -There was no telling what would come of -it; but it was exciting; and everything that happened -was new.</p> - -<p>Both Agnes and John had a surreptitious eye for -the puddler’s manners. They were not intrinsically -bad or disgusting. They were only fundamentally -wrong. He delivered with his knife, took his coffee -from his saucer, modelled and arranged his food before -attacking it, cut all his meat at once, did everything -that cannot be done, and did it all with a certain -finish. That is to say, he was a neat eater, very handy -with his tools, and cleaned up. He took pride in the -performance; his confidence in it was impervious. He -was not in the least embarrassed or uneasy. He did -not wait to see what they did. He did it his way and -minded his own business.</p> - -<p>Once John caught Agnes eyeing Thane aslant, and -she stared him down for it. He could not decide -whether she was scandalized or fascinated.</p> - -<p>When they had finished Thane called for the reckoning<span class="pagenum">[192]</span> -and paid, John politely protesting, Agnes looking -somewhat surprised. After that in all cases Thane -paid for two and John paid for himself.</p> - -<p>Instead of resting for a day in Wilkes-Barre they -chose to go on by train to Pittsburgh and arrived there -in the middle of the afternoon. John recommended -a hotel where he was sure they could be quite comfortable -while deciding how they wished to live. He -was acquainted there. He would introduce them. In -fact, it was where he meant to lodge himself. So of -course they all went together.</p> - -<p>John managed the whole affair of settling them in -their rooms, doing it so tactfully, however, as to leave -Thane with the sense of having done it himself. When -at last there was not another thing to be thought of -John held out his hand to Agnes, saying:</p> - -<p>“Congratulations.”</p> - -<p>This was subtle, wicked treachery, and in the act was -a sting of shame, yet her coolness was so audacious he -could not resist the temptation to try its depth. She -took his hand and met his look with steady eyes.</p> - -<p>“Thank you,” she said. “May I share them with -my husband?”</p> - -<p>“No, don’t,” he said. “They are all his. I’m about -to lose my wits. Well, no matter.... Thane,”—turning -to him,—“Mrs. Thane may want to do some -shopping. The best places are three blocks east. I’ll -see you in the morning. Or later, perhaps? There’s -no hurry.”</p> - -<p>“Tomorrow morning,” Thane answered.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[193]</span></p> - -<p>They were standing in a group outside the Thanes’ -rooms, loath to break up, each for a different reason.</p> - -<p>“I’m under the same roof, you know, if you should -need me,” said John.</p> - -<p>“Thanks,” said Thane.</p> - -<p>Still they lingered in a group.</p> - -<p>“Have a bit of supper with us,” said Thane, suddenly.</p> - -<p>“Not tonight,” said John. “We shall be too -sleepy.”</p> - -<p>Agnes was silent.</p> - -<p>After a long pause, “Well,” said Thane, “this is -Pittsburgh.”</p> - -<p>John pensively nodded his head, and added, “Well.”</p> - -<p>Agnes might have yawned. That would have produced -the necessary centrifugal impulse. Or she might -have said something to have that effect. But she was -apparently sunk in thought.</p> - -<p>After another long pause the two men shook hands -in a hasty manner and John walked rapidly down the -hall. From the head of the staircase he looked back. -They were still there,—Agnes, her hands behind her, -leaning against the wall with her head thrown back, -gazing from afar at Thane, who stood in an awkward -twist, with one superfluous leg, looking away. His -face was towards John, and John waved his hand, but -there was no response. The puddler was staring at -an invisible thing.</p> - -<p>That last accidental glimpse of them left a vivid -after-image in John’s eyes. It stood there for hours -like a transparent illusion. He walked the sun down<span class="pagenum">[194]</span> -on a country road and still it was there. Returning, -he paced the streets until ten o’clock and it tortured -him still. Coming presently to a fine brick house, not -very large, with a marble fountain and small flower -garden in front, he turned in. His feet knew their -way up the narrow walk and he pulled the bell knob -with the air of one to whom nothing unexpected is -likely to happen. No light was anywhere visible. The -windows were hermetically shuttered. Nor did his -pull at the bell knob produce any audible sound. Yet -almost at once the door opened, revealing a brilliantly -lighted interior, and a servant in livery bowed him in. -There was an air of vulgar elegance about the hall. -The servant did not speak. Having offered to take -the visitor’s hat, to which the visitor shook his head, -he opened a heavy door to the right and there came -from beyond it intermittent sounds of small clatter. -The room John entered was what had been the front -drawing room. Back of it were two more rooms, in -a train to the depth of the house, all thrown together -by means of unfolded doors, so that the effect was of -one very long apartment, about thirty feet wide, laid -with rich, deep carpet on which the feet made not the -slightest sound. The walls were full of pictures, some -of them good. There were several art objects on -pedestals, a great many nice chairs and some small -tables, like tea tables, evidently used for serving refreshments. -On one of these tables was a large humidor -and on another a tray with a cut glass service -of decanters, goblets and ice bowl. That was all, except -down both sides of the first two rooms roulette<span class="pagenum">[195]</span> -wheels and in the last room at the end three faro -layouts.</p> - -<p>Twenty or thirty men were betting at roulette, in -groups of three or four each. John passed them with -a negligent, preoccupied air, walking straight back.</p> - -<p>No faro play was just then going on. At one layout -sat a dealer in that state of chilled ophidian tension -characteristic of professional gamblers in the face of -their prey, and by none so remarkably achieved as by -the faro bank dealer, who drinks ice water without -warming it, who sees without looking, who speaks only -under great provocation and then softly, and whose -slightest movement is pontifical until he reaches for -the six-shooter. That movement is as a rattlesnake -strikes.</p> - -<p>On the players’ side of a faro table are representations -of the thirteen cards,—ace, deuce, trey, etc., to -the king, in two rows of six each with the seven at one -end. On the dealer’s side, besides the rack containing -the chips, the cash drawer and the invisible six-shooter, -is a little metal box in which a pack of cards will -snugly lie, face up. The dealer moves the cards off -one at a time. They fall alternately into two piles. -One pile wins; the other loses. The players bet which -pile a card will fall in, indicating it by the way they -place their money on the table. No vocal sound is -necessary. It is a silent game. The expert might play -for ever and never speak a word.</p> - -<p>John dragged up a large chair, hung his coat on the -back of it, settled himself to face the dealer and passed -five hundred dollars across the table. The dealer put<span class="pagenum">[196]</span> -the money in the cash drawer and pushed out five stacks -of yellow chips. John began to play. He did not -make his bets at random. He played a slow, rhythmic, -two-handed game, never hesitating, always thoughtful, -precisely with the air of a man playing solitaire.</p> - -<p>For an hour or more he lost steadily. Several times -his hands made a bothered gesture, as of clearing the -space in front of his face. The dealer, the cards, the -yellow chips, all objects of common reality, were dim -and uncertain, by reason of the image persisting in -his eyes,—that etched impression of Agnes and Thane -in the hallway, so twain, so improbable, yet so imminent, -so— ... so—....</p> - -<p>He groaned aloud and held his head between -clenched hands. The dealer stopped and waited. -Players sometimes behave that way.</p> - -<p>Recalling himself with a start, John looked up, -cleared his play, gave the dealer a nod to proceed and -doubled the scale of his bets. That made his game -steep enough to attract attention. A little gallery -gathered. No one else cut in. He kept the table to -himself. Gradually the haunted mist broke up. The -tormenting picture went away. If it threatened to -return he raised his bets again. His health revived. -He had some supper brought in and ate it as he played. -He played all night.</p> - -<p>At seven he rose, yawned, stretched, rubbed his eyes -like a man coming out of a deep sleep, pushed his -chips across the table to be cashed, and drew on his -coat while the dealer counted them.</p> - -<p>He had won over three thousand dollars. But it<span class="pagenum">[197]</span> -was neither the fact of his winning nor the amount of -his gain that floated his spirits. It was getting that -picture out of his eyes and the feeling that went with -it out of his heart. Losing would have served him -quite as well, psychically, though of course winning was -only that much more to boot.</p> - -<p>Always for him the excitement of chance was a perfect -refuge from thought and reality, better than sleep, -which may be troubled with dreams, and restful in the -same way that dreamless sleep is.</p> - -<p>Now as he walked toward the hotel, though the -morning was wet and heavy, he felt fresh in his body -and optimistic in his mind. He could think of seeing -Agnes and Thane at breakfast without that ugly lurching -of his heart.</p> - -<p>They were in the dining room when he arrived there -an hour later. His impulse was to let them alone, but -Thane, seeing him, stood up and beckoned.</p> - -<p>“We kept a place for you,” he said.</p> - -<p>It was so. The table was laid for three. John wondered -whose wish that was.</p> - -<p>“I’ve had word from New Damascus,” he said to -Agnes. “Your father is all right.”</p> - -<p>“Was there any reason to think he might not be all -right?” she asked in surprise.</p> - -<p>“No, no,” he said. “It was merely mentioned, like -the state of the weather.”</p> - -<p>She detected his confusion.</p> - -<p>“You saw him last,” she said. “Did anything unusual -occur?” She was regarding him keenly.</p> - -<p>“I thought he looked ill, or about to be,” John said,<span class="pagenum">[198]</span> -“And I asked the servants to call the doctor. Apparently -it was nothing. Anyhow ... I’ve had word -that he’s all right.”</p> - -<p>She did not pursue the subject, but became suddenly -silent, and thereafter avoided John’s eyes, for -in the midst of his explanation his expression had -changed. He had looked at her in a most extraordinary -way and she suffered a deep psychic disturbance. -It was as if he had blunderingly discovered a nameless -secret. And that was precisely what had happened. -As he was talking to her,—positively as he would -swear with no wanton curiosity in his mind,—as he -looked at her and as her eyes met his in open frankness -there came an instant in which he saw how matters -stood.</p> - -<p>How can one tell? One cannot tell. It tells itself -in the way the eyes look back, in what is missing from -them, in something there that was not there before, -in a certain hardness of the chin.</p> - -<p>In no such way had Agnes changed.</p> - -<p>That was what John saw. The discovery shook -him. All his senses leaped exultingly. She was not -Thane’s,—not yet. Wild thoughts got loose. The -dining room began to sway. Then he looked at Thane -and enormously repented. His feeling for Thane was -one of intense affection. He could no more help it -than he could help his feeling for Agnes. They were -separate chemistries, antagonistic. So he was torn between -them, and when he could bear it no longer he -began clumsily to excuse himself.</p> - -<p>“We are delayed by legal formalities,” he said to<span class="pagenum">[199]</span> -Thane. “May be three or four days yet. Take it -easy. The company can stand it.”</p> - -<p>So he left them abruptly.</p> - -<p>All that day he fled from himself. All night he -played. The next morning he looked at his haggard -self in the mirror,—looked deeply into his own eyes, -and said aloud:</p> - -<p>“But she is his, not mine, and I will let her be, by -God.”</p> - -<p>On that he slept for twenty-four hours and rose on -the third day with a strong appetite, a clear mind and -a great vow to the divinity with whom he kept now a -time of feud, now a time of grace, whimsically alternating.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[200]</span></p> - - - - -<h2>XXII</h2> - - -<p class="dropcap">The divinity that made the pattern of John’s life -is infinitely mysterious. Some call it luck. Others -call it chance. Both are begging names. Mathematicians -call it probability—the theory of, and devote a -branch of their science to it. Definition is impossible. -It is whatever it is that causes, permits or brings one -thing to happen in place of all the other things that -might just as well have happened. Its commonest -manifestations are profoundly obscure. On the first -toss of a coin the chances are even between head and -tail. On the second toss they change. Why they -change nobody can tell; but everyone knows that the -odds against the heads coming twice in succession are -two to one. If you think of it, how preposterous! -Rationally, how can the result of one throw create -any probability as to the result of the next? Yet it -does. Here evidently is some principle or rhythmic -variation that we do not understand.</p> - -<p>We speak of the law of chance. There is no such -thing, for if chance could be reduced to law it would -cease to be chance. It is outside any law we know. -The mathematical odds are two to one against double -heads, yet the head may happen to come ten times in -succession, so that the actual predestined odds against<span class="pagenum">[201]</span> -the tail showing once in ten throws were ten to one. -If the head may come ten times in succession, could it -come a thousand times? No one will say it could not. -But since it has never happened as a matter of record -you can’t imagine it, and the odds against it are what -you will.</p> - -<p>The fact of oneself is an amazing unlikelihood. The -biological chances against one’s getting born as one is, -plus the chances against any particular organism getting -born at all, must have been billions to one. Yet -here one is, thinking it had been precisely inevitable -since all eternity. Perhaps it was. There may be no -such thing as chance. It may be only that we never -know all the factors. It may be. Yet does not everyone -believe from experience that survival is a continuous -chance?</p> - -<p>There are innumerable chances for and against one’s -living another day, another hour. These chances are -estimated statistically and great companies are formed -to bet on them. That is life insurance. The insurance -company bets not on the life of an individual, for -that would be gambling; it bets that the aggregate life -of ten thousand people will correspond to the average -duration of human life, and that works out, because -those who fall short of the average are balanced by -those who exceed it, and there is an average. But -any single life is the sport of pure chance. And we -know nothing about this fickle arbiter. Therefore we -become superstitious. Belief in luck is the only universal -religion. Luck is the happy chance. The right -thing happens when it is needed. It strains a point<span class="pagenum">[202]</span> -to happen. Why it happens, in streaks, why it happens -more to some than to others, why to a darling few it -happens importunately,—these are questions one asks -in a rhetorical sense. There is no answer. Luck and -genius may be two aspects of the same thing. Luck -happens and genius happens, and there is no accounting -for it.</p> - -<p>It came to be a notorious saying about John Breakspeare -that he was lucky. But people at the same -time said he was dangerous, which would mean that he -sometimes failed. That was true. He often failed. -When that happened he did not curse his luck. It -only occurred to him that he had played the wrong -chance, and he went on from there. Probably in a -case like his there is a highly developed intuition of the -winning chance corresponding to a musical composer’s -intuition of harmony. The principles of harmony have -been partially discovered. But the rhythms of chance -are still a mystery.</p> - -<p>Certainly it was chance, not luck, that brought John -this day to the edge of a small crowd in front of the -county court house just as the auctioneer was saying:</p> - -<p>“Three thousand—three thousand—three thousand—t-h-r-E-E -thous-A-N-D! Three thousand dollars -for a first class nail mill. Why, gentlemen, it would -fetch more than that by the pound for junk. Three -thousand do I hear one? Three thousand do I hear -one? GOING, at three—One! Thank you, sir.”</p> - -<p>He bowed ironically to John.</p> - -<p>“Thirty-one—thirty-one—thirty-one hund-r-e-d! -Do-I-hear-two? Do-I-hear-two? Do-I-hear-two? Two<span class="pagenum">[203]</span> -over there! Now do I hear three? Do-I-hear-three? -Two-do-I-hear-three?”</p> - -<p>He was looking at John.</p> - -<p>“Going at thirty-two. Are you all DONE? -T-h-i-r-t-y-two, ONCE. T-h-i-r-t-y-two, T W I C E. -T-h-i-r-t-y-two for the third and—”</p> - -<p>John nodded his head.</p> - -<p>“Three! Three-I-have, three-I-have, three-I-have. -Thirty-three-hundred dollars for an up-to-date iron -mill in the great city of Pittsburgh. Thirty-three-hundred. -Do I hear four? Four do I hear? Thirty-three, -thirty-three, thirty-three. Going at thirty-three hundred. -Going, ONCE. Going, TWICE. Going for -the third and last time—SOLD! to that young man -over there. Now, gentlemen, the next property to be -sold by the decree of the court is a nail mill as is a mill. -It has a capacity of—”</p> - -<p>John, thrusting his way through the crowd, interrupted.</p> - -<p>“Where shall I go to settle for this?”</p> - -<p>The auctioneer eyed him suspiciously and relighted -his cigar before speaking.</p> - -<p>“If I were you,” he squinted, “I’d try the clerk of -the court.”</p> - -<p>“Where is he?”</p> - -<p>“Haven’t you seen him?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“Why not?”</p> - -<p>“There was no occasion.”</p> - -<p>The auctioneer could not stand anything so opaque. -It made him sarcastic.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[204]</span></p> - -<p>“If you have been playing booby horse with me and -the court,—if you h-a-v-e! Does anybody around here -know your figger to look at it?”</p> - -<p>“This is a public auction, isn’t it?” John asked.</p> - -<p>“Yes-sir-ee.”</p> - -<p>“A certain property was put up here for sale?”</p> - -<p>“Yes-sir-ee.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I bought it,” said John. “Now I want to -pay for it. Is that clear? I want to pay for it in -cash. Does that make it any clearer? Whom shall -I pay? That’s all I want to know.”</p> - -<p>The auctioneer saved his ego with a gesture of being -exceedingly bored. He turned to the bailiff at his side -and wearily tore from his hands a large legal document. -“I’ll read this,” he said. “Take him in to the -clerk.” Then he resumed—“A nail mill as is a mill, -gentlemen, particularly described, if we may read without -further interruption, in terms as follows:—”</p> - -<p>Half an hour later John walked out of the courthouse -with title to a mill he had never seen, guaranteed -by the bankruptcy court to exist in Twenty-ninth Street -and to contain tools, machines, devices, etc., pertaining -to the manufacture of cut iron nails. It was one of -four nail mills sold that day on the court house -steps.</p> - -<p>“Can’t be much of a mill,” mused John. “Still, it -doesn’t take much of a mill to be worth thirty-three -hundred dollars.”</p> - -<p>Not until long afterward, and then not very hard, -did the incongruity of this transaction strike his sense -of humor. And in fact it was not as irrational as it<span class="pagenum">[205]</span> -might seem. He had to have a mill of some sort in -which to place Thane. Nail mills were very cheap -because they had increased too fast and were falling -into bankruptcy. The other bidders undoubtedly were -men who not only had examined the mill but who knew -the state of the nail industry. It was not likely that -they would over-value the property; and he paid only -one hundred dollars more than they had been willing -to give for it.</p> - -<p>The next thing he did was to visit a lawyer whom -he favorably remembered from slight acquaintance. -That was Jubal Awns,—two small black eyes in a big -round head and a pleasant way of saying yes.</p> - -<p>John drew a slip of paper from his pocket. He -wished to incorporate a company, to be styled the -North American Manufacturing Company, Ltd., with -an authorized capital of a quarter of a million dollars -and three incorporators,—himself, the lawyer Awns -and a man named Thane.</p> - -<p>“What is the business?” Awns asked.</p> - -<p>“Manufacturing,” said John.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Awns, “but what do we manufacture? -What is the property to be incorporated?”</p> - -<p>“A nail mill to begin with,” said John.</p> - -<p>“Where is it?”</p> - -<p>“Here in Pittsburgh. Thirty-ninth Street.”</p> - -<p>“That’s got me,” said Awns. “I can’t think of any -nail mill in Thirty-ninth Street.”</p> - -<p>John looked at the bill of sale and improved the -address without the slightest change of expression.</p> - -<p>“Twenty-ninth,” he said.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[206]</span></p> - -<p>The lawyer took the bill of sale, glanced at it, and -gave John a curious look.</p> - -<p>“Have you seen it?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“Bought it sight unseen?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“How much stock of this new company do you mean -to issue?”</p> - -<p>“Founders’ shares, or whatever they are, and then -stock to myself for what I put in,—the mill, the money -to start with, and so on.”</p> - -<p>“Then why an authorized capital of a quarter of -a million?”</p> - -<p>“Because I’m going into the iron and steel business,” -said John.</p> - -<p>Awns studied him in silence.</p> - -<p>“You have quit with Gib at New Damascus?”</p> - -<p>“I’m out for myself,” said John.</p> - -<p>“All right,” said Awns. “Here’s for the North -American Manufacturing Company, Limited.”</p> - -<p>They drew up papers. At the end of the business -John asked: “Will you take your fee in cash or -stock?”</p> - -<p>Jubal Awns was amazed, and somehow challenged, -too. He was ten years older than John, successful and -shrewd, with a delusion that he was romantic. He -loved to dramatize a matter and make unexpected -decisions. Putting down the papers he got up and -walked three times across the floor with an air of -meditation.</p> - -<p>“I’ll take it in stock,” he said, “provided I may incorporate<span class="pagenum">[207]</span> -all of your companies and take my fees that -way each time.”</p> - -<p>They shook hands on it.</p> - -<p>It was late that afternoon when John and Thane -together set out in a buggy from the hotel to inspect -the mill. Thane was eager and communicative. He -had not been taking it easy. He evidently had visited -all the big mills in and around Pittsburgh. He had -seen some new practice and much that was bad, and -had got a lot of ideas. He had informed himself as -to the conditions of labor. Here and there he had -found a man he meant to pick up.</p> - -<p>And all the time John’s heart was sinking.</p> - -<p>As they turned into Twenty-ninth Street the eight -stacks of the Keystone Iron Works rose in their eyes. -No other iron working plant was visible in the vicinity, -and as John, looking for his nail mill, began to slow -up, Thane leaped to the notion that the Keystone was -their goal.</p> - -<p>“She’s a whale,” he said, enthusiastically, but with -no sound of awe. John gave him a squinting glance.</p> - -<p>“Would you tackle that?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Oh,” said Thane, “then that ain’t it.” In his tone -was a sense of disappointment that answered John’s -question. Of course he would tackle it.</p> - -<p>They drove slowly past the Keystone, past dump -heaps, sand lots, a row of unpainted, upside down boxes -called houses, and came at length to a group of rude -sheds, one large one and four small ones. One of the -small ones, open in front like a wood-shed, was filled -with empty nail kegs in tiers.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[208]</span></p> - -<p>The front door of the big central shed was propped -shut with an iron bar. John kicked it away, pulled -the door open, and they went in. A figure rose out -of the dimness, asking, “What’d ye want?”</p> - -<p>“Are you Coleman’s caretaker?” John asked. Coleman -was the name of the bankrupt.</p> - -<p>“Yep,” said the man.</p> - -<p>So this was the mill.</p> - -<p>“We’ve bought him out,” said John. “Want to -have a look at the plant.”</p> - -<p>“Help yourself.”</p> - -<p>They walked about silently on the earthen, scrap -littered floor. A nail mill, as nail mills were at that -time, was not much to look at, and a cold iron working -plant of any kind has a bygone, extinct appearance. -Thane had never seen a cold mill. He was horribly -depressed. Gradually their eyes grew used to the dimness. -The equipment consisted of an overloaded driving -engine, one small furnace for heating iron bars, a -train of rolls for reducing the bars to sheets the thickness -of nails and five automatic machines for cutting -nails from the sheet like cookies,—all in bad to fair -condition.</p> - -<p>“Won’t look so sad when you get her hot and begin -to turn her over,” said John.</p> - -<p>Thane said nothing. Having examined the machinery -and the furnace thoughtfully he stood for a long -time surveying the mill as a whole. There was no -inventory to speak of. The raw material, which was -bar iron bought outside, had been worked up clean. -They looked into the small sheds and then it began to<span class="pagenum">[209]</span> -be dark. As they drove away Thane spoke. It was -the first word he had uttered.</p> - -<p>“When do we start up?”</p> - -<p>“Right away,” said John. “I’ll contract some iron -tomorrow.”</p> - -<p>“Give me a couple of weeks,” said Thane. “There’s -a lot to be done to that place.”</p> - -<p>“What?”</p> - -<p>“She’s all upside down,” he said. “The stuff ain’t -moving right. No wonder they had to shut up.”</p> - -<p>That night at supper Agnes questioned her puddler.</p> - -<p>“What is your mill like?”</p> - -<p>“A one horse thing.”</p> - -<p>His manner was preoccupied and she let him alone. -After supper he went to his room, removed his coat, -waistcoat, collar and shoes and sat with his feet in the -window, thinking.</p> - -<p>They had three rooms,—two bed chambers and a -living room between. She sat in the middle room sewing, -with a view of him through the door, which he -left ajar. He did not move, except to refill and light -his pipe. He was still there, slowly receding beyond -a veil of smoke, when she retired.</p> - -<p>Before he went to bed the little nail mill was all -made over and the stuff was moving right.</p> - -<p>Thane at this time was twenty-five. He had lived -nearly all his life in the iron mill at New Damascus. -He could not remember a time when its uproar and -smells were not familiar to his senses. His mother -died when he was three. He was the only child. Then -his father, who was a puddler and loved him fiercely,<span class="pagenum">[210]</span> -began to take him to the mill. It was a wonderful -nursery. When the shift was daytime he was the -puddlers’ mascot and playmate. At night he slept on -a pallet in some gloom hidden niche from which he -could see his father, satanically transfigured in the -glare of the furnace. Then he went to school, but spent -all his playtime in the mill. The thrill of it never failed -him. When he was old enough to carry water he got -a job. At nineteen he became his father’s helper and -delighted to vie with him in the weight of pig iron -he could lift and heave into the maw of the furnace. -The normal carry was one pig. He began to carry two -at a time and his father matched him. But one day his -father stumbled. As they stooped again side by side at -the iron pile he picked up one pig. The old man gave -him a queer, startled look and did the same. After -that it was always one pig, and they never spoke of it. -When his father died Alexander took his place, and as -he drew his first heat, Enoch watching, the fact stood -granted. He was the best puddler in the mill.</p> - -<p>He had it in his hands. Of iron, for coaxing, shaping -and compelling it, he had that kind of tactile understanding -an artist has for paint or clay, or any plastic -stuff. He seemed to think with his hands. It is a -mysterious gift, and leaves it open to wonder whether -the brain has made the hand or the hand the brain. -Besides this intuitive knowledge that belongs to the -hand Thane possessed a natural sense of mechanics -and a naïve way of taking nothing for granted because -it happens so to be. All of this was to be revealed. -It was John’s luck.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[211]</span></p> - - - - -<h2>XXIII</h2> - - -<p class="dropcap">While Thane was thinking how to set the nail -mill in order, John, sitting in the hotel lobby -with his feet in the window, gnawing a cigar, was reflecting -in another sphere. His problem was the nail -industry at large. It was in a parlous way. Although -cut iron nails had been made by automatic machines -for a long time there had recently appeared a machine -that displaced all others, because it made the nail complete, -head and all, in one run, and was very fast. This -machine coming suddenly into use had caused an over-production -of nails. The price had fallen to a point -where there was actually a loss instead of a profit in -nail making unless one produced one’s own iron and -got a profit there. The Twenty-ninth Street plant -had to buy its iron. The probability of running it at -a profit was nil.</p> - -<p>His meditations carried him far into the night. The -lights were put out and still he sat with his feet in -the window, musing, reflecting, dreaming, with a relaxed -and receptive mind. An idea came to him. It -will be important to consider what that idea was for it -became afterward a classic pattern. It had the audacity -of great simplicity. He would combine the whole -nail making industry in his North American Manufacturing -Company, Ltd. Then production could be<span class="pagenum">[212]</span> -suited to demand and the price of nails could be advanced -to a paying level.</p> - -<p>He took stock of his capital. It was fifteen thousand -dollars. Maybe it could be stretched to twenty. -In his work with Gib, selling rails, he had acquired a -miscellaneous lot of very cheap and highly speculative -railroad shares, some of which were beginning to have -value. But twenty thousand dollars would be the outside -measurement, and to think of setting out with that -amount of capital to acquire control of the nail making -industry, worth perhaps half a million dollars, was at -a glance fantastic. But one’s capital may exist in the -idea. John already understood the art of finance.</p> - -<p>Leaving the Twenty-ninth Street plant in Thane’s -hands, with funds for overhauling it, he consulted with -Jubal Awns and set out the next morning on his errand.</p> - -<p>The nail makers were responsive for an obvious -reason. They were all losing money. In a short time -John laid before Awns a sheaf of papers.</p> - -<p>“There’s the child,” he said. “Examine it.”</p> - -<p>He had got options in writing on every important -nail mill in the country save one. The owners agreed -to sell out to the North American Manufacturing Co., -Ltd., taking in payment either cash or preferred shares -at their pleasure. The inducement to take preferred -shares was that if they did they would receive a bonus -of fifty per cent. in common stock.</p> - -<p>“But they will take cash in every case,” said Awns, -“and where will you find it?”</p> - -<p>“They won’t,” said John. “I’ll see to that. What -have you done with Gib?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[213]</span></p> - -<p>Awns had been to see Enoch. The New Damascus -mill produced in its nail department a fifth of all the -nails then made. There was no probability of buying -him out. John well knew that. Yet his nail output -had to be controlled in some way, else the combine -would fail. So he had sent Awns to him with alternative -propositions. The first was to buy him out of the -nail making business. And when he had declined to -sell, as of course he would, Awns was to negotiate for -his entire output under a long term contract.</p> - -<p>“He wouldn’t sell his nail business,” said Awns.</p> - -<p>“I knew that,” said John.</p> - -<p>“But I’ve got a contract for all his nails,” said Awns, -handing over the paper. “The price is stiff,—fifty -cents a keg more than nails are worth. It was the best -I could do.”</p> - -<p>“That’s all right,” said John reading the agreement. -“We are going to add a dollar a keg to nails. This -phrase—‘unless the party of the second part,’ (that’s -Gib), ‘wishes to sell nails at a lower price to the trade’—who -put that in?”</p> - -<p>“He did,” said Awns. “I couldn’t see any point in -objecting to it. No man is going to undersell his own -contract.”</p> - -<p>John handed the agreement back and sat for several -minutes musing.</p> - -<p>“There’s a loose wheel in your scheme, if I’m not -mistaken,” said Awns. “If you add a dollar a keg -to nails won’t you bring in a lot of new competition? -Anybody can make nails if it pays. These same people<span class="pagenum">[214]</span> -who sell out to you may turn around and begin again. -You’ll be holding the umbrella for everybody else.”</p> - -<p>“Anybody can’t make nails,” said John. “I’ve -looked at that.”</p> - -<p>“Why not?”</p> - -<p>“Nail making machines are covered by patents. -There are only four firms that make them. I’ve made -air tight contracts with them. We take all their -machines at an advance of twenty-five per cent. over -present prices and they bind themselves to sell machines -to nobody else during the life of the contract. -So we’ve got the bag sewed up top and bottom. They -were glad to do it because there isn’t any profit in -machines either with the nail makers all going busted.”</p> - -<p>Awns stared at him with doubt and admiration -mingled.</p> - -<p>“Well, that is showing them something,” he said. -“If you go far with that kind of thing laws will be -passed to stop it.”</p> - -<p>“It’s legal, isn’t it?”</p> - -<p>“There’s no law against it,” said Awns.</p> - -<p>“We’re not obliged to be more legal than the law,” -said John. “Tell me, what do you know about bankers -in Pittsburgh? I’ve got to do some business in -that quarter.”</p> - -<p>Pittsburgh at this time was not a place prepared. It -was a sign, a pregnant smudge, a state of phenomena. -The great mother was undergoing a Cæsarian operation. -An event was bringing itself to pass. The steel -age was about to be delivered.</p> - -<p>Men performed the office of obstetrics without<span class="pagenum">[215]</span> -knowing what they did. They could neither see nor -understand it. They struggled blindly, falling down -and getting up. Forces possessed them. Their psychic -condition was that of men to whom fabulous despair -and extravagant expectation were the two ends of one -ecstasy. They were hard, shrewd, sentimental, superstitious, -romantic in friendship and conscienceless in -trade. They named their blast furnaces after their -wives and sweethearts, stole each other’s secrets, fell -out with their partners, knew no law of business but -to lay on what the traffic would bear, read Swedenborg -and dreamed of Heaven as a thoroughfare resembling -Wood Street, Pittsburgh, lined with banks and in the -door of each bank a grovelling president, pleading: -“Here’s money for your payrolls. Please borrow it -here. Very fine quality of money. Pay it back when -you like.”</p> - -<p>They were always begging money at the banks. -When they made money they used it to build more -mills and to fill the mills with automatic monsters that -grew stranger and more fantastic. Many of these -monsters, like things in nature’s own history of trial -and error, appeared for a short time and became extinct. -When they were not making money they were -bankrupt. That was about half the time. Then they -came to the banks in Wood Street to implore, beg, -wheedle money to meet their payrolls.</p> - -<p>There is the legend of a man, afterward one of the -great millionaires, who drove one mare so often to -Wood Street and from one bank to another in a zigzag -course that the animal came to know the stops by<span class="pagenum">[216]</span> -heart, made them automatically, and could not be made -to go in a straight line through this lane of money -doors.</p> - -<p>The bankers were a tough minded group. They -had to be. Nobody was quite safe. A man with a -record for sanity would suddenly lose his balance and -cast away the substance of certainty to pursue a vision. -The effort to adapt the Bessemer steel process to -American conditions was an irresistible road to ruin. -That process was producing amazing results in Europe -but in this country it was bewitched with perversity -and it looked as if the English and German manufacturers -would walk away with the steel age. Fortunes -were still being swallowed up in snail shaped vessels -called converters, not unlike the one Aaron had built -at New Damascus twenty-five years before.</p> - -<p>Of all the bankers in Wood Street the toughest -minded was Lemuel Slaymaker.</p> - -<p>“All the same,” said Awns, “I should try him first. -His name would put it through and he loves a profit.”</p> - -<p>Awns knew him. They went together to see him. -Slaymaker saluted Awns and acknowledged his introduction -of Mr. John Breakspeare not otherwise nor -more than by turning slowly in his chair and staring -at them. He had a large white face, pale blue eyes -and red, close-cropped hair. The impression he made -was one of total sphericity. There was no way to take -hold of him. No thought or feeling projected.</p> - -<p>John laid out his plan, producing the papers as exhibits, -A, B, C, in the appropriate places. Lastly he -produced data on the nail trade, showing the amount<span class="pagenum">[217]</span> -of nails consumed in the country and the normal rate -of annual increase with the growth of population, together -with a carefully developed estimate of the combine’s -profits at various prices per keg. When he had -finished the idea was lucid, complete in every part and -self-evident. Therein lay the secret of his extraordinary -power of persuasion. He seemed never to argue -his case. He expressed no opinion of his own to be -combatted. He merely laid down a state of facts with -an air of looking at them from the other man’s point -of view.</p> - -<p>“And what you want is a bank to guarantee this -scheme,” said Slaymaker. “You want a bank to guarantee -that if these people want cash instead of stock -the cash will be forthcoming.”</p> - -<p>This was the first word he had spoken. The papers -he had not even glanced at. They lay on his desk as -John had placed them there.</p> - -<p>“That’s it,” said John. “Guarantee it. Very little -cash will be required.”</p> - -<p>“How do you say that?”</p> - -<p>“To make them want stock instead of cash,” said -John, “you have only to engage brokers to make advance -quotations for the stock, here and in Philadelphia -at, say, par for the preferred and fifty for the -common. If you do not know brokers who can do that -I will find them. The scheme is sound. The stock -will pay dividends from the start. A bank that had -guaranteed it might very well speak a good word for -it here and there. The public will want some of the -stock.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[218]</span></p> - -<p>Slaymaker gazed at a corner of the ceiling and -twiggled his foot. Then he turned his back on them.</p> - -<p>“Leave the papers,” he said, “and see me at this -time tomorrow.”</p> - -<p>When they were in the street again Awns said: “You -got him.”</p> - -<p>And so the infant trust was born,—first of its kind, -first of a giant brood. Biologically they were all alike, -but with evolution their size increased prodigiously. -The swaddling cloths of this one would not have -patched the eye of a twentieth century specimen delivered -in Wall Street.</p> - -<p>Slaymaker’s lawyers and Jubal Awns together verified -all the agreements. The stock of the N. A. M. -Co., Ltd., was increased enough to make sure there -would be plenty to go around. Slaymaker took a large -amount for banker’s fees, John took a block for promoter’s -services and another block for the Twenty-ninth -Street mill, the lawyers took some, and a certain -amount was set aside for Thane,—for Agnes really. -John was elected president and the combine was -launched. Before the day came on which the options -of purchase were to be exercised the preferred stock -was publicly quoted at 105 and the common stock at -55, and there were symptoms of public interest in its -possibilities. As John predicted, nearly all the nail -manufacturers elected to take stock in the new company, -with Slaymaker’s name behind it.</p> - -<p>Everyone at length was more enthusiastic than John. -He kept thinking of that phrase in the contract with -Gib—“unless the party of the second part wishes to<span class="pagenum">[219]</span> -sell nails to the trade at a lower price.” No one else -had noticed it, not even Slaymaker. Nobody else -would have had any misgivings about it. Who could -imagine, as Awns said, that a man would undersell his -own contract? There is a law of self interest one takes -for granted.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[220]</span></p> - - - - -<h2>XXIV</h2> - - -<p class="dropcap">Thane had been reporting laconically on the -Twenty-ninth Street mill. It now was in action -and the nails were piling up. John had not been out -to see it. Their contacts had become irregular; generally -they met by accident in the hotel lobby, rarely -in the dining room. This was owing partly to John’s -absorption in his scheme and partly to the resolve he -had made to avoid Agnes. He had not once been -close enough to speak to her since that third morning -when his haggard true self met his anti-self in the -mirror, saying: “She is his.” The only way he could -put her out of his mind at all was to involve himself -in difficulties. Trouble was a cave of refuge. As -during those two nights of struggle with his anti-self, -when it had almost conquered him, he played absently -at faro and increased his bets to make the game absorbing, -so afterward in business, wilfully at first and then -by habit, he preferred the hazardous alternative; he -seemed to seek those situations in which the chance -was all or none. This made his ways uncanny. Luck -seems to favor one who doesn’t care. Or it may be -that one who doesn’t care sees more clearly than the -rest, being free of fear.</p> - -<p>“Better come and sight it,” said Thane, one morning -in the lobby. “I’m worried where to put the nails.”</p> - -<p>“We’ll go now,” said John. “Anyhow, I want to<span class="pagenum">[221]</span> -talk to you. I don’t know about this Twenty-ninth -Street mill. It’s a poor layout. Maybe we’d better -shut it up. Now don’t get uneasy. Wait till I’m -through. The company—(and, by the way, you are -a director and there’s some stock in your name)—it -has bought nearly all the nail mills there are. Over -a hundred, big and little, all over the place. The idea -is to combine the nail industry in one organization and -put it back on a paying basis. I want you to go around -with me and have a look at mills. Some of them we’ll -throw away. The trouble was too many of them.”</p> - -<p>He went on talking to take up Thane’s injured silence. -That he was a director in the company, that -he had stock in it, that his salary was to be doubled,—none -of this availed against the puddler’s pride in what -he had done with the Twenty-ninth Street mill. The -thought of now shutting it up hurt him in his middle. -John on his side was disappointed in Thane’s inability -to rise to an opportunity. So they came to the mill.</p> - -<p>“Sounds busy,” said John.</p> - -<p>Thane held his thoughts.</p> - -<p>On beholding the scene of action within, almost at -a glance, John placed the puddler where he belonged. -Here was the work of a master superintendent. -Nothing was as it had been except the engine and furnace. -Everything else had been relocated with one -aim in view, which was to eliminate all unnecessary -human motion and shorten the train of events from the -raw material straight through to the finished nail -packed in the keg and stored. Besides the physical -achievement, which alone was very notable, there was<span class="pagenum">[222]</span> -a subtle psychic relation between Thane and his men. -They worked on their toes and liked doing it for him.</p> - -<p>“Shake,” said John, holding out his hand. “No, -we won’t shut her up. We’ll take her as a pattern. -If you can do this with all the mills we’ll walk away -with it. Have you figured your costs? They must be -fine.”</p> - -<p>“In my head,” said Thane.</p> - -<p>They stood at a little greasy box-desk screwed to -the wall under a window dim with cobwebs.</p> - -<p>“I’ll show you how to figure them,” said John. -“Iron, so much; fuel, so much; kegs, so much; oil, and -so forth, so much; wear and tear of tools and plant, -so much; labor, so much; total, so much. Then kegs -of nails, so many. Divide that by that and you have -the cost per keg. Let’s see how it will work out.”</p> - -<p>It worked out nearly as Thane had it in his head -and John was sentimental with pride and satisfaction.</p> - -<p>“Come on,” he said, impatiently. “Leave a man -in charge of this, and we’ll see the other mills.”</p> - -<p>Starting with more than a hundred mills, they -scrapped twenty outright, saving only their contracts, -raw material and stock on hand; others they consolidated. -In the end they had fifty well equipped plants -strategically placed to supply the trade by the shortest -routes. They had all to be overhauled according to -Thane’s ideas. He turned the Twenty-ninth Street -plant into a training station and sent men from there -to work the other mills. It was a large and complicated -program. He carried it through so skillfully -that he was appointed vice-president in charge of manufacturing,<span class="pagenum">[223]</span> -and John was free to organize the company’s -business and function executively.</p> - -<p>He raised the price of nails, first twenty-five cents -a keg, then fifty, then seventy-five cents, and stopped. -At that price there was a good profit. Thane was -steadily reducing costs by improving plant practice and -that increased profits in another way.</p> - -<p>A dividend was paid on the preferred stock in the -third month. The omens were fine. Still, John was -uneasy. No New Damascus nails had been received -under their contract with Enoch. The making of nails -had not stopped at New Damascus. He made sure -of that. No New Damascus nails were coming on the -market, either, for John knew everything about the -trade. Then what was to be expected?</p> - -<p>The answer when it came did not surprise him. He -had guessed it already.</p> - -<p>One day the nail market was knocked in the head. -Enoch was offering nails to the hardware trade at a -price seventy-five cents lower than the combine’s price. -That meant he was selling them for fifty cents a -keg less than the combine had agreed to pay him for -his whole output. He had never tendered one ten-penny -nail on that contract. Instead, working his plant -at high speed, he had accumulated thousands of kegs -expressly for the irrational purpose of casting them -suddenly on sale to break the combine’s market—John -Breakspeare’s market—<em>Aaron’s market</em>! John was -the only person who understood it. Everyone else was -dazed.</p> - -<p>Slaymaker sent for John.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[224]</span></p> - -<p>“What’s the matter with that man at New Damascus?”</p> - -<p>“He’s out of his mind,” said John.</p> - -<p>“Better buy him up at his own price,” said Slaymaker. -“That’s what he wants.”</p> - -<p>John knew better. However, to satisfy Slaymaker, -he sent Awns to see Enoch again.</p> - -<p>“You’re right,” Awns reported. “The old man is -clean crazy. He won’t sell at any price. All he would -do was to point to that stipulation in the contract -and laugh at me.”</p> - -<p>The combine stood aside until the trade had absorbed -the New Damascus nails and then tried to go -on without reducing its own price; but the trade became -very ugly about it, the combine began to be denounced, -and Congress, hearing from the farmers, -threatened to take the import duty off nails and let the -foreign product in. The combine had to let down the -price and wait.</p> - -<p>Three months later the preposterous act was repeated, -Enoch flooding the market with nails at fifty -cents a keg less than the combine’s price. There was -no doubt this time that he was selling nails at a ruinous -loss, and everyone’s amazement grew. Only John -knew why he did it.</p> - -<p>The combine was now in a very awkward dilemma. -If it met Enoch’s price it not only would be selling its -own nails at a loss but selling them at a price far below -that at which it was obliged to take Enoch’s entire -output in case he should choose to deliver to the combine -instead of selling direct to the trade.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[225]</span></p> - -<p>“Whipsawed,” said John to Awns, “if you know -what that means.”</p> - -<p>For the N. A. M. Co., Ltd. from then on it was a -race with bankruptcy, Gib pursuing. He sold Damascus -nails lower and lower until it was thought he would -give them away. He might ultimately go broke, of -course, but that was nothing the combine could wait -for. He was very rich,—nobody knew how rich,—and -nail making after all was a small part of his business.</p> - -<p>Under these unnatural circumstances John won the -incognizable Slaymaker’s glassy admiration, for in -trouble he was dogged and enormously resourceful.</p> - -<p>“If we’ve got to live on the sweat of our nails,” he -said, “we can’t afford to buy iron.”</p> - -<p>Thereupon at a bankrupt price he negotiated the -purchase of a blast furnace and puddling mill over -which two partners were quarrelling in a suicidal manner. -No cash was involved. He paid for it with notes. -In Thane’s hands, and with luck that was John’s, the -plant performed one of those miracles that made Pittsburgh -more exciting than a mining camp. It paid for -itself the first year out of its own profits. Then John -turned it over to the N. A. M. Co., Ltd., at cost. On -seeing him do this, Slaymaker, who had never parted -with his first stock holdings, privately increased them.</p> - -<p>There was a profit in ore back of the iron. John -went to that. He got hold of a small Mesaba ore body -on a royalty basis and had then a complete chain from -the ore to the finished nail. There was still one profit. -That was in the kegs. So cooper shops were added.</p> - -<p>What with all this integration, as the word came to<span class="pagenum">[226]</span> -be for that method of working back to one’s raw -material and articulating the whole series of profits, -and what at the same time with Thane’s skill in manufacture, -developing to the point of genius, the N. A. -M. Company got the cost of nails down very low,—even -lower as John one day discovered than it was in -Europe. This gave him an idea. There was no profit -in nails at home, owing to Enoch’s mad policy of -slaughter, but there was the whole world to sell nails -in. The N. A. M. Co. invaded the export field. This -was a shock to the European nail makers. They met -it angrily with reprisals. John went to Europe with a -plan to form an international pool in which the nail -business of the earth should be divided up,—allotting -so much to Great Britain, so much to Germany, so -much to Belgium, so much to the United States, and -so on. If they would do that everybody might make -a little money.</p> - -<p>He returned unexpectedly and appeared one morning -in Slaymaker’s office.</p> - -<p>“Did you get your pool born?”</p> - -<p>“Chucked the idea,” said John. “I found this.”</p> - -<p>He laid on the banker’s desk a bright, thin, cylindrical -object.</p> - -<p>“What’s that?” Slaymaker asked, looking at it but -not touching it.</p> - -<p>“That,” said John, “is a steel wire nail. It will -drive the iron nail out. It’s just as good and costs -much less to make. You feed steel wire into one end -of a machine and nails come out at the other like -wheat.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[227]</span></p> - -<p>“Well?” said the banker.</p> - -<p>“The machines both for drawing the wire and making -the nails are German,” John continued. “I’ve -bought all the American rights on a royalty basis.”</p> - -<p>“What will you do with them?”</p> - -<p>“I bought them for the N. A. M.,” said John.</p> - -<p>“If this is going to be such a God Almighty nail why -not form a new company to make it?” asked Slaymaker.</p> - -<p>“I’d rather pull the horse we’ve got out of the -ditch,” said John.</p> - -<p>Slaymaker regarded him with an utterly expressionless -stare.</p> - -<p>“Go ahead,” he said.</p> - -<p>Enter the steel wire nail. It solved the N. A. M. -Company’s problem. Enoch could not touch it. The -combine steadily reduced its output of iron nails, until -it was nominal, and flooded the trade with the others. -Enoch could make any absurd price he liked for iron -nails, but as his output, though a formidable bludgeon -with which to beat down prices, was only a fraction -of what the country required, and as the remainder of -the demand was met with the combine’s new product, -wire nails superseded iron nails four or five kegs to one. -They could sell at a higher price than iron nails without -prejudice because they were different, and John, -putting a selling campaign behind them, proved that -they were also better. That probably was not so. But -people had to have them.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[228]</span></p> - - - - -<h2>XXV</h2> - - -<p class="dropcap">Still there were difficulties quite enough to keep -John’s mind enthralled. The steel wire nails soon -got the N. A. M. Co. out of the woods. But as the -German nail making machines would devour nothing -but German wire their food had to be imported by the -shipload. The German wire drawing machines, acquired -along with the nail making machines, miserably -failed when they were asked to reduce American steel -to the form of wire. That was not their fault really. -It was the fault of American steel. The N. A. M. Co. -had either to import German and English steel to make -the wire the nail machines ate or import the wire itself.</p> - -<p>And now for the first time John turned his mind to -this great problem of steel. Six or eight Bessemer steel -plants had been built in the United States under the -English patents at enormous cost and every one had -failed. They could produce steel all right, and do it -with one melt from the iron ore, which was what they -were after. The trouble was that the steel was never -twice the same. Its quality and nature varied. The -process was treacherous. There were those who said -it simply could not be adapted to American ores; that -the only way this country could produce true steel was -the old long way, which made it much more expensive -than iron.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[229]</span></p> - -<p>One night John recognized in the hotel lobby a figure -that tormented both the flesh and the spirit of Pittsburgh,—the -flesh by wasting its substance and the -spirit by keeping always before it a riddle it had not -solved. He was a frail, bent little man, not yet old, -with a long thin mustache and a pleasing, naïve voice -that had cost several iron men their entire fortunes. -Wood Street bankers wished he were dead or had never -been born. This was Tillinghast, metallurgist and engineer, -who had already designed and constructed four -steel plants that were a total loss. He knew in each -case what was wrong,—knew it in the instant of -failure,—and begged to be permitted to make certain -changes. Very simple changes. Quite inexpensive. He -would guarantee the result. But as his changes at -length involved rebuilding the whole plant and as the -last of the steel was still like the first his backers -sickened and turned away.</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter, Tillinghast?” John asked. -“You look so horribly down.”</p> - -<p>It was a long story, incoherent with unnecessary -details, technical exposition, expostulation and argument -aside, told at the verge of tears. A steel plant on -the river, opposite Allegheny,—one that everyone -knew about,—had been under trial for a week. It was -almost right. It needed only one correction. They -were actually touching the magic. Yet his backers were -on the point of throwing it up in disgust.</p> - -<p>“No more money, maybe,” said John.</p> - -<p>“Fifty thousand more,” said Tillinghast. “I guarantee -the result if they will spend fifty thousand more.<span class="pagenum">[230]</span> -They have spent eight times that already.” His idea -of money in large sums was childlike.</p> - -<p>John heard for a while, then heard without listening, -while Tillinghast went on and on, thinking to himself -out loud. On leaving him John was in a state of -vague apprehension. Afterward he could not remember -whether he had said goodnight.</p> - -<p>All that he had ever heard, here and there, first -from Thaddeus and then from others about his -father’s fateful steel experiment at New Damascus -came back to him, fused and made a vivid picture. -That was not so strange. But he seemed to know more -than he had ever heard. He seemed to be directly -remembering,—not what he had learned from others -but the experience itself as if it had been his own. He -saw it. And presently in another dimension he saw the -steel age that was coming. His imagination unrolled it -as a panorama. He understood what it meant to increase -one hundred fold the production of that metallic -fibre of which there could never be enough.</p> - -<p>The next morning he went to look at the abandoned -steel plant. It was cast on a large scale. Quite four -hundred thousand, as Tillinghast said, must have been -spent on it.</p> - -<p>“They do it in Europe,” he kept saying to himself. -“We can do it here. There is only some little trick to -be discovered.”</p> - -<p>Later in a casual way he made contact with the -owners. They were eager to get anything back. On -the faintest suspicion that he might be soft-minded, -they overwhelmed him with offers to sell out. At last<span class="pagenum">[231]</span> -he got it for nothing. That is, he agreed to take it off -their hands flat and go on with Tillinghast’s experiment. -If success were achieved their interest in it -should be exactly what they had already spent on the -plant; if not, he would owe them nothing and lose only -what he himself put in.</p> - -<p>North American Manufacturing Company stock was -now valuable. He took a large amount of it to Slaymaker -for a loan.</p> - -<p>“What’s up now?”</p> - -<p>John told him shortly, knowing what to expect. -Slaymaker’s phobia was steel. The word made him -mad. He had once lost a great deal of money in that -experimental process. He snatched the stock certificates -out of John’s hands, put a pin through them and -tossed them angrily into a corner of his desk.</p> - -<p>“I knew it. I knew it. All right. You can have -the money. But I warn you. You’ll never see that -stock again. You’ll be bankrupt a year from now.”</p> - -<p>Nothing else was said.</p> - -<p>Tillinghast treated John not as if John had adopted -him but as if he had adopted John and his attitude -about the steel plant was one of sacrosanct authority. -He was really a cracked pot. It took six months to -make the changes. Then they fired up. The first run -was good steel, the second was poor, the third was -good and the fourth was bad. They got so far that -the steel made from the raw iron of one furnace would -always be good. When they took the molten iron from -two or more furnaces successively the results went -askew again. Tillinghast cooed when the steel was<span class="pagenum">[232]</span> -good and was silent when it was bad. He could not -deny that they were baffled and John had sunk two-thirds -of everything he owned.</p> - -<p>Thane was a constant onlooker. He looked hard -and saw everything.</p> - -<p>“It ain’t what you do to it afterward,” he said, -breaking a long silence. “That’s the same every time. -It’s back of that. It’s in the furnace.”</p> - -<p>“Well, suppose it is,” said John. “What are you -going to do about it?”</p> - -<p>“Mix it,” said Thane.</p> - -<p>“Mix what?”</p> - -<p>“The molten iron from the blast furnaces before it -goes to the steel converter.”</p> - -<p>“What will you mix it with?”</p> - -<p>“With itself,” said Thane. “Ore’s various, ain’t it? -Pig iron as comes from ore is various, ain’t it? That’s -why you puddle it so as to make it all the same, like -wrought iron’s got to be. Here you take a run of stuff -from this furnace ’n one from that furnace ’n it ain’t -the same because it ain’t been puddled, but you run it -into that converter thing ’n think it’s got to come out -all one kind of steel. It won’t.”</p> - -<p>“How can you mix six or eight tons of molten iron?” -John asked.</p> - -<p>“There’s got to be some way,” Thane answered.</p> - -<p>Tillinghast was deaf. It didn’t make sense to John. -Yet Thane kept saying, “Mix it,” until they were sick -of hearing him, and the steel persisted in being variable -until they were desperate.</p> - -<p>“Well, mix it then,” said John. “If you know how, -mix it.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[233]</span></p> - -<p>Thereupon Thane built the first mixer,—an enormous, -awkward tank or vat resting on rollers that -rocked and jigged the fluid, blazing iron. Now they -started the blast furnaces again and molten iron in -equal quantities from all three was run into this mixer -and sloshed around. From there it went to the converter. -After two or three trials they began to get -and continued to get steel that was both good and invariable.</p> - -<p>And that was Eureka!</p> - -<p>They tried the steel in every possible way and it was -all that steel should be and is. They fed it to those -fastidious German wire drawing machines and they -loved it. Never again would it be necessary to import -German or English steel to make wire, or German wire -to make nails. They had it.</p> - -<p>John formed a new company. Slaymaker came in. -The men from whom John had taken the plant got -stock for their interest. A large block was allotted to -Thane for his mixer. John had the controlling interest. -It was named the American Steel Company. But -John and Thane between them spoke of it as the -Agnes Plant.</p> - -<p>“Let’s call it that for luck,” said John.</p> - -<p>Thane made no reply. However, the next time he -referred to it he called it so.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[234]</span></p> - - - - -<h2>XXVI</h2> - - -<p class="dropcap">One evening Thane and John were sitting together -in one of their friendly silences, after supper, in -the hotel lobby. Thane cleared his throat.</p> - -<p>“We’ve got a house, Agnes ’n me,” he said. As -there was no immediate comment he added: “I suppose -you won’t be lonesome here alone. We don’t -seem to visit much anyhow.”</p> - -<p>John said it was very nice that they had a house;—he -hoped they would be comfortable;—had they got -everything they needed? He did not ask where the -house was nor when they should move; and that was -all they said about it.</p> - -<p>No. John would not be lonesome. There was another -word for it and he couldn’t remember what it -was. Although he saw her very seldom and then only -at a distance, or when he passed her by chance in the -hotel and they exchanged remote greetings, still, just -living under the same roof with her had become a fact -that deeply pertained to his existence. How much he -had made of it unconsciously he did not realize until -they were gone. Thereafter as he turned in at the -door he had always the desolate thought, “She is not -here.” The place was empty. The rooms in which he -had settled them were open to transients. He thought<span class="pagenum">[235]</span> -of taking them for himself. On coming to do it he -couldn’t. So he went elsewhere to live; he moved -about; all places were empty.</p> - -<p>From time to time Thane hinted they would like to -see him at the house. For some reason it seemed hard -for him to come out with a direct invitation. However, -he did at last.</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Thane wants you up to supper,” he said, -abruptly.</p> - -<p>“Thanks,” said John. “I’m ashamed of myself, tell -her. I’ll stop in some evening.”</p> - -<p>“You don’t know where it is,” said Thane.</p> - -<p>“That’s so. Tell me how to find it.”</p> - -<p>He wrote the directions down. Still, it was most -indefinite. Some evening meant nothing at all. Thane -took him by the shoulders and regarded him with an -expression that John avoided.</p> - -<p>“And <em>I</em> want you to come,” he said, with slow emphasis -on the first pronoun. “To-morrow.”</p> - -<p>“All right,” said John. “Meet me here at the office -and I’ll go with you.”</p> - -<p>It was a small house in a poor street, saved only by -some large old trees. This surprised John, because -Thane’s income was enough to enable them to live in -a very nice way, in moderate luxury even. He was still -more surprised at the indecorative simplicity of its -furnishings. Thane’s nature was not parsimonious. -He would not have stinted her. Then why had they -set up a household more in keeping with the status of -a first rate puddler than with that of the vice-president -of a flourishing nail trust, receiving in salary and dividends<span class="pagenum">[236]</span> -more than twenty thousand a year? Yet simple, -even commonplace as everything was there was evidence -of taste beyond Thane’s. It must have been -Agnes who did it.</p> - -<p>The first thing Thane did on entering was to remove -his collar and place it conspicuously on a table in the -hallway by the foot of the staircase. “I forget that if -I don’t see it going out,” he said. He unbuttoned the -neck of his shirt, breathed and looked around with an -air of satisfaction. “Beats living at a hotel,” he said, -opening the door into a little front sitting room for -John to see. “The only thing I picked out,” he said, -“was that big chair,” referring to an enormous structure -of hickory and rush that filled all one corner of -the room. “I’ll show you upstairs,” he added. Coming -to his own room he said: “This ain’t much to look at -but that ain’t what it’s for. Nobody sees it.” It was -furnished with a simple cot, another hickory chair and -a plain pine table. On the table was a brass lamp ready -to be lighted; also, tobacco jar, matches, some technical -books, mechanical drawings, pencils and paper.</p> - -<p>At the other end of the hall Thane stopped before -a closed door. “She’s downstairs,” he said, at the same -time knocking. He opened it softly, saying: “This is -hers.” John got a glimpse of a little white bed, a white -dressing table, some white chairs and two tiny pictures -on the wall. A nun’s chamber could hardly have been -more austere. He turned away. At the head of the -staircase he looked back. Thane had momentarily -forgotten him and was still standing on the threshold -of the little white room gazing into it. Suddenly he<span class="pagenum">[237]</span> -remembered John, closed the door gently and joined -him.</p> - -<p>“We’ll see about supper,” he said, leading the way -through the sitting room into the next one, where the -table was spread.</p> - -<p>Just then Agnes appeared from the kitchen, bearing -a tray. John had another surprise. Her appearance -made an unexpected contrast, so striking as to be almost -theatrical. She wore a dainty apron. Behind that -was an elaborate toilette. She was exquisite, lovely. -His first thought was that she had prepared this effect -for him. Yet he noticed that Thane was not in the -least surprised. He looked at her calmly, taking it all -for granted, as if this had been her normal way of -appearing. And so it was.</p> - -<p>She shook hands with John. Her manner was a little -too cordial. “Supper is quite ready,” she said. “Please -sit down.” She had served a joint of beef, mashed -potatoes browned, some creamed vegetables. Thane -surveyed the food.</p> - -<p>“Nothing fried?” he said.</p> - -<p>“Shall I fry you something?” she asked. “It won’t -take a minute.” Her tone puzzled John. It expressed -patience, readiness, even tractability, and yet submissiveness -was in a subtle sense explicitly denied.</p> - -<p>“I was only fooling,” Thane replied. He whetted -the carving knife carefully, as for a feat of precision, -ran his thumb over the edge and applied it to the roast -with an extremely deft effect.</p> - -<p>“Did you buy the house?” John asked. “It’s very -charming.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[238]</span></p> - -<p>The note failed. He felt Agnes looking at him.</p> - -<p>“Rent it,” said Thane. “Mrs. Thane thought we’d -better rent a while, maybe as we’d want another shape -of house afterward. I want her to get a girl. She says -there ain’t nothing for a girl to do.”</p> - -<p>There was a silence. John did not know which side -to take. He spoke highly of the food.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Thane tells me you also have left the hotel,” -she said.</p> - -<p>“You get tired of it,” John answered absently. He -was wondering what to make of the fact that they were -Mr. and Mrs. to each other. Twice he had been at -the point of calling her Agnes. He wished to get one -full look at her and tried to surprise her eyes. She -avoided him. Then as if accepting a challenge she met -his gaze steadily and utterly baffled his curiosity.</p> - -<p>This time he could not be sure. A kind of wisdom -was in her eyes that had never been there before. It -might be only that she was on her guard, knowing the -secret he was after.</p> - -<p>Conversation suffered many lapses. There seemed -so little they could talk about. All the three of them -had in common was reminiscent; and reminiscences -were taboo. After supper they sat as far apart as three -persons could in the small front room,—Thane in his -big chair, Agnes in a stiff chair with some needlework -over which her head was bent. Her knees were crossed. -The men were fascinated by the swift, delicate, tantalizing, -puncturing rhythm of her needle, and in the -margin of John’s vision was exactly all she meant to -be seen of a small silk-clad ankle and slippered foot.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[239]</span></p> - -<p>If it was as he suspected, how could Thane endure -it?</p> - -<p>“We are very quiet,” she said, not looking up.</p> - -<p>At that John began to talk about Thane,—of his -work and the genius showing in it, of the methods he -had evolved, of the things he had invented, of his way -with his men and what a brilliant future he had. -Agnes listened attentively, even tensely, as he could -see, but made no comment; and Thane, sinking lower -and lower in his chair, became intolerably embarrassed. -He stopped it by beginning of a sudden to -talk about John. He knew much less about John’s -work, however, than John knew about his. For that -reason the narrative fell into generalities and was not -convincing. Agnes listened for a while and became -restive. Suddenly she put her needlework away and -asked if anyone would like refreshments. John looked -at the time. It was past eleven o’clock and he arose to -go. Thane would have detained him; Agnes politely -regretted that he had to go so soon. Still, when she -shook hands with him at the door her manner was -spontaneous and warm and she pressed him to come -again.</p> - -<p>John walked about in the night without any mind at -all. When his thoughts became coherent he found himself -saying: “No. They are not man and wife. They -are strangers. I wonder what goes on in that house. -Why does she do it?... Why does she do it?”</p> - -<p>Why did she?</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[240]</span></p> - - - - -<h2>XXVII</h2> - - -<p class="dropcap">As the door closed behind their visitor Agnes turned -without speaking and went back to the front room -where she sat at a little desk to write in a large black -book. This was the last thing she did each day.</p> - -<p>Thane leaned against the door jamb looking at her -back. It was the view of her that sometimes thrilled -him most. It made him see her again as she was that -first night, in the moonlight, sitting at the edge of the -mountain path, mysteriously averse. Approaching -timidly he stood behind her chair, close enough to have -touched her, as he longed to do if only he dared. He -looked at his hands, turning them in the light; then at -himself, downward, and was overcome with a sense of -incongruity.</p> - -<p>To him she was as untouchable as a butterfly. Her -way of dressing so elaborately was at once an insurmountable -barrier and a maddening provocation. Never -did he see her in less formidable attire, not even at -breakfast. Her morning gowns were forbidding in -quite another way. Their effect was to put him on his -sense of honor. If it should happen that he came home -unexpectedly she was always in her room and when she -appeared it was like this. Embellishment was her -armor. It was constant and never slipped. Yet the -need for it was only in those moments such as now -when his feeling for her broke down his pride and<span class="pagenum">[241]</span> -moved him toward her in spite of himself. This was -not often. It had happened only a few times since the -first night in the hotel, when after supper she met his -impulse by looking at him with such scorn and anger, -even horror, that his desire instantly collapsed and left -him aching cold. His pride was as black a beast as -hers.</p> - -<p>For a long time after that they had no way with -each other, almost no way of meeting each other’s eyes. -Then to his great surprise she offered truce, not in -words but by implications of conduct. She became -friendly and began to talk to him about himself, about -his work and by degrees about themselves. It was she -who proposed to take a house. She chose it, bought -the things that went into it, ordered the pattern of -their twain existence within its walls. He was for -spending more money, telling her how much he made -and how well they could afford having more. She was -firm in her own way, asking him only if he were comfortable, -and he was.</p> - -<p>The only thing she would freely spend money for -was clothes. He pondered this and found no clue to -its meaning. They had no social life whatever. She -never went out alone. Twice in a year they had been -to the play and nowhere else. Except for the recurring -frustrations of his impulse toward her, which left him -each time worse mangled in his pride and filled with -rage, shame and self-abomination, he was happy.</p> - -<p>He had been standing there back of her chair for so -long that he began to wonder if she was aware of his -presence when she spoke abruptly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[242]</span></p> - -<p>“Yes?” she said, in a quick, sharp tone.</p> - -<p>He quailed, with the look of a man turned suddenly -hollow. His pride saved him. Without a word he -turned and went upstairs. When his footsteps were -near the top she called, “Goodnight.” Apparently he -did not hear her. At least he did not answer. She went -on writing.</p> - -<p>The black book was the ledger of her spirit’s solvency. -Each night she wrote it up. There was first a -record of all the money received from Thane. Then -a record of all expenditures, under two heads,—money -spent for household purposes, itemized, and money -spent upon herself, for clothes, etc., unitemized. At -the end of each month against her personal expenditures -was entered,—“Item, to Agnes, for wages, -$50.” If her personal expenditures exceeded her wage -credit she wrote against the excess,—“Balance owing -Alexander Thane, to be accounted for.”</p> - -<p>Some day she would have a fortune of her own. -Then she would return everything she had spent above -her wages. That was what the record said. Anyone -could see it at a glance. The book was always lying -there on the desk. Perhaps covertly she wished he -would have the curiosity to look into it and see what -she was doing. He never did and he never knew. She -meant sometime to tell him. What was the point of -not telling him? Yet she didn’t, and the longer she -put it off the more difficult it was, for a reason she -was afraid to face. She would not face it for fear -it was true. But even more she feared it might not be -true.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[243]</span></p> - -<p>So it appears that what went on in that house was -as much an enigma to Thane as to John; and nobody -could answer John’s question,—“Why does she do it?”—for -Agnes who knew concealed the truth from herself.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[244]</span></p> - - - - -<h2>XXVIII</h2> - - -<p class="dropcap">Thane became vice-president also of the American -Steel Company. Its capacity was greater -than the need was for wire to make nails. For this -reason the N. A. M. Co. enlarged its scope and began -to make steel wire for all purposes, especially for that -distinctively American product called barbed wire -which ran the first year into thousands of miles of farm -fencing. It was cheaper than the rude, picturesque -rail fence which it immediately superseded and at the -same time appealed in an unaccountable manner to the -Yankee sense of humor.</p> - -<p>Steel wire was indispensable to the steel age. There -were bridges to be cast in the air like cobwebs, chasms -to be spanned, a thousand giants to be snared in their -sleep with threads of steel wire, single, double, or -twisted by hundreds into cables. Enough of them -would make a rope strong enough to halt the world in -its flight if one end could be made fast in space. There -could never have been a steel age without steel wire. -But the steel age required first of all steel rails to run -on. John saw this clearly. Iron rails wore out too fast -under the increasing weight of trains; besides, the time -had almost come when they simply couldn’t be made in -quantities sufficient to meet the uncontrollable expansion -of the railroad system. The importation of steel<span class="pagenum">[245]</span> -rails over the high tariff wall was increasing. American -steel rails had been made experimentally, were still -being made, but they were variable and much distrusted. -When they were good they were excellent. -They were just as likely to be very bad. They could -not be guaranteed, owing to the variableness of steel -obtained in this country by the Bessemer process.</p> - -<p>This factor of variability was now eliminated by -Thane’s celebrated mixer. For the first time there was -the certainty of being able to produce American steel -rails that would not only outwear iron as iron outwears -oak, that would not only not break, that would not only -be satisfactory when they were good, but rails that -would be always the same and always good. It was -natural that the American Steel Company should turn -to rails. John knew the rail business upside down. He -believed in railroads. When other people were thinking -railroad building had been overdone he said it had -not really begun. He imagined the possibility that the -locomotive would double in size.</p> - -<p>It did. Then it doubled again. It could not have -done so without steel rails under its feet, and if it had -not doubled and then doubled again this now would -be a German world. Democracy even then was shaping -its weapons for Armageddon through men who -knew nothing about it. They were free egoists, seeking -profit, power, personal success, everyone attending to -his own greatness. Never before in the world had the -practise of individualism been so reckless, so purely -dynamic, so heedless of the Devil’s harvest. Yet it -happened,—it precisely happened,—that they forged<span class="pagenum">[246]</span> -the right weapons. It seems sometimes to matter very -little what men think. They very often do the right -thing for wrong reasons. It seems to matter even less -why they work. All that the great law of becoming -requires is that men shall work. They cannot go wrong -really. They cannot make wrong things. The pattern -is foreordained.</p> - -<p>Knowing what difficulties lay in the path of the steel -rail,—knowing them very well indeed, since many of -them were of his own work,—John executed a brilliant -preliminary maneuver. The point of it was to create -his market beforehand. With that in view he persuaded -the officials of several large railroads to take -ground floor shares in the North American Steel Company. -Its capitalization was increased for that purpose. -Thus not only was capital provided toward the -building of a great rail making addition to the plant -but powerful railroad men now had a participating -interest in the success of the steel rail.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile others also had discovered true steel -formulas. As usual in such cases many hands were -pressing against the door. Once the latch is lifted the -door flies open for everyone. And then it appears that -all the time there were several ways to have done it. -Thane’s way was not the only way. He had been the -one to see where the cause of variableness lay. After -that there could be several methods of casting it out. -So the American Steel Company had competition almost -from the start. However, as its rails were all -bespoken by the railroads whose officials were stockholders, -and as in any case the demand for rails was<span class="pagenum">[247]</span> -increasing very fast, there would have been prosperity -for everyone if Enoch Gib had not been mad.</p> - -<p>No sooner had the American Steel Company begun -to produce rails than Enoch did with iron rails as he -had done before with iron nails. He began to sell the -famous Damascus iron rail at a ruinous price. The -steel rail makers had to meet him. Then he lowered -his price again, and again, and still again, all the time -increasing his output, until there was no profit in rails -for anybody.</p> - -<p>John knew what it cost to make Damascus rails. -Enoch was selling them actually at a loss.</p> - -<p>The fact that puissant railroad officials were stockholders -in the American Steel Company counted for -less and less. Though they might prefer steel rails for -both personal and intrinsic reasons, still they could not -spend their railroad’s money for steel rails with the -famous Damascus rail selling at a price that made it -a preposterous bargain. There was a panic in Pittsburgh.</p> - -<p>John’s emotions were those of Jonah riding the -storm with an innocent face and a sense of guilt at his -heart. He made no doubt that Enoch had set out deliberately -to ruin the steel rail industry and would if -need be commit financial suicide to accomplish that end. -Nobody else knew or suspected the truth. John could -not publish it.</p> - -<p>Other steel rail makers quit. They could not stand -the loss. And there it lay between Enoch and John. -Enoch’s mind was governed by two passions. One was -his hatred of steel. The other was his hatred of John,<span class="pagenum">[248]</span> -who symbolized <em>Aaron</em>. He had the advantage of a -fixed daemonic purpose. His strength was unknown. -How long he might last even John could not guess.</p> - -<p>In the fight over nails John’s rule had been defensive. -It had to be. But here there was choice. His -resources now were so much greater that a policy of -reprisals might be considered. If Enoch were determined -to find his own breaking point the sooner the -end the better for everyone else. The American Steel -Company could slaughter rails, too, increasing both its -own loss and Enoch’s, and thus foreshorten the agony. -But when it came to the point of adopting an offensive -course John wavered. He could not bring himself to -do it. Never had he hated Enoch. So far from that, -his feeling for him was one of unreasoning pity. The -old man probably would not survive bankruptcy. It -would kill him. “Therefore,” said John, “let him bring -it about in his own time.”</p> - -<p>And so it was that a lone and dreadful man, stalking -day and night through the New Damascus iron mill -like a tormented apparition, goading his men to the -point of frenzy, using them up and casting them off, -yet holding them to it by force of contempt for fibre -that snapped,—that one man in a spirit of madness -frustrated the steel age and made it to limp on iron -rails long after the true steel to shoe it with had been -available. In all the histories of iron and steel you -read men’s blank amazement at the fact that it took -so many years for the steel rail, once perfected, to -supersede the iron rail. They cannot account for it.</p> - -<p>At about this time a committee of New Damascus<span class="pagenum">[249]</span> -business men went forth to investigate the subject of -steel. Enoch caused this to be done. His mood was one -of exulting. Many had begun to believe that steel -might overthrow iron. He was resolved to put that -heresy down. He chose the right time. The committee -going to and fro saw steel rail plants lying idle; it -found the steel people in despair, terrorized by Enoch. -It returned to New Damascus and saw with its own -eyes on Enoch’s books how the output of iron rails was -increasing. Who would go behind such evidence? The -committee reported that steel would never supersede -iron. Except perhaps in some special uses, iron was -forever paramount. It adopted a resolution in praise -of Enoch, who had made New Damascus the iron town -it was, and disbanded.</p> - -<p>The sun of New Damascus was then at its zenith -and the days of Enoch were few to run. He lived them -out consistently. No man saw him but in his strength. -His weakness was invisible like his nakedness. His -end was as that of the oak that once more flings back -the storm, then suddenly falls of its own weight. -Never had his power seemed so immeasurable as at -its breaking point.</p> - -<p>For all that John could or could not do, the American -Steel Company came itself to the brink. It could -not forever go on making steel rails at a loss. How -far short of bankruptcy would it give up the struggle -and stop? The rocks were already in sight. Seeing -them clearly, John did not act. He stood still and -waited as if fascinated. The longer he waited the -more desperate was the chance of saving the company.<span class="pagenum">[250]</span> -Its credit was sinking. All of this he saw. “Then -what am I waiting for?” he would ask himself, and -postpone the answer. Twice he had called the directors -together to lay before them a plan of salvage, -which was to abandon rail making and convert the -plant to other uses; and each time at the last minute -he changed his mind.</p> - -<p>One morning at breakfast he was electrified by a -single black line in his newspaper.</p> - -<p class="center"><em>“Damascus Mill Closes.”</em> -</p> - -<p>Beneath it was this dispatch:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“New Damascus, June 11.—The Damascus mill -closed down last night in all departments for the first -time in its history. There is no explanation. Enoch -Gib is understood to be ill.”</p></div> - -<p>John knew what this meant. The end had come. -Having verified the news by telegraph he went to Slaymaker -and told him for the first time enough of the -history of New Damascus and its people to illuminate -what had been going on.</p> - -<p>“Why do you tell me this now?” Slaymaker asked.</p> - -<p>“Isn’t it a great relief?” said John. “The ghastly -game that’s nearly ruined us is at an end.”</p> - -<p>“There’s some other reason,” Slaymaker insisted.</p> - -<p>“You have lost a lot of money with me in American -Steel,” John said. “Now of course it will all come -back. Still, you might be able to turn this information -to special advantage. There are two or three idle rail -mills that could be picked up for nothing.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[251]</span></p> - -<p>Slaymaker took time to reflect.</p> - -<p>“Go ahead,” he said. “I’ll help.”</p> - -<p>John shook his head.</p> - -<p>“It’s an apple I don’t like the taste of. If I were in -your place I’d know what to do. That’s why I have -told you. But leave me out of it entirely.”</p> - -<p>“I can’t for the life of me see why you shouldn’t,” -said Slaymaker.</p> - -<p>“Neither can I,” said John. “There’s no reason. -Say I’m superstitious and let it drop.”</p> - -<p>“There’s nothing the matter with the apple -though?” asked Slaymaker.</p> - -<p>“Not for you,” said John.</p> - -<p>He left the banker on the edge of his chair. When -he arrived at his own office Thane was there waiting.</p> - -<p>“We’ve got a telegram Enoch is dying. Thought -maybe as you would go along with us.”</p> - -<p>“How does Mrs. Thane take it?”</p> - -<p>“Cold and still,” said Thane. “But you can’t tell.”</p> - -<p>“Does she want me to go?”</p> - -<p>“She knows I’m asking you,” said Thane. “There’s -just time. She’s at the depot.”</p> - -<p>John turned and went with him.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[252]</span></p> - - - - -<h2>XXIX</h2> - - -<p class="dropcap">It was six hours by train from Pittsburgh to New -Damascus. The last hour was from Wilkes-Barre -down the valley, the railway now running with the -turnpike on which Agnes passed her wedding night -between Thane and John over the flying heels of a pair -of bays. Not one of them had seen it since. Surreptitiously -watching for signs and landmarks they became -silent and solitary. Memories in which they were -intimately associated instead of drawing them together -caused separate states of reverie.</p> - -<p>Agnes sat at the window with her face averted. -John and Thane were together in the opposite seat. -Her eyebrows were a little raised, acutely bent and -drawn together, and in her forehead was a Gothic -cross. This muscular tension never for a moment relaxed, -not even when she spoke and smiled. In her -eyes was an expression of strained and baffled interrogation, -inward looking.</p> - -<p>Two years were gone since that night of John’s first -supper with the Thanes in their trial abode. In this -time she had changed at the base of her personality. -The girl of her had vanished almost without trace.</p> - -<p>What becomes of the being we have ceased to be?</p> - -<p>That Agnes of the tantalizing armor, half of ice -and half of flame, part disdain and part desire, who<span class="pagenum">[253]</span> -froze the impulse she provoked and singed the pride -that saved her,—she was gone, entirely gone. This -Agnes knew her not. This Agnes was a woman who -knew bitterness and the taste of dust. When she had -been ready ... willing ... dying ... to give her -pride to save her love the door was closed. The shop -was dark.</p> - -<p>The light went out that night she let him stand behind -her chair in an agony of longing, pretending not -to know he stood there, and then broke him with a -hard, glissando “Y-e-s?” It was ominous that he did -not respond from the top of the staircase to her careless -goodnight. She regarded him particularly the next -morning and began to wonder. Never again did he -look at her in that way she ached for and dreaded. -The more he didn’t look at her in that way the more -she ached for it and the less she dreaded it, until she -couldn’t remember why she had dreaded it and forgot -why she had ever repulsed him.</p> - -<p>She had repulsed because her vanity required it. He -had got her to wife without wooing her. She had been -thrust upon him. The thought was a sleepless scorpion -in her breast. It poisoned her dreams. Well ... -but before he could touch her he should have to -want her and prove it. She would attend to that. To -reach her at all he should have to overcome a great -barrier. This she resolved and so she repulsed him. -Each hurt to his pride was a stone added to the barrier, -and she set no limit to it, for the higher it was -the more it would prove if he ever got over. Then -she would see what her own feelings were.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[254]</span></p> - -<p>He on his part, after that night, once and for all -accepted the only inference he could draw from her -behaviour. He was hateful to her; he filled her with -loathing and disgust. Well ... he could no more -help that than he could help the fact of their being -married: but he could avoid those moments on the -rack. They left him limp and useless for days afterward. -He could lock the impulse up. Its getting loose -was what drew her scorn upon him. So he chained -and locked it up.</p> - -<p>At first, seeing the door was closed, she walked to -and fro before it, thinking he would read in her manner -a sign of remorse. He saw nothing. Then she -began to knock. He did not hear. She thought he -was making her pay. She was willing, even greedy, to -pay. She went on knocking. Presently she realized -that he was blind and deaf. In a panic she beat upon -the door, hurled her weight against it, crying out her -wish to surrender. But she had seared his heart. He -could see only with his eyes and hear but with his ears, -and totally misapprehended her woman’s gesture.</p> - -<p>She imagined that now <em>he</em> repulsed <span class="smcap">HER</span>, not in revenge, -not to trample on her,—that she could easily -have endured,—but coldly, with undesire.</p> - -<p>This completed the irony. Thereafter she held -aloof and began to fear him. She put away her glittering -armor, staining it with tears of rage and chagrin, -and he never noticed even that. He was always -gentle, always absent, always cold. He grew on her -in this aspect, assumed colossal proportions, and began -to seem as inaccessible to her as she had seemed<span class="pagenum">[255]</span> -to him. They changed places again. She stood in awe -of him. What he wished for was. He spoke of a -way of living more in keeping with their circumstances. -She moved them to a larger house and organized their -lives according to such dim suggestions as she could -get from him, one of which was that she should “stay -out of the kitchen.” There had to be servants. Evenings -were so much worse on that account that they -began to go out more, often alone, sometimes together. -By a law of contradiction, the more they concealed -themselves from each other in the tatters of their -pride and the further they went apart, the more polite -they became and the easier it was to be friendly.</p> - -<p>Her outwardness had changed no less. A wilful, -pouting mouth had found the shape of wistfulness. -Her eyes had lost their defiant glitter; they were -softer, deeper and full of recognition. Into her movements -had come that kind of gentle dignity, loftier -than pride, lovelier than loveliness, which is idolized -of men above the form and sign of beauty.</p> - -<p>“Almost there,” she said, settling back in her seat.</p> - -<p>“How strange the mill looks!—cold,” said Thane.</p> - -<p>Agnes did not look.</p> - -<p>“Five years,” said John. “What a long time!”</p> - -<p>“Six,” said Agnes.</p> - -<p>“Six,” said Thane.</p> - -<p>The Gib carriage was waiting at the station. “I’ll -be at the inn,” said John. “It will take no time to -bring me if I’m wanted. If Enoch—if you don’t stay -at the mansion I’d like you to have supper with me.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll send you word,” said Thane.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[256]</span></p> - - - - -<h2>XXX</h2> - - -<p class="dropcap">On the last terrace the carriage was stopped by two -men who detached themselves from a sullen -group on the lawn and stood in the driveway with their -hands upraised. Thane recognized them. The two -who halted the carriage were puddlers with whom he -had worked side by side in the mill. The others, to -the number of six, were heaters and rollers, all men -of long service under the tyrant.</p> - -<p>“Want a word with you, Thane,” said the taller one -of the two puddlers.</p> - -<p>He got out of the carriage and stood for an instant -hesitating whether to let Agnes go on to the house -alone or have her wait. Suddenly a scream of mindless, -futile fury canted through the air. Everybody -shuddered.</p> - -<p>“Him,” said the puddler, answering Thane’s startled -look.</p> - -<p>Deciding then not to let Agnes go on alone he took -her out, led her to an iron bench in the shade, and -returned to hear what the men were so anxious to tell -him.</p> - -<p>“You heard him,” said the tall puddler. “That’s -at us. We ain’t a going to do it. Nary if nor and about -it, we ain’t. It’s against God, man and nature. It’s<span class="pagenum">[257]</span> -irreligious. What’s moreover the men won’t have it. -They got to work there, don’t they? No sir. They -won’t have it.”</p> - -<p>“What does he want?” Thane asked.</p> - -<p>“He takes on that a way and says as he can’t die -until’s we promise. But we ain’t a going to promise.”</p> - -<p>“What does he want you to promise?” Thane asked, -patiently.</p> - -<p>“No sir,” the puddler went on. “Nobody’s a going -to. Not so as you could notice it. Ain’t it bad enough -to have him always on our necks alive?”</p> - -<p>“You ain’t told him yet,” said the second puddler.</p> - -<p>“’Tain’t Christian,” said the tall one, walking off -by himself. “It’s heathen,” he mumbled. “It’s unbelieving. -It’s....”</p> - -<p>“You tell me,” said Thane to the second puddler. -“What does Enoch want?”</p> - -<p>“Wants us to burn him up in a puddlin’ furnace,” -said the second puddler. Trying to say it calmly, even -lightly, and all at once, he lost control of his voice. -It squeaked with horror on the last word.</p> - -<p>“Is that all?”</p> - -<p>The puddler recoiled. The group behind him fell -back a step.</p> - -<p>“Is that all he wants?” Thane asked again.</p> - -<p>“That’s what he’s a screaming at us for,” said the -puddler, sharply.</p> - -<p>Thane went back to Agnes. He had time to tell -her before they reached the mansion.</p> - -<p>“If he wants it, and you have no will to the contrary, -I’ll promise to do it,” he concluded.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[258]</span></p> - -<p>“It strikes one with terror,” she said. “If he wants -it that’s enough.”</p> - -<p>Just as they were admitted they heard the dreadful -scream again. The door, closing, seemed to cut it off. -Inside there was no sound of it.</p> - -<p>The family doctor anxiously received them. He -talked rapidly, addressing Agnes in a manner tactfully -to include Thane, whom he had never seen before. -The two best consulting physicians in Wilkes-Barre -were present, he said. There had arrived within the -hour also an eminent alienist from Philadelphia. Four -men nurses had been provided. Everything possible -to be done had been thought of almost at once.</p> - -<p>“But what is it?” Agnes asked. “What has happened?”</p> - -<p>The doctor was sympathetic. Naturally she would -want to know what it was and how it happened. Those -were questions anyone would ask. Alas! who could -answer them? He, the doctor, had attended the late -Mrs. Gib; it had been his happiness to know Agnes -before she could possibly know herself; but Mr. Gib, -as they all knew, lived to himself. He had, so to -speak, no pathological history. Three days before it -happened he had begun to behave strangely at the mill. -The men noticed it. He interfered with their work -by having them hold the furnace doors open while he -committed papers, bundles and various unidentified -objects to the fire, thereby spoiling several heats of -good iron. It was not a doctor’s business to know -these things. He had taken it upon himself, nevertheless, -to make inquiries.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[259]</span></p> - -<p>On the third day there had been a conference between -Mr. Gib and his lawyers. What took place at -this conference a doctor would probably not understand -if he were told; however, he had not been told. -The lawyers were reticent to the point of being rude, -not knowing, of course, how important it was for a -doctor to be able to reconstruct the events that have -immediately preceded the seizure. Mr. Gib, he had -learned, never returned to the mill from that conference -with his lawyers. The notice of the mill’s closing -was posted by the lawyers; it was signed by them with -power of attorney. Mr. Gib went straight home and -was next seen in a state of frenzy. When the doctor -arrived he was in a paroxysm of rage, very dangerous -to himself but otherwise harmless, since it seemed to -vent itself upon imaginary objects. This state was -followed by others, in rapid, alarming alternation—despair, -exultation, terror. It had been necessary, as -they could realize, to put him under restraint. Two -men nurses were by him constantly.</p> - -<p>What was it? The Wilkes-Barre consultants had -agreed upon one diagnosis. The patient, they said, -had been attacked by delusional mania. If the attack -subsided he would recover; if not he would die of -exhaustion. That might be a matter of weeks. The -Philadelphia alienist had only just now seen the patient; -yet his mind was made up. He pronounced it a -kind of progressive disintegration of the brain matter, -with sudden, catastrophic lesions. Death would take -place in a few hours. And it certainly was true that -all the symptoms grew worse.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[260]</span></p> - -<p>“What is your opinion?” Agnes asked.</p> - -<p>“My own?” said the doctor, casting glances around. -He lowered his voice to a nonprofessional tone. “We -have different names for it,” he said. “That is scientific. -No matter. We are all talking about the same -thing.... He ... is ... possessed.”</p> - -<p>Agnes shuddered.</p> - -<p>“What does he want from these mill workers outside?” -Thane asked.</p> - -<p>Yes, yes. The doctor was just coming to that. Mr. -Gib had lucid, coherent intervals. They were decreasing -in frequency and duration and that was an ominous -sign. In the very first of these intervals he seemed -to be facing the thought of death and revealed an extreme -horror of natural interment. He had in one such -interval either conceived a way or remembered one of -cheating the earth, which was to be cremated in one -of his own furnaces. Thereupon he began to call for -certain old puddlers and heaters by name and when -they were brought up to him he demanded of them -a promise to dispose of his body in that extraordinary -way. While he looked at them they had not the -strength to say outright they would not; but he could -not make them promise, and each time he failed it -was very bad for him. The state of terror returned, -and if this continued the consequences would be fatal.</p> - -<p>“Would it relieve him if I promised?” Thane asked.</p> - -<p>“Promised what?” the doctor asked moving uneasily.</p> - -<p>“To do what he wants done with his body,” said -Thane.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[261]</span></p> - -<p>“But who would do it?” the doctor asked.</p> - -<p>“I would,” said Thane.</p> - -<p>The doctor looked away in all four directions. -“Certainly it would relieve him now,” he said, vaguely, -as if that were not the point.</p> - -<p>Thane suggested that Agnes be permitted to see him -in the next lucid interval, and that afterward, in the -same interval if possible, and if not, then in the next -one, they should try letting him promise to carry out -the old man’s cremation wish.</p> - -<p>The doctor agreed. However, he was not to be -held responsible for the consequences. He had been -responsible until now for everything because there was -no one else. He could not be unaware of the fact that -there had been an unfortunate family episode. No one -could tell how Mr. Gib would be affected by the unexpected -sight of his own daughter. He had not asked -to see her. However, she <em>was</em> his daughter and there -was no one else,—no one. How extraordinary!</p> - -<p>He left them to ascertain and report.</p> - -<p>Agnes, putting off her hat and gloves, sat facing -the window. Thane took several turns about the -room, came up behind her chair, laid his hand gently -on her head. She sat quite still and reached over her -shoulder for his other hand. They did not speak. -The doctor returned in haste, saying: “If Mrs. Thane -will come now, at once, very softly, we may try.” -Agnes and the doctor walked up the staircase together, -Thane following. Her feet were as steady as his own. -He was suddenly swept with a feeling of great tenderness -for her.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[262]</span></p> - -<p>The Philadelphia alienist and the Wilkes-Barre consultants -made a group in the front hall window. They -had been arguing technically and stopped to stare a -little at Agnes and then at Thane, who fell back and -stood leaning against the wall as Agnes and the doctor -went on. The doctor opened the door carefully and -peered in. Standing aside he motioned Agnes to enter.</p> - -<p>Her father lay in a great four-poster on his back, -extended to his full length, his feet together and vertical, -his head slightly raised on pillows,—and their -eyes met as she crossed the threshold. He recognized -her instantly. She was sure of it,—sure he was -in his right mind. Yet he gave not the slightest sign -of his feelings. She was surprised that he was not -more shrunken. His bulk was intact. But he was the -color of sand. His aspect was sepulchral. She advanced -slowly, holding his gaze, hardly aware of two -men standing alert at the head of the bed, just outside -the line of vision, ready to seize him.</p> - -<p>When she was half way to him he began to sit up, -lifting his whole trunk from the hips without the use -of his arms, his feet at the same time rising a little, -under the lower part of the sheet.</p> - -<p>“Go away!” he said hoarsely, and she stopped. “Go -away!” he meant to say again, but as his voice rose he -became inarticulate and made guttural sounds. He -began to repel her with excited gestures. The doctor -interfered. “Come,” he whispered. She half turned -to go, but faced her father again. In a clear, loud -voice, she uttered the three words he had once with -all his strength demanded and could not make her say.<span class="pagenum">[263]</span> -“I am sorry.” Their effect was to excite him all the -more. He continued to wave her away. When the -door had closed behind her he collapsed.</p> - -<p>Thane was waiting outside the door. She leaned -on him heavily and seemed about to go under. He -took her in his arms and bore her downstairs. She -revived at once and sharply declined to be made about, -even by the doctor, whose smelling salts she put aside. -Thane walked with her in the air.</p> - -<p>Presently the doctor joined them. The idea of -bringing Mr. Thane to Mr. Gib’s notice as one who -would promise to do the strange thing he desired,—this -idea, he said, had been discussed with the alienist; -and it was the alienist’s notion first to put the patient -under the suggestion that a puddler named Thane had -been sent for, the point being that Mr. Gib might -remember Mr. Thane as a puddler and forget him as -a son-in-law. This seemed to the doctor too subtle -altogether; still, as it couldn’t do any harm he had -consented. It had in fact been done with such success -that Mr. Gib now lay in a fever of hope. Would -Mr. Thane, the puddler, please come at once?</p> - -<p>Thane had never been in a sick room. He had -never seen death transacting. He had known two -idiots and had an idea of imbecility; insanity he could -not imagine. The doctor’s long medical discourse on -Enoch’s disorder had filled him with a vague sense of -resentment; and the doctor’s private conviction that -Enoch was possessed had made him angry. He did -not believe in devils. That flash of superstition threw -the professional manner into grotesque relief and he<span class="pagenum">[264]</span> -was contemptuous of it. His feelings went over and -stood with Enoch against these self-important outsiders -who by some law of their own had established -themselves above him in his own house, were permitted -to restrain him in his own bed, who stood about in his -hallway disputing as to how and why he should die.</p> - -<p>As Thane entered the room the two nurses were -leaning over the old man from opposite sides of the -bed, and the sight of them deepened his antagonism. -They stood back as he approached. Enoch, slowly -opening his eyes, gazed at Thane with a look of tense -recognition. Otherwise he lay perfectly inert until -Thane stood looking down at him. Then his lips -began to move as if he were talking. No sound was -audible. Thane, bending lower and lower, dropped on -his knees and put his ear very close. Enoch was whispering. -His words, though faint, were distinct, almost -fluent, and dramatically intentional.</p> - -<p>What he said was that worse puddlers and lesser -men than Thane, men he had known all his life, had -refused to do for him that service one cannot perform -for oneself and must therefore be permitted to ask as -a favor. This service was to dispose of his remains -agreeably to a certain wish, which was to be cremated. -There was no physical difficulty whatever. It was -feasible to be done in a puddling furnace!—his own -furnace!—his own mill!—his own body! Why not?</p> - -<p>“I will do it,” said Thane, removing his ear and -meeting the old man’s eyes. Enoch’s lips continued -to move. Thane returned his ear.</p> - -<p>It was to be done in Number One Furnace.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[265]</span></p> - -<p>Thane met his eyes again, saying: “All right. In -Number One. I understand.”</p> - -<p>Enoch’s lips were still moving. Thane listened.</p> - -<p>There was one thing more, Enoch said. He had -no right to ask it except as a favor for which he would -be deeply grateful. Would Thane listen very carefully? -In that walnut secretary by the door, in a secret -drawer of it that would come open when the moulding -above the pen rack was pressed downward—there he -would find the key to a room upstairs, directly above -the one they were in. He wished to die in that room -upstairs,—<em>by himself</em>. He knew better than to ask -the nurses or the doctors. They already thought him -mad. Anyhow they would ask questions and he -couldn’t tell them why he wished to die in that room -alone. He had been saving his strength against an -opportunity to give them the slip, intending to lock -himself into it. Once in it he would be safe. But his -strength had suddenly departed forever. No one knew -this yet. It had just happened. The nurses supposed -he was resting. The fact was he could not move foot, -hand or finger. So now he was utterly helpless and -hopeless except for Thane,—and the end was so near.</p> - -<p>Would Thane get the key?—carry him over all -obstacles to that room above?—set him in a certain -chair, taking care not to move it?—then retire and -lock the door and keep them all off for an hour? An -hour would do it. In one hour he would be out of -their reach.</p> - -<p>Thane did not pause to reflect. The old man’s -appeal to be permitted to die as he would in his own<span class="pagenum">[266]</span> -house was irresistible. It moved him dynamically. He -strode to the walnut secretary, discovered the key, -dropped it in his pocket and returned to the bedside.</p> - -<p>The nurses were dumfounded! scandalized! to see -him suddenly take the old man up in his arms, sheet -and all, and start off with him toward the door.</p> - -<p>They followed, exclaiming and chattering. They -were too amazed to act. At the door occurred a scene -of pure confusion. As Thane pulled it open the four -doctors, having heard the commotion within, were -there in a group on the momentum of entry. At sight -of Enoch in Thane’s arms they recoiled and stood -blankly aghast. The two nurses behind Thane became -hysterically vocal, trying all in one breath to exculpate -themselves and explain an inconceivable thing.</p> - -<p>Thane was pushing through.</p> - -<p>“He wants to die upstairs,” he said.</p> - -<p>Instantly on speaking of it he became aware that -the situation had an irrational aspect; and he wondered -how he should clear them out of the room in -which Enoch wished to die and keep them out,—for -of course they would follow. He could not help that. -With a resolve if necessary to throw them all downstairs -he crossed the threshold. The alienist from -Philadelphia and the two Wilkes-Barre consultants -fell back. It was not their case. The family doctor -barred Thane’s way at the foot of the staircase.</p> - -<p>“You must be crazy,” he shouted, waving his arms. -“This simply cannot be permitted. As his physician I -order you to take him back.”</p> - -<p>“Stand aside,” said Thane.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[267]</span></p> - -<p>“You will kill him,” said the doctor. “Do you hear -that? This will kill him. I forbid it.”</p> - -<p>Thane seemed not at all impressed. Probably he -would have pursued his purpose in a straight line but -that his mind was arrested by a startling change in the -heft and feeling of his burden.</p> - -<p>It became suddenly so much heavier that he almost -lost his balance. And as he looked to see what this -could mean there rose out of Enoch a groan unlike any -sound concerned with life. With that the body underwent -a violent muscular commotion and threw itself -into a state of rigid extension. Thane needed all his -strength to hold it. Immediately there was another -change. The body began slowly to go limp.</p> - -<p>“It’s over,” said the Philadelphia alienist.</p> - -<p>What Thane held in his arms was no longer Enoch, -but a distasteful object, fallen in one breath from -the first person <em>I</em>, from the second person <em>you</em>, to the -state of a pronominal third thing which is spoken of—<em>that</em>!</p> - -<p>Thane carried it back to the bed.</p> - -<p>All of this had taken place in less than half an hour. -Thane found Agnes as he had left her, on an iron -bench in the maple shade.</p> - -<p>“He is dead,” she said, on looking at him.</p> - -<p>He answered by sitting by her side in silence.</p> - -<p>She asked him nothing about the end, and he was -glad, for it had been extremely harrowing. Still, he -was surprised at her want of curiosity, and had a -moment of thinking her callous. He had somehow -mysteriously arrived at an understanding of Enoch,<span class="pagenum">[268]</span> -was shaken by a sense of loss, even grief, and yearned -to share his emotion with Agnes.</p> - -<p>Having been for some time withdrawn in thought -she started slightly. “Did you promise?” she asked. -“Was there time for that?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he said. “Don’t let it upset you,” he continued -gently. “You won’t have to think about it. -I’ve got it worked out in my mind. There can be -funeral services here like they have sometimes when -nobody goes to the grave or when there ain’t going to -be any burial. Then I can go alone with him to the -mill. There’s nobody at the mill, you know. It’s -shut.”</p> - -<p>She regarded him with a troubled, unbelieving expression.</p> - -<p>“Alone!” she said.</p> - -<p>“I’d rather to,” he said, “with everybody being so -superstitious about it.”</p> - -<p>“But I shall go,” she said.</p> - -<p>“May take a long time,” he said uneasily. “I’ll -have the furnace going, of course, but it’s got to be -kept going and watched I don’t know how long.”</p> - -<p>She met these difficulties with a scornful gesture.</p> - -<p>“All right,” he said. “He’ll be pleased you feel -that way.”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[269]</span></p> - - - - -<h2>XXXI</h2> - - -<p class="dropcap">Late that night Thane was telling John how Enoch -died and how his remains were to be disposed of. -He had to tell someone. It was a weight on his mind -and he was tormented with misgivings about his own -conduct. When he came to the key he remembered -having it in his pocket still and produced it associatively. -John took it out of his hand and continued -to regard it thoughtfully long after the narrative was -finished.</p> - -<p>“Was I right?” Thane asked, anxiously.</p> - -<p>“Admirable!” said John, a little off the point as it -seemed to Thane. He added thoughtfully: “The fate -that amuses itself with our lives knew what it wanted -when it tangled you in.”</p> - -<p>“Seems there’s a lot as I don’t know,” said Thane, -a faint edge to his voice.</p> - -<p>“It’s hard to get at,” said John. He continued: -“This place, if you know, was founded by General -Woolwine, my great grandfather, whose partner was -a younger man named Christopher Gib, this Enoch’s -father.”</p> - -<p>So he began, as if opening a book. Some of it was -missing, parts were illegible, yet the shape of the drama -stood vividly forth. When he came to the end—to -where the invisible writing stopped,—it was sudden -and for a moment bewildering, almost as if they had<span class="pagenum">[270]</span> -forgotten who they were and had been unexpectedly -let down in the middle of a story. They sat a while -musing.</p> - -<p>“To be continued by the three of us,” said John. -“I should like to know what is in that room.”</p> - -<p>“Let’s go see,” said Thane.</p> - -<p>He had come to the hotel only to talk to John and -was returning to the mansion. John went with him.</p> - -<p>Enoch’s body lay where it was in the second floor -bed chamber. They passed it without stopping and -went on to the third floor. On the landing was a little -table with a lighted glass lamp, which John took up.</p> - -<p>“That would be it,” he said, indicating a certain -doorway. The key fitted the lock, but to their surprise -the bolt was already drawn. John held the light. -Thane went first. He had but crossed the threshold -when he started back, recoiled rather, with a movement -so sudden and involuntary that John immediately -behind him was thrown off his balance, and dropped -the lamp, which burst and harmlessly petered out. -They were then in darkness. There was no other light -on that floor.</p> - -<p>“Match,” said Thane, now standing quietly.</p> - -<p>John had matches and he divided them by a sense of -touch. Each struck one and held it out.</p> - -<p>What had startled Thane was the figure of a woman. -As they saw her now in the flickering light of their -matches she stood at the other side of the room, her -back to the wall, facing them. John recognized her -at once as the woman who met him in the front doorway, -holding an oil light over her head, the night he<span class="pagenum">[271]</span> -came seeking Agnes and encountered Enoch at the -gate. She was dishevelled. Her thick black hair had -fallen on one side and her face was distorted and -swollen from weeping. Her eyes were alight with a -kind of wild animal defiance. As they approached her -she began to move along the wall, sideways, her arms -a little spread. In one hand she held a coil of small -rope.</p> - -<p>“Who are you?” Thane asked.</p> - -<p>She did not speak, but continued slowly to edge -along the wall, staring at them angrily. They lit fresh -matches from the dying ones and pursued her in this -way, asking her who she was and what she did there, -and she answered only with that wild look, until with -more presence of mind than they were able to summon -she had worked herself to a position between them and -the open door. Their matches gave out and she disappeared -in the dark. They heard her go down the -back stairway.</p> - -<p>“We’ll have to get a light,” said John.</p> - -<p>They groped their way downstairs, both absurdly -unnerved, found some candles and returned to the -room. Both had the same thought. From what they -had glimpsed of the interior in the light of their -matches by a kind of marginal vision it seemed quite -empty. And so it was. There was no trace of what -had been there, except dust, which on the floor showed -evidence of much moving about. The only object of -any kind was a key that evidently the woman had -dropped. It was a duplicate of the one in Thane’s -possession. They examined the room with silent curiosity.<span class="pagenum">[272]</span> -The walls gave a dead, solid sound to the rap -of their knuckles. The windows were double and -grated inside with iron bars.</p> - -<p>Now they went in search of the woman, knowing -nothing about her, not even her name. She was probably -the housekeeper. Agnes would know. But they -hated to disturb Agnes. She was at the other side of -the mansion and it was very late. Besides, they had -a feeling that the sequel might be distressing.</p> - -<p>The woman had vanished. They could find no trace -of her, nor could they raise any servants indoors, for -the reason afterward disclosed that latterly Enoch’s -ménage had consisted of three persons,—housekeeper, -gardener and stable man.</p> - -<p>“Let’s try the stable,” John suggested. “There -must be somebody alive.”</p> - -<p>On their way to the stable they stared curiously at -a great unsightly heap of ashes, still smoking and glowing -in spots, on the back terrace, as if a miscellaneous -lot of things had been gathered hastily together and -burned.</p> - -<p>“Strange place for a fire,” said Thane, with an -unspoken intuition that John shared.</p> - -<p>The stable-man was sitting up, smoking, with the -look of a man whose eyes have seen more than mind -can grasp. He knew Thane and seemed comforted -by the advent of human society.</p> - -<p>“Nobody in the house. What’s the matter?” Thane -asked.</p> - -<p>“I ain’t the housekeeper,” said the stable-man. “No, -thank God, I ain’t her. She’s on her way.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[273]</span></p> - -<p>“Way where?”</p> - -<p>“Wherever,” he said, with the air of a man who -for cause has newly resolved not to meddle with things -that will be.</p> - -<p>“What do you know about her?” John asked.</p> - -<p>They had only to listen and piece it together. He -was full of it. The woman’s name was Ann Sibthorp -and she came from nobody knew where,—most likely -from some place where they had ceased to speak well -of her. She had been Enoch’s housekeeper for many -years and at last his only house servant. She was not -a woman you could get acquainted with. You wouldn’t -if you could. So it wasn’t that anybody cared, but that -she gave herself airs about her station, became oppressive -and drove the help away. She did much that -Enoch probably knew nothing about. Yet she had -her way, even with him, and it got so nobody dared -to cross her. For several days she had been going -strange. When the old man died she seemed to lose -her mind. She looked without seeing. There was no -sense in her eyes. A little while before dark she began -to carry things from the house and pile them out -there on the terrace. He could not say exactly what -they were,—some pieces of furniture, a chair, a bed -no doubt; yes, and some clothes, a pair of white slippers -and little what-not objects. When he saw her -pouring oil on them he protested. She didn’t hear him. -She wasn’t natural and he was afraid to do anything -except to draw a lot of water in case something caught -fire. Then she lighted the pile and watched it burn, -fairly standing in the flames, poking them with a stick,<span class="pagenum">[274]</span> -rubbing her hands in them, taking on like a witch. It -made a God-fearing person sick to see her. After that -she went in and he didn’t see her again until just now -when she rushed out of the house and disappeared -among the trees.</p> - -<p>“She’s a going to do herself a damage, that woman,” -he predicted, calmly. “Found this in the edge of the -ashes,” he remembered, drawing from his pocket a -small square brown case, badly singed at one corner. -“Maybe you would know what it is.”</p> - -<p>It was a daguerreotype in a faded leather case. -Thane opened it and held it for John to see in the -light of the stable lantern.</p> - -<p>“I recognize it,” said John. Thane gave it to him.</p> - -<p>That was all from the stable-man. And that was -all that was ever known about Ann Sibthorp. She was -never seen again, dead or alive.</p> - -<p>“You know the picture?” Thane asked, as they were -parting at the gate.</p> - -<p>“It’s a portrait of my mother,” John answered.</p> - -<p>“Esther that you just told me about?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[275]</span></p> - - - - -<h2>XXXII</h2> - - -<p class="dropcap">At daybreak smoke was seen curling out of one of -the cold mill stacks. Everybody in New Damascus -knew that Enoch’s body was to be burned in a -puddling furnace.</p> - -<p>“There he goes!” one said. “There goes old Enoch -now.”</p> - -<p>“Not yet,” said another. “Take a hotter fire than -that. Don’t you see it’s just started. That’s his -puddler son-in-law getting it ready for him.”</p> - -<p>It takes eight or ten hours, starting with it cold, to -get the maw of a puddling furnace white hot. In this -case it would take even longer since Thane had it all -to do alone and would be unable to stoke the fire -steadily. There were other duties. Simple obsequies -would take place at the mansion in the afternoon. -That was all the public was permitted to know. Only -Thane and Agnes knew at what hour the cremation -would begin. The point of keeping it secret was -obvious.</p> - -<p>All day long people watched the smoke with fascinated -horror. Crowds gathered on the mountainside -and at points overlooking the mill to witness this -weird translation of the symbol that was Enoch,—symbol -of iron, symbol of indestructibility. There -were many who believed he would not burn.</p> - -<p>After the funeral services had taken place at the<span class="pagenum">[276]</span> -mansion interest in the smoke became intense. Changes -in its color or density or in the way it twisted out of -the top of the stack evoked exclamations of horrendous -wonder and cries of “Look! Look! That’s the image -of him. That’s Enoch going up. Don’t you see him?” -Then news would come, seemingly by a telepathic impulse, -that that had been only the son-in-law poking -up the fire; the body was still at the mansion. Again -it would be rumored that a previous rumor was positively -true. The remains had been got into the mill -unobserved. Everybody had been fooled. Enoch had -got the last laugh. He had been burning up for more -than an hour and had already very largely vanished -into the sky.... So the whole afternoon and the -early evening passed.</p> - -<p>An hour after sunset the stable-man drove a spring -wagon to the Enoch portal of the Gib mansion. He -tied the horse to the ring in the hand of the ironboy -hitching post and went indoors. Presently the front -door swung open. Thane, the gardener and the stable-man -appeared bearing the coffin. They slid it into the -bed of the wagon over the tailboard. Agnes followed -with a black drape. Thane covered the coffin with it. -Then he helped Agnes up over the high front wheel, -took the lines from the stable-man, got up beside her, -and they drove away at a walk.</p> - -<p>At the entrance to the mill yard Agnes held the lines -while Thane got down to unlock the gate. A number -of people were idly gathered there in separate knots, -pretending to be non-existent. News of the body’s -arrival would travel fast. That couldn’t be helped.<span class="pagenum">[277]</span> -What Thane had counted on was that darkness would -cheat the eye of morbidity. But he had forgotten the -moon; it was full and coming up. The whorl of smoke -rising from the stack looked even more ghost-like by -moonlight than in daytime and the watchers, now sure -of their spectacle and of Enoch’s presence in the smoke, -were more gruesomely thrilled than they had hoped -to be.</p> - -<p>The yard and mill were deserted. Even the watchmen -had been sent away until midnight. Agnes still -holding the lines, Thane leading the horse, they crossed -the yard, picking their way around heaps of rusty pig -iron, abandoned castings, rails piled up like cord wood, -and came to the rear door of the mill.</p> - -<p>“You stay here for a minute,” said Thane. “I’ll -come and get you.”</p> - -<p>He drew the coffin half way out of the wagon, -stooped to get his shoulder under, lifted it, and walked -slowly into the gloom, treading cautiously. There was -no light and there were many pitfalls, but his feet knew -every inch of this ground before they wore shoes. He -soon returned, tied the horse, helped Agnes down and -led her by the hand.</p> - -<p>At first she could see nothing and followed him -blindly. Then far off in the crêpe interior she saw a -sultry glow. As they drew near she heard the roar -of the furnace fire, like the sound at the brink of a -cataract. A fire is a cataract upward. It grew louder -and louder with each step until she could feel its vibrations -in the soles of her feet. She never had been in -the mill before.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[278]</span></p> - -<p>A puddling furnace is a low brick structure somewhat -resembling a double tomb. One side is the fire -pit; the other side is the oven. The flames from the -fire pit are sucked by draught across the roof of the -oven. As you face the furnace you see two iron doors—one -is to the fire pit, opening on the grate, to receive -the fuel. To the right of that on a higher level is the -small square door of the oven. Through the first -door when it is open you see the fire. Through the -other you see heat,—nothing but heat,—blinding incandescence.</p> - -<p>Thane led Agnes to a bench facing the furnace, -spread his coat upon it and motioned her to sit down. -The roar was so great that conversation in normal -tones was impossible. She now began to take in the -scene.</p> - -<p>The fire pit at the last stoking had evidently been -gorged to the teeth. A long iron bar was propped -against the door to hold it shut. Gases, smoke and -cherry flames were belching through the cracks. The -oven door was set in a square halo of exuding white -light. And directly in front of this door, pointing -toward it head first, was the coffin, resting on a pair -of iron horses.</p> - -<p>There was no light other than that escaping from -the furnace doors, and as it was continually running -through unpredictable changes, so perspectives, and -the forms, dimensions and relations of objects, were -always changing with a very weird effect.</p> - -<p>Thane threw off his collar, tie, waistcoat and hat, -and seemed to take the furnace by the jaws with his<span class="pagenum">[279]</span> -bare hands. First he opened the oven door and was -immersed in scalding light. He slammed it to, shaking -his head. Kicking away the iron bar, he opened the -fire door and immediately banged it shut, still shaking -his head. The fire was not hot enough. Rolling up -his sleeves he seized a great poker, pulled the fire door -open again, and made several passes; then he stopped, -slammed the door, and stood for a moment in apparent -dilemma. No wonder. Who in a white shirt could -bring a fire to its zenith? He disappeared into the -gloom and was lost for five minutes. When he reappeared -he was in the puddler’s rig he had worn earlier -in the day,—naked to the middle, trousers rolled at -the waist, cowhide shoes, gloves and skullcap. Now -he could talk to the fire. As he thrust the javelin into -its throat it roared back at him like an angry beast. -He made it turn over, lie down, turn over again and -rear on its legs. For moments he was swallowed up -in smoke and Agnes could scarce restrain a shriek of -thrill and terror. Each time he miraculously emerged -unsinged. Then he cast in more fuel, working swiftly, -with heroic ease and grace, and banged the door shut -just in time, for the monster was on the point of lunging -headlong forth. With another look at the inside -of the oven he came and sat on the end of the bench. -She noticed that his chest rose and fell slowly. All -that exertion had not forced his breathing. Ten minutes -passed. He rowelled the fire again. This time -instead of returning to sit on the bench he walked to -and fro in front of the furnace.</p> - -<p>In Agnes a mysterious excitement was rising. It<span class="pagenum">[280]</span> -seemed incongruous with what they were doing; therefore -she ceased to be aware of that. The emotion -comprehended Thane, centered in him, excluded everything -else save the fact of herself in relation to him. -As she watched him his figure became splendid, fabulous! -Her own ego’s importance collapsed. In his -power with ideas man is dimly admirable to woman; -in his power over circumstances he inspires her with -trust; in his power over people he satisfies her taste -for grandeur; but in his power over elements,—in that -aspect he wrecks her completely, for she is herself an -element. In that moment he is god-like; she cannot -comprehend him.</p> - -<p>She was in love with him. That fact had long been -desperate and apparently hopeless, since he had closed -the door. But now, in addition to the potential of her -love, she felt that sweet, fierce longing for the thing -of life, that headlong impulse to perpetuation, with -which we are mysteriously seized in the presence of -death. This nameless elemental forethought will -pierce through grief, affliction and terror. Sir John -Everett Millais caught its gesture in the most poignant -pencil sketch in the world—“Marrying and Giving in -Marriage at the Deluge.”</p> - -<p>Thane’s emotions were parallel. He loved that -woman. And the stark enigma moved him in the same -way to answer death with life. Being a man he -thought himself abominable. Yet the impulse overthrew -him.</p> - -<p>Breaking his walk before the furnace he strode to<span class="pagenum">[281]</span> -the bench where she sat, lifted her free, pressed her -to him and kissed her once hotly on the mouth.</p> - -<p>Instantly overcome at what he had done, humiliated, -chagrined, horribly ashamed of the desire that possessed -him, he put her down as suddenly as he had -picked her up, roughly, leaving her stunned and limp.</p> - -<p>She had been overwhelmed, in all her senses. The -impact was catastrophic. There had not been time -for her to react as her nature listed. For a moment -she could scarcely believe it had happened. It might -almost have been an episode of phantasy. She rose -to run after him.</p> - -<p>At that instant he opened the furnace door and the -glare blinded her. When he closed it and turned she -was at one end of the coffin and he at the other. So -they faced each other.</p> - -<p>“It is ready,” he said. Though she could not hear -she knew what he meant. The fire at last was hot -enough. As she neither moved nor made a sign, he -asked: “Is there anything to say?” That also she -understood.</p> - -<p>She crossed her arms and dropped her head on the -foot of the coffin. Thane looked away.... She -raised her head and stood back. Thane flung the door -wide open, quickly lifted the coffin by the middle, rested -the head of it on the lip of the oven, then took it by -the foot and pushed it in. It made a grating sound -above the roar of the fire and was instantly wrapped -in a flame of burning wood. Seizing an iron bar he -pushed it far in and slammed the door.</p> - -<p>Hours passed. No word was spoken. Thane gave<span class="pagenum">[282]</span> -the fire no peace. He made it rage and bellow. The -door of the oven was not opened again. From time -to time he unstopped the little round eye through -which a puddler kneads the waxing iron and peered -in.</p> - -<p>It was nearly two o’clock when he gorged the pit -once more with fuel, propped the fire door shut, and -stood in front of Agnes, saying: “We could go now.”</p> - -<p>She rose slowly and he took her by the hand to lead -her out.</p> - -<p>When they came to the air by the door at which -they went in he said: “Wait here by the wagon. I -want to wash a bit.” She caught a white gleam of -him in the moonlight as he got out of the puddler’s -rig and heard him splashing under the tap at the water -tank. He was not long, and returned carrying his -coat on his arm, otherwise dressed as when he came, -except that his collar was missing and the front of his -shirt lay open. He offered to help her up.</p> - -<p>“I’d like to walk,” she said.</p> - -<p>One of the watchmen who had returned took charge -of the horse and they departed on foot. Although -dense smoke still issued from the stack there was very -little of Enoch left in it, perhaps not a trace. When -Thane last looked there was nothing on the incandescent -bed of the oven but an ashy outline fainter -than a shadow. The fire as it was would continue to -burn for hours.</p> - -<p>“Thought you might rather go to the hotel,” he -said, when they were through the gate, and he had -locked it again. “We’ve got rooms there.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[283]</span></p> - -<p>“I would,” she answered, “only I’ve no sleep in me -and I’d like to walk.”</p> - -<p>She was looking toward the mountain and they -walked that way. Thane was stirred by an intuition, -which he disbelieved, that if he were passive and let -her choose they would come to a certain path. And -they did. He had a further intuition, most unbelievable, -that of her own accord she would stop at a certain -place, turn in a certain way, and stand looking into -the valley. And she did.</p> - -<p>It was the spot at which they first met, the night of -his battle with the Cornishman,—a night very like this -one.</p> - -<p>All the way she had been silent. If they touched, -walking side by side, he made it clear without words -that the contact was accidental. When they came to -the path he stood aside and she went ahead. When -at this spot she stopped and turned her face to the -valley he went a few paces away, not to disturb her -reverie, and stood with his face averted.</p> - -<p>The summer night was cool; but the air he breathed -was hot, tasteless and suffocating. Memory reconstructed -the episode of their original meeting. It went -on from there. He saw as in one picture the whole -of his life with Agnes and feelings extremely inconsistent -assailed him. There was one,—the one he -thought he had got control of,—that rose higher and -higher, for a reason he seemed painfully aware of and -yet for a moment could not recall. Then he remembered. -It referred to that moment in the mill when -he kissed her for the first time in his life, and by force.<span class="pagenum">[284]</span> -He had forgotten it as one might momentarily forget -having just committed a murder. He loathed himself -for having done it. He wondered that she could tolerate -him afterward, could walk with him alone, could -speak to him with no sign of disgust. He wondered -what she was thinking, so still in the moonlight. Probably -thinking of that.</p> - -<p>He became aware that she moved. She was coming -toward him. He did not turn round. He detested -himself so much that he could not bear to look at her, -or to be looked at, and stepped out of the path to let -her pass. She did not pass.</p> - -<p>He felt her standing close to him,—near enough to -have touched him. Still he did not turn. She raised -her arms, slowly, with a wistfulness he could not have -imagined or believed. He knew her hands were stealing -around his neck and he could not realize it. Then -she clasped him fiercely, hung her weight against him, -adhered to him like a vine, saying, “Oh! Oh! Oh!” -Turning in her embrace he tried to kiss her. She -buried her face in his neck, sobbing deeply, all the time -clinging to him frantically as if she expected him to -put her off. Lifting her head she leaned far back -against the encircling chain of his arms and lay there -looking at him, moonbeams in her eyes. Clasping him -again she kissed his face, his mouth, his eyes, stopping -only to whisper in his ear the most stupendous three -words a woman can say.</p> - -<p>For a long time he did not let the ground touch her -feet. He carried her to and fro in the path, then up -the mountain, higher and higher, and at last to the -very top.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[285]</span></p> - - - - -<h2>XXXIII</h2> - - -<p class="dropcap">John, unable to sleep, had risen from his bed and -gone walking. He let his feet drift, having -nothing consciously in view, and presently found himself -in the path where on just such a night six years -before he had raced up and down in a panic calling -the name of Agnes. It occurred to him to look for -the spot at which he had found her things. Unable to -make sure of it he idly gave up the effort. The view -of the valley impressed him and he sat on a stone at -some distance below the path to sense it. He was -there when Agnes and Thane arrived. They could -not see him; shrubbery above his seat concealed him. -He could see them distinctly. His first impulse naturally -was to disclose himself. Hesitation arose on the -thought that their coming to this place must have been -by romantic impulse; and then as the scene between -them developed he could only sit still. They should -never know he had witnessed it. Long after they were -gone he sat there. And when he departed he stumbled -straight down the mountain side to the highway -lest they should still be near and see him if he went -by the path.</p> - -<p>He felt strangely exalted. His love for Agnes was -hopeless. It had been hopeless as a matter of honor -because she rightfully belonged to Thane. Now it<span class="pagenum">[286]</span> -was hopeless in a new and final sense because she had -learned to love Thane as he loved her. What had -been inevitable now was fulfilled, and what had been -renounced in fair conduct was beyond temptation. -There was also his feeling for Thane which made them -closer than brothers.</p> - -<p>He waited for them to seek him. That occurred -on the second day. They had come to the hotel and -Thane asked him to join them for supper. They -required his advice. Much to their surprise Enoch -not only had left no estate; he was hopelessly bankrupt. -The mill was heavily in debt. They had to -decide whether to pay off its debts or let it be sold for -the benefit of creditors. They were in no state about -it. Agnes, it was true, would never come into that -fortune of her own out of which she had meant to -pay those “balances owing Alexander Thane to be accounted -for,” according to the black book. That no -longer made the slightest difference. As for Thane, -he cared nothing about being rich. Besides, his income -now was large. Nevertheless, was it not an astonishing -fact?</p> - -<p>“Had you suspected it?” Agnes asked.</p> - -<p>John told them of Enoch’s obsession against steel -and how the wreck was made. He put it entirely on -the ground of Enoch’s steel phobia and left himself -out of it.</p> - -<p>“What would be your guess to do with the mill?” -Thane asked.</p> - -<p>This question they debated at length.</p> - -<p>“It’s too late to make New Damascus a steel town,”<span class="pagenum">[287]</span> -John said. “That opportunity has gone around. -However, there will always be a want for New Damascus -iron. I’ll go halves, if you like, to pay off the -debts. We’ll form a close corporation and save the -mill. Rationally worked it will pay its way.”</p> - -<p>To this both Thane and Agnes agreed.</p> - -<p>John went back to Pittsburgh. Thane and Agnes -remained for several weeks, to settle Enoch’s affairs, -to dismantle Number One Furnace and to arrange for -reopening the mill under a superintendent brought by -Thane from the Agnes plant.</p> - -<p>And New Damascus unawares was delivered to its -fate.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[288]</span></p> - - - - -<h2>XXXIV</h2> - - -<p class="dropcap">Now the steel age was come with its deluge of -things.</p> - -<p>Man’s environment was made over twice in one -generation. Nothing was built but to be built again -on a greater scale. It seemed impossible to make anything -big enough. Wonders were of a day’s duration.</p> - -<p>In twenty-five years the country’s population -doubled. In the same time the production of things -unto the use, happiness and discontent of people increased -five, ten, twenty fold. Man had now in his -hand the universal power of steel. It extended his -arms and legs unimaginably, grotesquely.</p> - -<p>The production of metallic fibre increased more than -one hundred fold. Railways were built which if placed -end to end and run around the globe would have circled -it six times. Those already grown when the steel age -came were not yet old when a ton of freight was transported -more than 2,500 miles annually for each man, -woman and child living on American soil. Food was -cheaper and more abundant than ever before in the -life of man because the railways, pursuing the sun, -had suddenly opened a virgin continent to bonanza -farming. So was everything else. Modern cities were -made and were no sooner made than torn down and -built over again. Chicago grew faster than St. Louis<span class="pagenum">[289]</span> -because it had less to tear down. Rivers were moved, -mountains were levelled, swamps were lifted up. -Nothing was right as God left it.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="indent0">O, bigger! and deeper! and higher! -</div><div class="indent0">O, faster! and cheaper! and plus! -</div></div></div></div> - -<p>And it is still incredible, like the Pyramids. Men -lived in strife by doing. They labored and brought it -forth. There was never a moment to think. There -has not come that moment yet. What it was toward -nobody knows.</p> - -<p>Steel was to make men free. They said this who -required a slogan. Men are not free. Why should -they be? What shall they be free to do? Go to and -fro, perhaps. What shall they be free to think? Anything -wherein is refuge from the riddles they invent.</p> - -<p>The men who delivered the steel age were not thinkers. -They were magicians who monkeyed with the -elements until they had conjured forth from the earth -a spirit that said: “Serve me!”</p> - -<p>Those who directly served it were of two kinds.</p> - -<p>First were the men who thought with their hands. -They were daring in invention. Mechanical impossibilities -intoxicated them. They abhorred a pause in -the production process as nature abhors a vacuum.</p> - -<p>Next were the men of vision, who worked by inspiration, -who had a phantasy of things beyond the -feeling of them, and ran ahead.</p> - -<p>And since men of both kinds are more available -here than in Europe the steel age walked across the -ocean.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[290]</span></p> - -<p>Here were men like Thane whose genius fashioned -tools in the guise of sentient creatures,—walking tools, -thinking tools, co-operating tools, with eyes and ears -and nerves and powers of discrimination. Human -tools but that they lacked the sense of good and evil.</p> - -<p>Fancy a tool larger than an elephant keeping vigil -before a row of furnaces, pacing slowly up and down, -apparently brooding, and then at the right moment -opening a door and plucking forth a block of incandescent -steel weighing many tons, neatly, with not -the slightest effort, and nowhere in sight a human -being!</p> - -<p>Fancy another tool to drudge and fag for this one! -It comes running up, stands still while the other gently -lays upon its back the white-hot slab, then runs and -dumps it on a train of rollers.</p> - -<p>That two hundred weight of flaming iron you saw -swinging through the gloom of Enoch’s mill in hand -tongs now is a mass of ninety tons or more, handled, -carried hither, delivered there, shaped and forged, all -by automatic tools. The ladle no larger than a pot -in which the fluid iron was first decanted is now a car -on wheels,—no, not one but many in a string, hence -called a ladle train, running through the night behind -a donkey locomotive, slopping over at the turns, on -the way from where the ore is smelted to where the -mixers mix it and the converters change it into steel.</p> - -<p>The Thanes did that.</p> - -<p>And here were men like John to say: “Give us a -tariff protection of six-tenths of a cent a pound for -ten years and we will not only make all our own steel<span class="pagenum">[291]</span> -wire hereafter but wire for all the world,”—who got -it and did it.</p> - -<p>Here were men to say: “We spend half a million -good American dollars each year in England for tin -cans to throw over the alley fence. Give us a duty -on tin plate and we will not only make our own but -in ten years other people will be throwing our cans over -the fence,”—who got it and proved it.</p> - -<p>Here were men to say: “There is going to be only -one steel concern in the world. That’s us.”—They -meant it literally.</p> - -<p>They were men who knew not how to stop. They -dared not stop. The one who did was lost. Every -little while they had to throw away everything they -had created, cast it out on the junk heap, because new -ideas came in so fast. It was nothing to scrap a million -dollars’ worth of machinery before it had settled -in, a greater, faster engine of production having just -appeared. Whereas formerly every new thing came -from England, Germany or France, now Europe’s ironmongers -were continually coming over here to see what -the Americans were doing and how and why they had -captured the steel age.</p> - -<p>Later, when the pace of evolution began somewhat -to abate, when original discoveries were fewer and a -steel mill would stand awhile, when the wild and reckless -youth of the steel age was past and Wall Street -found it out,—then all these dynamic, self-paramount -men began to get rich. And as you may suppose, -they no more knew how to stop getting rich than they -knew how to stop anything else. Of that in its right -place.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[292]</span></p> - - - - -<h2>XXXV</h2> - - -<p class="dropcap">No two were more the darlings of the steel age -than John and Thane. They were for it and of -it, lover and husband to it, remarkably possessing -between them the qualities it demanded of men. No -part of its mystery was unknown to them. They became -miners and smelters of ore, bringers of coal, -burners of coke, drawers of wire, rollers of rails, in -a very large way. Their wealth in property increased -alarmingly. One thing begat another so fast and -new opportunities so unexpectedly appeared that their -resources were chronically stretched to the utmost and -they were continually in need of more capital. John -was always buying something they couldn’t pay for,—an -ore mountain perhaps, a ship to transport the ore -down the Great Lakes, a steel plant somebody had -blunderingly steered on the rocks. He was like a man -on a tight rope juggling more glass balls than he can -hold all at once. He has to keep them going in the -air. He cannot stop. John never thought of stopping. -It wasn’t that he wished to be rich; it wasn’t that he -had a passion for power; he craved excitement. And -there was plenty of it.</p> - -<p>The steel industry had frightful growing pains for -which there was no diagnosis. The trouble was it -grew by violent starts and then had fits of coma. The<span class="pagenum">[293]</span> -profits were so great when there was any profit at all -that the steel maker would pawn his hope of the everlasting -to build more mills; and perhaps before they -were finished the profit had vanished and his despair -was as wild as his ecstasy. The time to buy steel plants -was when the sky was visible at Pittsburgh; the time -to sell them was when the smoke was so dense that the -sun at midday resembled a pickled beet. But at one -time no one had the money to buy anything with and -at the other time nobody would sell.</p> - -<p>These were conditions perfectly suited to the exercise -of John’s reckless speculative genius. In the -sloughs of despond he bought more property, as he -had bought the Agnes plant, with his notes of hand -and promises to pay. He seemed never so serene as -when treading the edge of a financial precipice in a -high wind with a swaying load on his back. People -watched him with awe. He would do it once too often, -they said, as each time he got back to safe ground -again. Certainly he was a dangerous man to walk -with. In an industry controlled by fatalists he was -unique for daring. Yet back of his apparent passion -for the gambling chance were saving qualities. He -had keen, brooding vision and rare business sagacity. -When he told a committee of United States Senators -that with a tariff protection of six-tenths of a cent -a pound he would make this country independent of -the European steel wire makers (this was at the beginning),—when -he said that nobody took him seriously. -However, they gave him what he wanted. The -price of wire was then twelve cents a pound and this<span class="pagenum">[294]</span> -country was importing from Europe three-quarters of -all it used. A few years later the tables were turned. -This country was making more than half the steel -wire used in the whole world, selling it heavily even in -England, and the price was two cents a pound. So -with all things of steel. So with steel rails. When -the American steel industry got started at last foreign -steel rails were being imported for American -railways at $125 a ton. Ultimately American steel -rails sold for $18 a ton in this country, in Europe, in -Asia and Africa. The United States then had become -an exporting nation selling the products of its -skill to the four ends of the earth.</p> - -<p>Business is warfare in time of peace. Hence its -lure for combative men. Its goal is conquest. Let -alone it would perhaps wreck itself or enslave the -world. No matter. When it is ruthless, knowing no -law but its own necessity, then it is magnificent.</p> - -<p>Attila, king of the Huns, vowing no grass to grow -where his horse had trod the enemy’s soil, is magnificent. -We can see him in that light now that he is -far away in history and not pursuing us.</p> - -<p>Business as it was in the last quarter of the nineteenth -century also is far away. Nothing like it can -ever happen again. It was utterly lawless, free in its -own elemental might, lustful and glamorous. The -barbaric invasion that overturned Roman civilization -was more obvious as a spectacle but no more extraordinary, -no more unexpected, and perhaps as it shall -turn out, no more significant, than America’s economic -invasion of the world in the steel age. One stupendous<span class="pagenum">[295]</span> -sequel already present is the economic, financial -and political supremacy of the isolated American people -in the affairs of this earth. What will come of that -nobody knows.</p> - -<p>The Breakspeares conceived it, imagined it, planned -it; the Thanes tooled it. There was of course labor. -But labor no more invents the tools that are the means -to economic conquest than soldiers invent the weapons -of war, and has generally less understanding of ends -than soldiers have of the strategy.</p> - -<p>The men controlling the steel industry came to be -grouped in three main divisions. There was the original -Pittsburgh group, under the leadership of a round -head named Carmichael; it had founded itself in iron -and then gone into steel. It was steady and powerful -and had gained some influential support in Wall Street. -There was the western group, always falling down -and getting up again, very unstable, yet dangerous as -competitors.</p> - -<p>And thirdly was the Breakspeare group, extremely -unpredictable, whose interests lay in every direction.</p> - -<p>John naturally attracted men who loved risk and -lived easily with danger. Slaymaker learned the attitude, -not thoroughly, but sufficiently, and walked -doggedly along. His goal was wealth for its own -sake. Although John’s high adventures often threatened -to involve all of them in colossal bankruptcy, -yet this never quite happened, and each time it didn’t -happen Slaymaker took a part of his profit and hid -it away, never to be risked again. Jubal Awns, the -lawyer, became superstitious about John and followed<span class="pagenum">[296]</span> -him blindly. Besides these two, who had been in from -the start, there were three others who would be called -general partners. They not only were very large -stockholders and directors in John’s companies; they -joined their capital with his in new undertakings. One -was Isaac Pick, a wordless man who conversed in gestures -and disbelieved everything including the fact of -his own existence. He had made a fortune in scrap -iron and was brought into the group by Slaymaker -at a time when new capital was urgently needed. Another -was Col. Wingreene, an exceedingly profane -man, one of the railroad officials whom John had induced -to take original stock in the American Steel -Company when it began to make rails. Wingreene -had bought out the other railroad people and now -devoted himself entirely to the steel business. A third -was Justinian Creed, a Cleveland banker, very obese, -who believed in the better way and twice a year was -in a grovelling panic about his sins, never thinking, -however, to divest himself of the fruits thereof. Thane -was a partner, too, only his work was in other material. -There were many others loosely affiliated, but these -five,—Slaymaker, Awns, Pick, Wingreene and Creed,—were -John’s own, whom he led, and who came to -be known generically as the Breakspeare Crowd.</p> - -<p>When the game was hot they worked at high pressure, -wholly sustained one would have thought by -strong waters; when it was won they let down with a -bang. They were men of strong habits, strong wills, -strong feelings and strong humor. One of their odd -passions was for getting one another’s goat. In their<span class="pagenum">[297]</span> -practical jokes they were serious, grim and imaginative, -with an amazing power of deception. Never was -a time when some absurd hoax was not brewing; and -if one knew of nothing in pickle for another he began -to be uneasy about himself. His defence was to prepare -something of his own against the field. They -were always on guard and regarded one another -askance, with a kind of owlish suspicion. One would -have thought, seeing them together, that they were too -distrustful of themselves to look away or turn to spit. -So they were. But this was personal, part of a game, -and had nothing to do with business really.</p> - -<p>Their code of conduct was intricate. If the word -passed they could trust one another implicitly. Yet -they avoided the word so far as possible, preferring -in all normal circumstances unlimited freedom of personal -action, each fellow for himself. In an emergency -they came close together, stood back to back, -and presented a solid ring to the world. In all situations -John led them. Often he moved them against -their judgment. Sometimes he was wrong. Generally -he was right. When they acted severally against his -judgment, on their own, they were always wrong. His -character was perhaps no stronger than theirs; his -judgment intrinsically was no better. But he had -above all of them a faculty of intuition, and he could -change his mind. Creed used to say: “John, he looks -where he isn’t going and goes where he isn’t looking. -His eyes are crossed inside.”</p> - -<p>He said it cynically, and it was distorted by John’s -enemies, who took it to mean that he could not be<span class="pagenum">[298]</span> -trusted by his own crowd. That was not so. He -never broke the code. Creed, as it turned out, was -the only man who needed watching within the rules.</p> - -<p>Fortuity was the stuff they worked in; hazard was -what they played with. They were always betting. -No game of chance or skill but they had to add stakes -to make it interesting. As they grew richer and more -easily bored it was increasingly difficult to find a pastime -in which the stakes were high enough. John -turned the leisure of their minds to horse racing. They -would appear in a body on the race track and scare -the bookmakers with the size of their wagers. John -was their oracle. They never believed him; they only -followed him. When he had involved them in enormous -loss they were obliged to go on; there was no -other hope of getting out but by his star of luck. And -it was by no means infallible. Once at Saratoga they -had a frightful week. Twice they had telegraphed -home for money. Their losses had gone into six -figures. Slaymaker met Awns, Wingreene, Pick and -Creed on the hotel veranda after breakfast. He was -exceedingly sore.</p> - -<p>“As long as I live and have my senses I’ll never -bet on another horse John picks,” he said. “He -dreams these things. He never had a real tip in his -life.”</p> - -<p>They were all of one mind. They were through. -Just then John’s voice reached them from the doorway, -saying: “We’ll get it all back today.”</p> - -<p>They groaned and turned their backs.</p> - -<p>“No, now listen?” he said. “You always get cold<span class="pagenum">[299]</span> -feet at the wrong time. This is our chance. It’s air -tight. It’s so secret I can’t even tell you what horse -it is. Give me your money and I’ll bet it with mine.”</p> - -<p>He sat down and went on with it until Slaymaker -said: “I’m an imbecile. If anybody knew what an -imbecile I am there would be a run on my bank. This -is positively the last time.”</p> - -<p>They all gave him their money. It was the third -race. No more could he tell them. The horses went -to the post and still they did not know which one carried -their money.</p> - -<p>“It’s on,” said John. “It’s down all right. Don’t -worry about that.”</p> - -<p>“Lord, no,” said Slaymaker. “That’s not what -we are worried about.”</p> - -<p>John watched the horses. The others watched him.</p> - -<p>A horse named Leadbeater took the lead at the -start, held all the way and won by four lengths. John -fell back with a blank expression.</p> - -<p>“That the horse?” asked Slaymaker.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said John. “That’s it.”</p> - -<p>“Then what’s the matter?”</p> - -<p>“I didn’t bet on it,” said John.</p> - -<p>“You didn’t—what!”</p> - -<p>“That was the horse,” John explained. “Only -after we came out here I got what I thought was a -better tip and bet all the money on.... Now, wait!”</p> - -<p>They would not wait. They rose with one impulse -and left him alone in Saratoga. That night on the -train they began to get telegrams from him. Would -they authorize him to lay five thousand apiece for<span class="pagenum">[300]</span> -them on a horse that was bound to win the next day -at odds of 100 to 1? They tore up the telegrams. -More kept coming, overtaking them en route all that -night and until noon the next day. They would not -even reply. But that horse did win and John by himself -broke half the bookmakers at Saratoga.</p> - -<p>It was the end of their racing sport for that season. -The crowd was too disgusted to touch it again and -John did not care for it alone. Slaymaker said it -was forever; so did all the rest. Yet the next season -they did it all over again.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[301]</span></p> - - - - -<h2>XXXVI</h2> - - -<p class="dropcap">All the men who got rich with John Breakspeare -developed strange pathologies from nervous -shock and strain. Their eyes became opaque and had -that uncanny trick of suddenly and without movement -changing their focus while they looked at you, as if -something were transacting on the far-away horizon -of their thoughts and you for that instant were transparent. -They had their luck by the tail and could not -let go. They could count their gains; they could not -seize them. John was always getting them in; he -never got them out. Their wealth was in property to -which enormous additions had continuously to be made -by an uncontrollable law of growth. Thus the richer -they grew the greater correspondingly their liabilities -were and there seemed no way either to quit or get -out. If you had all the wealth in the world you could -not sell it. There would be no one to buy it. In principle -that was their problem. If they could sell out -they would be millionaires. But where was there anybody -with money enough to buy them out? It would -take twenty-five millions or more. Once they had begun -to look at this dilemma they could not let it alone; -it filled them with anxiety. They began to worry John -about it. He had got them in. Couldn’t he find a -way to get them out?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[302]</span></p> - -<p>“All right,” he said. “I’ll show you a way out.”</p> - -<p>“How?”</p> - -<p>“We’re like a railroad,” he said. “No railroad is -privately owned any more. It’s too big. It represents -too much capital. Only the public is rich enough to -own a railroad. It takes thousands of investors putting -their money together to build a railroad. Then -somebody works it for them and pays them dividends -on their shares. We can do that,—put our shares -on the New York Stock Exchange and sell out to the -public.”</p> - -<p>So he led them to Wall Street. The motive was -theirs; the plan was his.</p> - -<p>The American Steel Company was reorganized. Its -capitalization was increased to take in properties hitherto -jointly owned among them and for other purposes. -They agreed to sell no shares except through John in -order that all should fare alike. It was a verbal agreement. -All of their private agreements were verbal -and never so far had one been broken.</p> - -<p>Enter John Breakspeare upon the Wall Street scene -with something to sell.</p> - -<p>The shares of the American Steel Company were -duly listed on the New York Stock Exchange,—that -is, they were added to the list of securities permitted -to be dealt in there and allotted sign and booth in the -great investment bazar.</p> - -<p>People stared and passed by. It was a strange sign -not only because it was new but for the reason also -that the public knew only mining and railroad shares. -The day of industrial company shares had not come.<span class="pagenum">[303]</span> -John was a pioneer in that line. He was a vendor -unused to the ways of this fair with merchandise nobody -had ever seen before.</p> - -<p>He was not disappointed. He knew, if anybody -did, that goods must be brought to the buyer’s attention. -Nothing will sell itself, least of all seven per -cent. shares for which there is instinctively neither -hunger nor thirst. He knew also in principle how this -kind of impalpable merchandise should be displayed. -It has no appeal to any of the natural senses. Therefore -it must be made to appeal to all of them at once, -symbolically. How?</p> - -<p>First to be engaged is the sense of sight. The shares -move. They go up. People ask: “What is that?” -They move again. People ask: “Why is that?” -They continue to move, going up, then down a little, -then suddenly up a great deal, and people say: “Here -before our eyes is something doing,—a chance to make -some money.” And when once they begin to say that -all their senses and appetites are touched with expectation, -for money, however derived, is in itself palpable. -It is the symbol of all things whatever.</p> - -<p>For the art of making shares go up and down in -a manner to excite first attention, then curiosity and -then an impulse to act for gain, there is a long, inartistic -word. The word is manipulation. The stock market -manipulator is an illusionist. Perched high upon -some eerie crag of the Wall Street canyon, producing -enchantment at a distance, he is himself invisible save -to the initiate, and even they do not know what he intends -or why, because what he seems to be doing is<span class="pagenum">[304]</span> -never at all what he is really doing. If it were, the -lesser fauna—the wolves, the jackals, the foxes, apes -and crows,—would anticipate his ends and take the -quarry out of his hands. He makes shares rise when -he is selling them and fall when he is buying them. He -can take an unnoticed, unwanted thing like American -Steel and cause it to become an object of extravagant -speculative interest, so that tens of thousands hang -over the tape and wait for the next quotation, betting -whether it shall be up or down. Moreover, he is a -ventriloquist. When he has made certain shares very -active by the apparently simple though extremely intricate -expedient of buying and selling them furiously -through different brokers, no two of whom know they -have the same principal,—when he has done this and -people begin to ask the question, then answers suitable -to his purpose are in everyone’s ears, saturate the atmosphere, -and although he, the manipulator, is the -source of them that fact is as little known as the fact -that he was himself the solitary source of all the -buying and selling that started the excitement. Not -only is the public deceived; the fauna, too, will often -be caught. All is flesh that rises to his lure. His -work is sometimes legitimate, as when he creates a -public demand for shares the proceeds of which go to -build a railroad or some other great economic work -so vast that the capital could not have been obtained -in any other way; it is sometimes predatory, sometimes -wanton.</p> - -<p>At this time the pendragon of manipulators was one -Sabath,—James Sabath,—feared by the wicked and<span class="pagenum">[305]</span> -righteous both. He was not a member of the Stock -Exchange for he did not wish to be bound by the rules. -There was no name on his door nor was his name in -any directory or book of celebrities. Yet it was constantly -on the lips of all men concerned in gains and -losses from speculation. One might have asked in -every bank in Wall Street who and where this Sabath -was and one’s inquiry would have been received with -utter blankness. Yet there would have been hardly a -banker in Wall Street, certainly no very important -one, who had not had transactions with him of an -extremely intimate and delicate nature. Such is the -way of men in the money canyon.</p> - -<p>For example, there was Bullguard. He was the -great private banker of his time,—a kind of Cæsar’s -wife to the institution of American finance. His authority -was absolute, his power was feudal and tyrannical. -For him to have been seen in the society of -Sabath would have been scandalous. Nobody would -have known what to make of it. Yet in the pursuit of -his ends he often engaged Sabath to do things he could -not risk doing for himself. That again is the way -of men in the little autonomous state which is Wall -Street.</p> - -<p>John sought an audience with Sabath. After long -delay and much unnecessary mystery he was received -in that strange man’s lair. Besides himself there was -nothing in it except a ticker, some chairs and a worn -Turkey carpet. The room was without windows, -therefore lighted artificially in daytime. Twice during -the interview he rang a bell and each time a boy appeared<span class="pagenum">[306]</span> -with one glass of whiskey in his hand. Sabath -drank it at a gulp, with no here’s how or by your -leave. He sat in an arm chair and combed his beard -upward from its roots with his fingers, or for change -twisted it with the other hand. His head was continually -moving; sometimes he threw it far back to start -his fingers through his beard; no matter what he did -with his head his eyes all the time were perfectly still -and held John in a blue, vise-like gaze. He looked at -people in a way to make them feel full of holes. His -head was very large; his body was neat and small; -his voice was sarcastic, thin and shrill.</p> - -<p>John explained his errand. He wished Sabath to -take hold of American Steel shares and create some -public interest in them. Sabath said nothing, but continued -to look at him. John went into details, telling -about the company, what it owned and what it earned. -Still Sabath continued to gaze at him in silence. John -told him at length how the shares had been pooled in -his hands by his associates, none to be sold except -through him. And Sabath said nothing.</p> - -<p>“Does it interest you at all?” John asked at last.</p> - -<p>“Come back tomorrow,” said Sabath. He made a -gesture toward the door without looking at it. As -John went he sat still, but for his head, which turned -slowly in a reptilian manner.</p> - -<p>To John’s surprise Sabath was vocal the next day -and asked many questions in a high, twanging voice. -Some of his questions were oblique and some apparently -quite irrelevant. Suddenly he said:</p> - -<p>“And so you know that God-fearing Creed, do you?<span class="pagenum">[307]</span> -You must know him very well. How much of this -precious stock has Mr. Creed got?”</p> - -<p>John told him. Sabath tweaked his beard, saying: -“Who would imagine I’d ever be found in the same -alley with a he-cat like Creed.”</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter with him?” asked John.</p> - -<p>“I say nothing against him,” Sabath answered. -“I only say I’d hate to go into a room with him -alone.”</p> - -<p>There was a third interview, then a fourth and a -fifth. Terms were stated. It seemed to be all ready -for the signatures and as there weren’t going to be -any signatures John couldn’t understand why Sabath -kept postponing the final word. Then one day out of -a painted sky he said: “We seem unable to make a -trade, Mr. Breakspeare. I cannot allow myself to -waste any more of your valuable time. I’m not interested.”</p> - -<p>John was amazed.</p> - -<p>“However,” he said, “I suppose I can trust you to -keep to yourself the information you have obtained -in the course of these interviews?”</p> - -<p>“That’s what we live on down here,—trust,” said -Sabath. “We couldn’t do business without it.”</p> - -<p>With that he turned his back and stood looking at -the ticker. John, thus rudely dismissed, was at the -door with his hand on the knob when Sabath spoke -again, without turning around, without moving his -head, as if he were thinking out loud.</p> - -<p>“What did you ever do to Mr. Bullguard?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[308]</span></p> - -<p>“I don’t know him,” said John. “Why?”</p> - -<p>“He knows you,” said Sabath, still reading the tape. -“He says you are a gambler. Is that true?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know what he means,” said John. “It -would be absurd to talk about it. I have some business -to transact in Wall Street. How does that concern -him?”</p> - -<p>Sabath now turned and walked with him to the door. -His manner was both ingratiating and menacing; his -voice was ironic, and yet there was a suspicion of -friendliness in his words. “Because if you are,” he -continued, as if John had not spoken, “I would urge -you to keep all that talent for the steel business. I -understand the steel business needs it. We don’t like -gambling in Wall Street. You are a young man. I -have wasted your time. Now I offer you my advice. -Don’t try anything in Wall Street. Gamblers don’t -go far down here. We eat them. Mr. Bullguard -would swallow you up at one bite.” He made an -exaggerated bow. “Let me know if there’s anything -I can do for you before you go back to Pittsburgh.”</p> - -<p>“Thanks,” said John. “When I want to be amused -I’ll look you up. Tell Mr. Bullguard I’ve been eaten -up so often that I like it. Sometimes I fairly hunger -for it. Why did you change your mind?”</p> - -<p>“How could I have changed my mind?” Sabath -injuredly asked. “How can you say that? It had -never been made up.”</p> - -<p>“Why did you change your mind?” John insisted.</p> - -<p>“You would be betrayed,” said Sabath. “I should -be betrayed, too, of course; but I’m used to it and<span class="pagenum">[309]</span> -you’re not. The only man you don’t suspect is always -the one who betrays you.”</p> - -<p>“Did Mr. Bullguard call you off?” John asked.</p> - -<p>“You might never get used to it,” Sabath continued, -vaguely, ignoring the question. “You wouldn’t know -what to do. I’ve been betrayed so much that I know -it before it happens. And I know what to do. You -never get through a deal like this without being betrayed.”</p> - -<p>He turned sadly and walked back to the ticker. The -interview was closed.</p> - -<p>John reacted to this experience with thoughtful curiosity. -He was baffled and chagrined and at the same -time deeply interested, for he perceived that here was -a province of the dynamic mind in which subtlety was -carried to its ultimate point. After long reflection -he was still of the opinion that underlying Sabath’s -diabolism lay a vein of well meaning; also of the opinion -still that the puissant Bullguard had interfered. -But why? What could his motive be? This was presently -to be discovered. John explored the matter -adroitly and learned that Bullguard was about to do -for the Carmichael crowd what John lone-handed had -attempted to do for his crowd,—that is to say, capitalize -the steel business and introduce it to the public. -Naturally Bullguard desired the field to himself and -took a high-handed way against the interloper.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, John resolved to go on. He would -be his own manipulator. Why not? The stock market -was nobody’s private preserve. He had as much right -there as Bullguard or Sabath. Besides, where was<span class="pagenum">[310]</span> -the risk? He controlled all the shares of the American -Steel Company.</p> - -<p>So he engaged a broker, who engaged other brokers, -and buying and selling orders, both issuing from John, -began to be executed in American Steel. For a while -he was delighted. It was so easy to make the shares -active, to make them go up and down, to create the -illusion of excited bargaining, that he began to wonder -why anyone should pay manipulators large fees to do -this simple trick. He wondered, too, what Sabath -was thinking of his performance. He could almost -feel Sabath watching him. He imagined him at the -ticker, tweaking his beard, sneering at the amateur -quotations that were appearing on the tape for American -Steel.</p> - -<p>They were beautiful quotations, rising from 80 to -85, then to 90, then to 95 and at length to 100; they -were also very costly quotations. Commissions to -brokers who executed his orders began to run into large -figures and there were no offsetting returns. That is -to say, real buyers were not in the least intrigued. -After several weeks John himself was the only buyer -and the only seller. He discussed it with his broker -who thought what he needed was publicity. He ought -to get American Steel written about in the newspapers.</p> - -<p>Financial writers to the number of twenty were -invited to meet the president of the American Steel -Company. Six came. John received them in his -broker’s private office and spoke eloquently and earnestly -of the company, its merits, earnings and all that. -They stared at him incredulously, then began to look<span class="pagenum">[311]</span> -very bored and went away. The American Steel was -not written about except in one newspaper, which told -of the solicited interview in a way to make it ludicrous.</p> - -<p>Now a most improbable thing happened. John’s -broker reported that someone was selling American -Steel shares.</p> - -<p>Selling them? Who could be selling them? Nobody -had any to sell.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, it was true. Well, next best to selling -the shares to the public, which he hadn’t succeeded -in doing, was to buy them from speculators who would -sell them without owning them, for in that case when -the sellers were called upon to deliver what they never -had then they couldn’t and John would be in a position -to squeeze them. He would have them in a corner. -So he gave orders to buy all the American Steel anyone -offered to sell. The selling steadily increased. -How strange that professional Stock Exchange gamblers, -the canniest men in the world, would sell themselves -into a corner in that silly manner! Yet what -else could it be? Still sure the sellers were selling -what they couldn’t deliver John continued to buy until -very large sums began to be involved.</p> - -<p>One afternoon his broker informed him that the -selling had been traced to Sabath. This John had -already suspected. He was now in deep water and -wired for his crowd,—Slaymaker, Awns, Wingreene, -Pick and Creed. Having laid the cards before them -he proposed that they should unite their resources and -bring off a corner in American Steel. Clearly they had -Sabath cornered. They had only to let him go on<span class="pagenum">[312]</span> -selling until he was tired; then they could make him -settle on their own terms.</p> - -<p>Creed declined. This was John’s party, he said. -They had authorized him to sell their shares. Instead -he had got himself involved in a contest with the -most powerful speculator in Wall Street and now -expected them to stand under. They would be fools -to get into that kind of game. He flatly wouldn’t -do it.</p> - -<p>The others wavered. They hated to leave John in -the lurch; they were afraid to stand by. Creed withdrew -and vanished.</p> - -<p>While the other four were hesitating a sudden panic -shook the stock market. American Steel shares fell -from 103 to 25 in ten minutes, plunging headlong -through John’s buying orders. And while this was -taking place his broker came to him in a state of gibbering -excitement.</p> - -<p>“I thought you said nobody had any American Steel -to sell?”</p> - -<p>“Nobody has,” said John.</p> - -<p>“Then we’re all crazy,” said the broker. “More -than a million dollars’ worth of the stuff has just been -delivered to us. We’ve got to pay for it at once.”</p> - -<p>“Let’s look at it,” said John. “I want to see it.”</p> - -<p>He saw it. The shares that had been delivered to -him were Creed’s.</p> - -<p>John paid for them, though it almost broke his back. -He used his own money until he had no more and borrowed -the rest from Slaymaker and Pick on his notes. -The fiasco was complete. American Steel was indignantly<span class="pagenum">[313]</span> -stricken from the Stock Exchange list because -it had been manipulated in so outrageous a manner -and the newspapers wrote about it most scornfully.</p> - -<p>It was all over and John and his crowd, now always -excepting Creed, were at dinner in the Holland House, -when a reporter from <cite>The Sun</cite> appeared at their table -unannounced and asked: “Mr. Breakspeare, how do -you feel?”</p> - -<p>John went on eating as he replied: “I feel like a -dog that’s been kicked so much he goes sideways. I’ve -got every pain there is but one. That’s belly ache.”</p> - -<p>This was printed the next morning on the front page -of <cite>The Sun</cite>, and Wall Street forgot itself long enough -to say: “Not a bad sport, anyhow.”</p> - -<p>“Now I suppose we’ll go back and attend to the steel -business,” said Slaymaker.</p> - -<p>“In a day or two,” John answered. “There’s something -I want to do here yet.”</p> - -<p>He wanted to find out how it happened. And he -did. Bullguard, knowing Creed, had tempted him to -part with his shares at a very nice price. These shares -Bullguard turned over to Sabath with the understanding -that they should be used to club John’s market to -death. John had no hostile feeling for Sabath. For -Creed he felt only contempt. But with Bullguard he -opened a score.</p> - -<p>His state was not one of anger. He had only himself -to blame. “I don’t so much mind getting plucked,” -he said, “but I look so like Hell.”</p> - -<p>He simply couldn’t leave until he had turned the<span class="pagenum">[314]</span> -laugh. This he did in the way as follows: One morning -at eleven o’clock a small funeral cortege, instead -of stopping at Trinity Church as funerals should in -that part of the city, turned down Wall Street and -stopped at the door of Bullguard & Company. Six -men drew from the hearse a silver-mounted mahogany -coffin smothered in roses, carried it into the great banking -house, put it down on the floor, went immediately -out and drove away. It was so swiftly yet quietly done -and it was so altogether incredible that the door attendant -knew not what to do or think. His wits were -paralyzed and while he stared with his mouth open the -pall-bearers disappeared. So did the hearse and carriages. -A great crowd instantly gathered. The nearest -policeman was called. As no one could say how the -coffin got there or what was in it he refused either to -move it or to let it be moved until the coroner should -come to open it. He was a new policeman and could -not be awed. He knew his duty and no manner of -entreaty availed. For an hour it lay there on the floor. -Police reserves were summoned to keep a way for -traffic through the gaping throng. Somewhere inside -the banking house, out of sight, was Bullguard, surrounded -by his partners, apoplectic and purple with a -sense of unanswerable outrage. The coroner was accompanied -by a group of reporters.</p> - -<p>When the coffin was opened, there upon the white -satin pillow lay a rump of a pig, rampant, tail uppermost; -and in the curl of the tail was twisted and -tied like a ribbon the few feet of ticker tape on which -the last quotations for American Steel were printed.<span class="pagenum">[315]</span> -It was a freak story and the newspapers made much of -it. Wall Street rocked with glee. John went back to -Pittsburgh with a smile in his midriff, leaving the wreck -of a fortune behind him.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[316]</span></p> - - - - -<h2>XXXVII</h2> - - -<p class="dropcap">John’s Wall Street disaster was personal. He -assumed all liabilities. Therefore it did not involve -his partners, save that he owed Slaymaker -and Pick nearly half a million dollars on his notes. -Nor did it touch Thane and Agnes. He took good -care of that.</p> - -<p>On the day of his return to Pittsburgh he had dinner -with them. They had moved again, to a house of their -own, one they had built on an unspoiled eminence -among some fine old trees. They exhibited it with -the pride of children. It was large and expensively -made, with an unpretentious air, and one of its features, -saved until the last, was an apartment for John. -They hardly expected him to adopt it. However, -it should be his always, just like that, whenever -it might please him to come, and it had pleased them -to do it.</p> - -<p>The evening meal was no longer supper. It was -dinner. Thane at last was comfortable in the society -of servants, even in the brooding, anonymous presence -of a butler.</p> - -<p>Agnes now was in full bloom. Life had touched her -in its richest mood. There were moments in which her -aura seemed luminous, like a halo; or was that a trick -of John’s imagination? He had not seen her for above<span class="pagenum">[317]</span> -a year. She was more at ease with him than she had -ever been, spontaneous, friendly, quite unreserved, -and by the same sign infinitely further away. There -was no misunderstanding her way with Thane nor -Thane’s with her. They had achieved the consonance -of two principles. They were the two aspects of one -thing, separate and inseparable, like right and left, -like diameter and circumference. What one thought -the other said; what one said the other thought. They -conversed without words.</p> - -<p>Agnes pressed John with questions about the Wall -Street episode. They had read a good deal about it -in the newspapers. His narrative left much to be -vaguely imagined.</p> - -<p>“But you yourself—how did you come out?” she -asked. “Nobody else appears to have got hurt. What -happened to you?” For on that point he had been -evasive.</p> - -<p>“I did get rubbed a bit,” he said. “Don’t worry -about it. I’m all right.”</p> - -<p>She looked at him thoughtfully.</p> - -<p>“Tell him what we’ve been doing,” she said, turning -to Thane.</p> - -<p>“Remember,” said Thane, “you said once we’d see -ore go in at the top of a blast furnace and come out -rails at the other end of the mill without stopping?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said John, sitting up.</p> - -<p>“That gave me an idea,” Thane continued. “We’ve -done it. It’s experimental yet but we can do it. Take -the steel ingots straight out of the soaking pit and -put them through the rolls with no reheating.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[318]</span></p> - -<p>“Does anybody know it?” John asked.</p> - -<p>“Just ourselves,” said Thane.</p> - -<p>Agnes took it up there, described the process in detail, -and told how Thane had evolved it through endless -nights of trial and failure. John was amazed at -the extent and accuracy of her knowledge. Thane anticipated -his question.</p> - -<p>“She knows,” he said. “She could run a mill.”</p> - -<p>It was literally true. John was thrilled to hear how -at night, in cap and overalls, she had been going with -Thane to the mill to watch his experiments. Not only -did she learn to understand them; she could discuss -them technically, and make helpful suggestions. She -had taken up the study of metallurgy in a serious way. -She spent her days digesting scientific papers in English, -French and German and was continually bringing -new knowledge to Thane’s attention. Later to -her immense delight she saw phases of this knowledge -translate itself through Thane’s hands into practice at -the mill.</p> - -<p>“It’s in the blood,” said John, bound with admiration.</p> - -<p>It was a cherishable evening. After dinner they -sat on the veranda. Below them was a bottomless -sea of velvety blackness, with no horizon, no feeling -of solid beneath it, sprinkled at random with lights and -intermittently torn by flashes from blast furnaces and -converters many miles away.</p> - -<p>“It’s like looking at the sky upside down,” said -Agnes.</p> - -<p>They could feel what was taking place off there in<span class="pagenum">[319]</span> -the lamp-black darkness. Men were tormenting the -elements, parting iron from his natural affinities, giving -him in new marriage without love or consent, -audaciously creating what God had forgotten—<em>steel! -steel! steel!</em> There in that smutted deep were tools -walking about like fabled monsters, obedient and docile, -handling flaming ingots of metal with the ponderous -ease and precision of elephants moving logs. -There amid clangor and confusion shrieking little bipeds -were raising gigantic ominous shapes from shapelessness. -There an epic was forming.</p> - -<p>These three sitting on the veranda were definitely -related to all of this. It had never ceased to thrill -them. Much of it they had imagined before it was -there. Some of those Leviathan tools were Thane’s -own. He was thinking of them, not boastfully, yet -with a swelling sense of having created them. They -were his ectoplasm, his arms and legs and sinews externalized -in other forms. Seldom did he review his -work, being normally too much absorbed in the difficulty -at hand. Now, as he gave way to it, a tingle -of satisfaction stole through his blood. It made him -wish to touch Agnes. His hand reached for hers and -it was near. She seemed to know what he was thinking.</p> - -<p>John was thinking of the steel age, of what it yet -required, of its still unimagined possibilities. Every -railroad then existing would have to be rebuilt with -heavier rails and bridges. Cars would come to be -made of steel. Street railways were a new thing: they -would take immense quantities of steel.</p> - -<p>They had been silent for a long time.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[320]</span></p> - -<p>“That’s the Agnes plant ... way over there ... -that blue flame. There!” said Thane.</p> - -<p>“I had made it out,” said John.</p> - -<p>“What did you call it?” Agnes asked.</p> - -<p>Sheepishly they told her that from the beginning, -for luck, they had called it the Agnes plant.</p> - -<p>“How nice!” she said.</p> - -<p>From that their conversation became more personal, -even reminiscent. They found they could speak naturally -of incidents always until then taboo. They -talked of Enoch, of their arrival and beginning in Pittsburgh, -of the mill at Damascus which was doing well, -and of each other, how they had changed and what it -was like to be all grown up.</p> - -<p>When Agnes rose to leave she shook hands with -John, saying: “Alexander will give you the key. We -don’t press you. But it’s there for you whenever you -have the impulse to come. Day or night. Any time. -And even if you never come it will please us to keep it -always ready for you.”</p> - -<p>With that she was gone, so suddenly that John had -been unable to get any words together. He had not -even said good-night.</p> - -<p>“That place we’ve fixed for you means something,” -said Thane, lunging out of a silence. “I can’t find -any way to say it. We know how it was when you -brought us to Pittsburgh and how there wasn’t any -job for us until you bought the little nail mill. We -know all about it. It’s lucky for all of us,—lucky for -Agnes and me, I mean,—I didn’t know enough to see -it then. There ain’t no way to say how we feel about<span class="pagenum">[321]</span> -it. You can just understand that’s what this key -means.”</p> - -<p>John took it, turned it over in his hand, then put it -in his pocket and said nothing.</p> - -<p>“The reason Agnes was asking you so close how you -came out in Wall Street,” Thane added, “was we -thought you might-a got skinned. We’ve got a lot of -money. We think it’s a lot. And we want you to -know—”</p> - -<p>“Don’t!” said John. “That’s enough. Now stop -it. Stop it, I tell you.”</p> - -<p>“A-l-l right, a-l-l right,” said Thane. “I’m through. -I ain’t a going on, am I? I’ve got it all said.”</p> - -<p>“I’m going,” said John. “Walk down to the gate.”</p> - -<p>At the gate they shook hands and lingered.</p> - -<p>“You’ve got it all wrong,” said John. “There’s -nothing you two—what I mean—”</p> - -<p>“I know, I know,” said Thane.</p> - -<p>“You don’t know anything,” said John. “Let me -say something. I owe you a damn sight more than -you owe me. I couldn’t have done anything without -you. You’re the axle tree. I’m only the wheel. This -one new wrinkle, if it proves out, is worth millions.”</p> - -<p>“Well, don’t lose that key,” said Thane.</p> - -<p>They shook hands again and pushed each other -roughly away.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[322]</span></p> - - - - -<h2>XXXVIII</h2> - - -<p class="dropcap">The steel industry was a giant without lineage, -parentage or category. Nobody knew how big -it should be nor could tell by looking at it what stage -it was in. Not until afterward. It was measurable -only by contrast with itself. It was supposed to be -already grown up when John brought the American -Steel Company back from Wall Street. But it was -still in the gristle. Bone and sinew had yet to be -acquired.</p> - -<p>“What, my God! if we had sold out then,” Slaymaker -would say again and again, with the aghast and -devout air of a man whose faith in the deity dates -from some miraculous escape. “We should probably -never have got in again,” he would add.</p> - -<p>If they had got out then they would have been able -to count their wealth in millions. But they had to go -on. And when at last they did get out in the golden -harvest time years later they counted it in scores and -hundreds of millions.</p> - -<p>Thane’s new method, which proved itself in practice, -gave the American Steel Company a whip hand in steel -rails. It could make them at a lower cost than anyone -else in the world, owing to the saving in fuel. Nobody -ever knew what that cost was. No matter at -what price the Carmichael people sold rails John could -sell them a little lower if he needed the business, and<span class="pagenum">[323]</span> -he became for that reason a burning thorn in the flesh -of Bullguard, who had capitalized the Carmichael -properties and brought the shares out in Wall Street. -They had a wretched career. Everyone who touched -them lost money. This was not only because of the -American Steel Company’s competition; the steel industry -as a whole was running wild. There was no -controlling it. For a year or two the demand for -steel would exceed the utmost supply at prices which -made a steel mill more profitable than a gold pocket. -Then new mills would appear everywhere at once -and presently, although there never could be enough -steel really, the bowl would slop over from sheer awkwardness.</p> - -<p>There were still the three great groups,—the Western -group, the Carmichael group and John’s—all -growing very fast. Minor groups were continually -springing up at precisely the wrong time. They generally -smashed up or had to be bought out by the others -to save themselves from ruinous competition. The -steel age cared nothing about profits. All it wanted -was steel—more and more and more.</p> - -<p>Next was the phase of specialization. One mill -made rails exclusively, another merchant steel, another -structural shapes for bridges and skyscrapers, another -sheet steel, another steel pipe, and so on. That only -intensified the competition.</p> - -<p>Then trusts began to be formed, precisely as John -had formed the nail trust years before, and for the -same purpose, which was to regulate the output and -keep prices at a profitable level. Somebody would<span class="pagenum">[324]</span> -go around and get options on nearly all the mills of -this kind, of that kind and then get bankers to make -them into a trust with shares to be listed on the Stock -Exchange and sold to the public. So there came to -be a steel pipe trust, a sheet steel trust, a bridge and -structural steel trust, a tin plate trust, a trust for everything; -and matters became a great deal worse because -some of the biggest mills, such as John’s, were never -in a trust and if the pipe trust or the structural steel -trust got prices too high the independent mills would -begin to make pipe or structural steel. Besides, each -trust was a law unto itself and the steel industry was -still anarchic.</p> - -<p>Now finance began to be worried. The shares of -these trusts having been floated in Wall Street and -the public at last having begun to buy them, an outbreak -of disastrous competition among the trusts, or -between the trusts and the independents, or an overrunning -of the steel spool, caused a panic on the Stock -Exchange. Enormous sums of capital had become -involved. Every such panic caused a general commotion, -like a small earthquake. Something would have -to be done to stabilize the steel industry. That was -the word; everybody began to say, <em>Stabilize it</em>! Gradually -there crystallized the thought of a great trust -of trusts to embrace everything. Not otherwise could -the steel industry be stabilized. Any such colossal -scheme as that would have to consider first of all the -three dominant groups. But when overtures were -made to John directly or through his partners, he repulsed -them. To Wall Street’s emissaries he would<span class="pagenum">[325]</span> -say flatly, “No.” To his partners he would say, “Not -yet.”</p> - -<p>His word was final. Having retrieved his fortune in -the first year after his inglorious shipwreck, by the -most daring and brilliant selling campaign the steel -industry had ever seen,—a campaign that put American -rails over European rails in all the markets of the -world,—his authority not only was restored: it was -increased. Then, having paid off his notes with Slaymaker -and Pick, he had got possession of Creed’s -shares. That made his interest in the American Steel -Company greater than that of any three others. There -was still the North American Manufacturing Company, -in which he was the largest stockholder; it controlled -the manufacture of steel wire and nails, and -had never ceased to pay dividends.</p> - -<p>He enforced one policy of business. That was to -make steel continuously under all conditions and never -to close a plant except for repairs. Back of him was -Thane steadily reducing the costs of manufacture. -Sometimes they sold steel at a loss. In the long run, -however, this policy paid so handsomely that they were -presently able to find in their own profits the capital -they needed for expansion. On an ever-increasing -scale they devoted profits to the construction and purchase -of new properties,—more mines, more ships, -more mills. When his partners complained, saying it -was time to take something out instead of putting -all their gains back again, John offered to buy them -out.</p> - -<p>So he grew wise and tyrannical and a little grey at<span class="pagenum">[326]</span> -the temples. His voice became husky. He lived hard, -worked hard, walked steadily on the edge of the precipice, -with nothing he cared for in view. On his watch -chain he carried the key to Thane’s house. Twice he -got as far as the gate and turned back.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[327]</span></p> - - - - -<h2>XXXIX</h2> - - -<p class="dropcap">When the steel age walked across the ocean from -Europe a dilemma was created. The will and -mentality were here; the labor was there. Until then -labor in American mills had been made up of British, -Irish, Welsh, Germans, Swedes and, choicest of all, -Buckwheats, meaning young American brawn released -from the farm by the advent of man-saving agricultural -implements. The steel age widened the gap between -brain and muscle. It required a higher kind of imagination -at the top and a lower grade of labor below. -There was no such labor here,—at least, nowhere near -enough. Hence an inpouring of Hungarians, Slavs, -Polacks and other inferior European types,—hairy, -brutish, with slanting foreheads.</p> - -<p>Nobody thought of the consequences. Nobody -thought at all. The labor was needed. That was -enough. There was no effort to Americanize or assimilate -it. There wasn’t time. It had to be fed -raw to the howling new genie. It lived wretchedly -in sore clusters from which Americans averted their -eyes. Where it came from life was wretched, even -worse, perhaps; but here were contrasts, no gendarmes, -freedom of discontent, and a new weapon, -which was the strike. These men, bred with sullen<span class="pagenum">[328]</span> -anger in their blood, melancholy and neglected in a -strange land, having no bond with the light, were -easily moved to unite against the work bosses who -symbolized tyranny anew. Their impulse to violence -was built upon by labor leaders and the steel industry -became a battle ground. Strikes were frequent, -bloody and futile, save for their educational value, -which was hard to see then and is not at all clear yet.</p> - -<p>This was all in the way of business,—big business. -We imported labor and exported steel. We flung -Slavs into our racial melting pot and sold rails and -bridges in Hungary. One can easily imagine an invisible -force to have been at work, a blind force, perhaps. -The centers of power were shifted in the world. -Greatness was achieved. The rest is hidden.</p> - -<p>One advantage the Breakspeare mills had was almost -complete immunity from labor troubles. In -every reign of terror destruction passed them by. For -this there was Thane to thank. He handled all labor -problems. In disputes between the workers and the -steel companies the question of wages was seldom the -basic matter, even when it seemed to be. The trouble -was much more subtle, or more simple, as you happen -to see it, turning upon the ways and hungers of humanity. -Thane knew men, he knew what drudgery -costs the soul and how little it takes beyond what is -due to overcome its bitterness. He knew, besides, -how and in what proportions to mix different kinds of -men so that the characteristics of one kind would neutralize -those of another kind by a sort of chemistry.</p> - -<p>Seven miles down the river from the Agnes plant<span class="pagenum">[329]</span> -had been built a magnificent new plate mill, called the -Wyoming Steel Works. It had every element of success -save one. The manager had no way with labor. -He was continually engaged in desperate struggles -with the Amalgamated Unions and the plant for that -reason had involved its New York owners in heavy -loss. These troubles, becoming chronic, culminated in -a strike that spread sympathetically over the whole -eastern steel industry. At the Agnes plant the men -went out for the first time. They had no quarrel of -their own. That was made very clear. But they felt -obliged, as all other union workers did, to take up the -quarrel of the men at the Wyoming Works and settle -it for good; they would if necessary tie up every steel -plant in the country in order to bring pressure to bear -upon their arch enemy, the Wyoming manager, to -whose destruction they had made a vow.</p> - -<p>Not only did the strikers seize the Wyoming Works, -as was the first step in hostilities; they took possession -of the town that had grown up around the plant and -organized themselves on a military basis. An Advisory -Committee of workers declared martial law, -mounted a siren on the town hall to give signals by a -secret code, put sentinels around the works, around the -town, up and down the river front, and held a mobile -force of eight hundred Hungarians, Poles and Slavs -in readiness for battle at any point. No one could -enter the town on an unfriendly errand. Trains were -not permitted to stop. The telegraph office was -seized. The Advisory Committee announced that any -attempt on the part of the owners to retake possession<span class="pagenum">[330]</span> -of their property,—say nothing of trying to work it -with non-union labor,—would mean an abundant spilling -of blood.</p> - -<p>This was the situation when Thane received a telegram -from John in New York, as follows:</p> - -<p>“Can buy Wyoming Steel Works for a song. Will -close transaction at once if you will say labor trouble -can be straightened out with the plant in our hands.”</p> - -<p>Almost without reflection Thane answered:</p> - -<p>“Yes. Go ahead.”</p> - -<p>He had no doubt that the mere announcement of -their having bought the works would end the violent -phase of the strike. The rest would be a matter of -peaceable negotiation. He might have made the announcement -in Pittsburgh. The strikers there would -have communicated it fast enough. He might have -telegraphed it to the Advisory Committee. He might -have done it in one of several ways. But his natural -way was to go himself and see to it. He knew the -strike leaders; he talked their language. An hour -after answering John’s telegram he was in a launch -going down the river.</p> - -<p>There had been no news from the scene of passion -since the afternoon before. No one knew what was -taking place in the Wyoming Steel Works town.</p> - -<p>In the night two barge loads of Pinkerton men, recruited -in Philadelphia, had silently drifted down the -river past Pittsburgh. The manager was resolved -to get possession of the plant by force. The plan was -to land the Pinkerton men before daylight on the river -bank. Once inside the works they could stand siege<span class="pagenum">[331]</span> -until the state authorities could be persuaded to send -the militia in. But the barges were sighted by the -Advisory Committee’s sentinels a mile above the town. -The siren blew an alarm. Men, women and children -tumbled out of bed. The armed battalion was rushed -to receive the Pinkerton men.</p> - -<p>In the darkness a running fire was exchanged between -the strikers on shore and the barges; however, -the barges did land at the works and the leader of -the Pinkerton men signalled for a parley. He told the -strikers he had come to take possession of the works -and meant to do it. The strike leaders dared him to -try. He did. He formed his men and started them -off the barges. They were stopped by a volley from -the Slav battalion entrenched behind piles of steel in -the yard,—and fled back to the barges. Daylight -came. The Pinkerton men, unwilling to venture forth -a second time, hoisted a white flag. The strikers -scoffed at it and went on firing at the barges. They -became discouraged. They could see the holes their -shots made in the planks; they couldn’t be sure they -were hitting the men inside. So they floated burning -oil down the river and sent tanks of burning oil down -the bank against the barges. That was ineffective. -Pinkerton men would not burn on earth. Someone -thought of dynamite. Cases of it were brought, and -the lightest of arm among the strikers calmly attached -fuses to the sticks of dynamite, lighted them, and -hurled them at the barges, like firecrackers. Once in -a while they made the target, tearing a great hole in -the barge planking. Then there would be a volley<span class="pagenum">[332]</span> -of shots at the Pinkerton men suddenly exposed. Two -cannons were brought. They were handled so awkwardly -that they did little damage to the barges and -took off one striker’s head. The use of dynamite increased. -In some fashion the Pinkerton men fought -back. When a striker fell groans were heard. When -a Pinkerton man was hit cheers went up from the strikers -and were repeated by the spectators,—women, -children and noncombatants,—who gorged the spectacle -from afar.</p> - -<p>And that was what had been going on for hours -when Thane’s launch appeared, speeding down the -middle of the river. He was steering it himself; his -boatman lay flat on the bottom. Having recognized -him the sentinels above the town passed word down -their line, so that the strikers at the works knew who -he was before he had come within rifle range. Firing -ceased. He steered the boat in, shot it high on the -bank, and stepped out.</p> - -<p>At that instant there appeared from behind one of -the steel piles the figure of frenzy personified. This -was not a striker. It was one of those weak, anæmic -creatures who are intoxicated by participation in the -lusts and passions of others and go mad over matters -that do not concern them. He was a clerk in a dry -goods store and taught a Sunday School class. It must -be supposed that the cessation of firing made him think -the strikers were weakening. He brandished a rifle, -shrieking:</p> - -<p>“Citizens! There are the men who wreck our -homes, assault our women, take away our bread. Kill<span class="pagenum">[333]</span> -them! Kill them without mercy!” He was unnaturally -articulate. “Cowards!” he cried. “Follow me!”</p> - -<p>He levelled his rifle at the barges. The only man -in sight was Thane, walking up the bank. The insane -neurotic fired and Thane fell in a crumpled heap.</p> - -<p>Several men together leaped at the assassin and disarmed -him. He disappeared.</p> - -<p>Thane was unconscious. There was no doctor, no -ambulance. They took him to Pittsburgh in the -launch.</p> - -<p>John arrived the next morning. He looked once at -Agnes and knew the worst.</p> - -<p>Thane lived through that day and into the night. -Shortly before he died he wished to be alone with -John. They clasped hands and read each other in -silence. Once the doctor opened the door and softly -closed it again. Thane beckoned to John to bring his -head nearer.</p> - -<p>“Take ... Agnes,” he said. “That’s ... all ... -everything.... Let her ... come back ... now.”</p> - -<p>Only Agnes knew when he died. At daylight the -doctor went in and she was still holding his form in -her arms.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[334]</span></p> - - - - -<h2>XL</h2> - - -<p class="dropcap">For John the sense of loss in Thane’s death was -as if part of himself had broken off and sunk out -of sight.</p> - -<p>To Agnes it was as if the whole world were gone. -She seemed to have forgotten there was ever anything -in it but Thane. Her life had inhabited his.</p> - -<p>She went on living in the house, almost as if he were -still there, often calling his name and answering aloud -to an audible memory of his voice. She saw no one -but John. She hardly knew anyone else. And she saw -him only because she was aware of his great feeling -for Thane and they could talk about him.</p> - -<p>This was a bond between them and led to a companionship -without which both would have missed the -Autumn and gone directly from Midsummer to the -Winter of their lives. It was impersonal, yet very -sweet, and they came to rely upon it much more than -they knew. Agnes had neither kin nor friends. John -was that solitary being who has many friends and no -brothers among men.</p> - -<p>Agnes began to fade. John induced her to travel. -She went to Europe. He joined her there. They went -around the world together. When they returned she -seemed much improved in spirits. She had begun to -smile again. After a month in the house among the<span class="pagenum">[335]</span> -trees she became terribly depressed. He coaxed her -to New York and settled her luxuriously in a hotel -apartment. She disliked it and stayed on. More and -more of John’s time now passed in New York for business -reasons. He told her this.</p> - -<p>“We’ve no one else to visit with,” he said. “Let’s -stay in the same town.”</p> - -<p>She said nothing. Often he surprised her looking -at him with a thoughtful, far away expression as if -trying to remember what it was he reminded her of. -Suddenly she made up her mind to go to New Damascus -and build herself a house there. It would be something -to do John said at once, and that was what she -needed. The house, which was small but exquisite, occupied -her for a year. Before it was finished she had -conceived the idea of building in New Damascus the -finest hospital in the state.</p> - -<p>Journeys to New Damascus now became John’s sole -recreation.</p> - -<p>And so the Autumn stole upon them.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[336]</span></p> - - - - -<h2>XLI</h2> - - -<p class="dropcap">High in the financial heavens stood a sign,—sign -of cabal, sign of rapture, sign of gold. The -time had come to form the trust of trusts. Lords and -barons of the steel industry began to settle down in -Wall Street. They brought their trusts along. One -day the Western crowd loaded six trusts on special -trains,—brains, books, good will, charters and clerks,—and -trundled them thither, banners flying, typewriters -clicking, business doing on the way. They took -the top floors of the newest steel skyscrapers and preferred -solid mahogany furniture with brass mountings.</p> - -<p>Wall Street said: “Here is the fat of money! It -walks into our hands. How shall we divide it?”</p> - -<p>But Wall Street had much to learn. These men, -brash, boastful and boisterous, were also very wise. -They did not come to play Wall Street’s game. Most -of them, like John, had sometime meddled with it and -cared not for it. Now they were strong enough to -play their own game. They brought their brokers -with them, from Chicago, Cleveland, and Pittsburgh,—men -whose tricks they knew,—and bought them -seats on the New York Stock Exchange.</p> - -<p>“Oh,” said Wall Street. “That’s it, is it? Well,<span class="pagenum">[337]</span> -well,” and lolled its tongue in relish. It knew very -little about steel and nothing yet about steel people.</p> - -<p>“Now, gentlemen,” said the steel people. “Red or -black. High or low. Any limit or none. Let’s shoot.”</p> - -<p>Using their own brokers to buy and sell the shares -of their own trusts they began to make the canyon -howl. For a while the play lay between Wall Street -and the barbars, and the barbars held all the cards. -If Wall Street sold steel shares for a fall the dividends -were increased in the night. If it bought them for a -rise suddenly the mills were shut up and dividends -ceased. Wall Street was outraged. This was worse -than gambling. It was a pea and shell game. The -steel people were haled to court on the charge of -circulating false information about their properties to -influence the value of shares.</p> - -<p>Nothing to it! Nobody could prove the information -to have been false. Merely the steel people had it -first, as they naturally would, and acted upon it in the -stock market, as everybody would who could. So they -all went back to Wall Street and the play waxed hotter -and steeper. No one had ever seen speculation like -this. At conventions, unwritten rules, limits, the steel -people simply guffawed. They invented rules. Nobody -was obliged to play with them. Their creed was, -“Nothing in moderation.”</p> - -<p>After hours they played bridge for ten dollars a -point. En route from Wall Street to the Waldorf, -which was their rendezvous, they would lay bets in -hundred-dollar units on the odd or even of numbered -objects, like passing street cars. Whiskey was their<span class="pagenum">[338]</span> -innocuous beverage. There was one whose drink was -three Scotch high-balls in succession. As the third -one disappeared he would slowly rub his stomach, saying: -“That one rings the bell.” Yet all the time they -attended strenuously to business. They were men of -steel, physically and mentally powerful. Carousing -was an emotional outlet. Gambling on the Stock Exchange -was hardly more than pastime. Night and day -they kept their eyes on that sign in the heavens.</p> - -<p>They had delivered the steel age. The steel industry -was their private possession to do with as they -damn pleased. They could make a circus of it if they -liked. They did. Their way with it had become a -national problem. The steel industry was much too -important to be conducted in that manner. It kept -the country in a state of nerves. These wild, untamable -behemoths would have to be bought out. They -were willing to sell. There was a ludicrous fiction -among them that they were weary of doing, whereas -they were only sated with it. However, as they were -willing to be bought out and as to be rid of them had -become a public necessity, there remained only the -question of how. It would take all the spare money -there was in the country. Yet it would have to be -done. That is what the sign meant.</p> - -<p>John called his crowd together saying: “This is the -tall goodbye if we want to get out.”</p> - -<p>They did. He pledged them in writing to leave -everything in his hands and then returned to Wall -Street where for months past he had been preparing -his ground unobserved. In one of the new steel skyscrapers<span class="pagenum">[339]</span> -he had established himself an office. On the -door was his name—</p> - -<p class="center"><em>John Breakspeare</em> -</p> - -<p>under that</p> - -<p class="center"><em>American Steel Company<br /> -North American Manufacturing Company</em> -</p> - -<p>and nothing more. Inside was a private room of his -own with a stock ticker and a desk with a lot of telephones -on it. Beyond was a large meeting room furnished -with a long table, chairs, brass cuspidors, a humidor -and a water cooler. From the window was a -panoramic view of New York harbor. A very simple -establishment one would think. Yet it was the center -of a web radiating in all directions. Nothing much -could happen in Wall Street without causing an alarm -on his desk, for he had made some very excellent and -timely connections. His private telephone wires -reached the sources of information. One of them, it -would have surprised everyone to know, ran to the -office of John Sabath, with whom he had come to confidential -terms. So it was that perhaps no one man, -save only Bullguard, knew more than he about what -was invisibly taking place under that sign which stood -higher and higher in the money firmament.</p> - -<p>What was visible had by this time become very exciting. -The newspapers were giving astonished publicity -to the doings of the golden bulls. What they -did in Wall Street was recorded by the financial writers; -what they did at large was written by the news -reporters. And the public’s imagination was inflamed.<span class="pagenum">[340]</span> -Incipient Napoleons of finance, greedy little lambs, -comet riders, haberdashers’ clerks, preachers, husbands -of actresses, dentists, small business men, delicatessen -shop-keepers, jockeys, authors, commuters, winesellers, -planters, prizefighters, crows and jackals clamored together -at the Wall Street tickers. From ten to three -they watched steel shares go up and down, betting on -them, trying to out-guess the steel men who ordered -their fluctuations. In the evening all this motley appeared -at the Waldorf Hotel, sitting in rows along -Peacock Alley, walking to and fro as if at ease, peering -in at the dining-room doors to glimpse the lords -and barons of steel at their food and drink.</p> - -<p>Everybody loved it. This was the Steel Court,—a -court of twenty kings, with its rabble and fringe and -jesters, sycophants in favor, men of mystery passing, -the unseen lesser deeply bowing to the greater, sour -envy taking judgment at a distance, greed on ass-ear -wings listening everywhere. One might hear a word -to make him rich to-morrow. And the Machiavelli, -too. That was Sabath, his beard now grey, otherwise -the same, sitting always by himself, darting here and -there his piercing eyes.</p> - -<p>This court made news. Often the steel men, bored -with gaping admiration, would extemporize a midnight -stock market and buy and sell their shares among -themselves. Each morning as addenda to the regular -stock market reports would appear: “Transactions -at the Waldorf.” The newest rumors floated here. -No financial editor was safe to go to bed until the -Waldorf grill room lights were out, for it was generally<span class="pagenum">[341]</span> -late at night that the steel men spilled their secrets. -One was overheard to say:</p> - -<p>“There’s a billion dollar steel trust on the way.”</p> - -<p>What tidings!</p> - -<p>The remark had gone around the world before daylight, -and at the opening of the stock market in London -people began to sell American securities. Those -Yankees, they said, always a bit mad, now were drunk -with the arithmetic of their wealth. Wall Street was -vaguely uneasy, too. There was no such thing as a -billion-dollar corporation.</p> - -<p>Rumor for once in its life was below the truth. The -great steel trust was to be capitalized at a billion and -a half. There had to be room for everybody. Bullguard -was to be its deity. There could be no other. -The charter had been applied for. Famous lawyers -had reconciled it with the law. All these facts came out -gradually, mostly in the form of midnight rumors. In -the highest circles of the steel court an extremely curious -fact was already privately known. Sabath was to -be the manipulator. If he could not perform the unimaginable -feat of selling the shares of a billion-and-a-half -dollar corporation to the public nobody could. -Yet how strange that Bullguard and Sabath should -sail a ship together.</p> - -<p>At length all the salient probabilities had been established, -and nothing happened. A week passed. Then -another. Wall Street was strung with suspense and -the nightly Waldorf swarm buzzed with adverse rumors. -Time was priceless. The public was in a fever -of excitement. If ever there was an opportunity it<span class="pagenum">[342]</span> -was then. Why did Bullguard wait? What unexpected -difficulty had been encountered?</p> - -<p>There was but one obstacle and that was John. The -Breakspeare properties were too important to be left -out. A trust of trusts without them simply could not -be. Bullguard sent for all the other lords and barons -first, and they were quick to come. Then one day -John received a telephone call from the office of Bullguard -& Company. Would he be pleased to come to -their office for a conference? His response was to -mention his business address. Next day one of Bullguard’s -partners called in person.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Bullguard wishes to see you,” he said.</p> - -<p>“If I wished to see Mr. Bullguard, I’d look for him -at his office, not mine,” said John.</p> - -<p>“I beg your pardon?”</p> - -<p>John repeated it. The partner went away, deeply -offended in the name of Bullguard.</p> - -<p>Sabath came to see him. He had been sent. John -knew it and Sabath knew he knew it.</p> - -<p>“When are you going to see Mr. Bullguard?” he -asked.</p> - -<p>“I’m here nearly every day,” said John.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Bullguard is performing a great public service,” -said Sabath, with not a twinkle, as if they did not -understand each other down to the ground. “He’s -trying to get all you gamblers out of the steel business -and bring some peace to the country. And because he -spanked you once when you were in knee pants, now -you’re as proud as a pig with a ribbon in its hereafter. -I’ll tell him what I’ve said.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[343]</span></p> - -<p>“Except the pig allusion. I’ll lay odds you won’t -repeat that.”</p> - -<p>“I will,” said Sabath, departing. “I will.”</p> - -<p>John’s partners began to be alarmed. He kept nothing -from them. When they importuned him to bend -a little, thinking his obduracy might have disastrous -consequences for all of them, he would say: “It -amuses me and it will pay you.”</p> - -<p>One morning Sabath’s voice called him on the telephone, -saying: “The great mountain is walking. You -damn gamblers! Do you want everything in the -world?”</p> - -<p>“Thanks,” said John.</p> - -<p>Twenty minutes later Bullguard appeared. He -walked right in, sat on the edge of a chair, crossed his -arms, leaned forward on his stick, and glared. When -he glared the world was supposed to tremble. He -was rather awful to look at. His purple face was of -a strawberry texture; his nose was monstrous, angry, -red, bulbous, with hairy warts upon it; his eyebrows -were almost vertical.</p> - -<p>Three words were spoken,—all three by Bullguard.</p> - -<p>“How much?” he asked.</p> - -<p>John drew a pencil pad out of his desk and wrote -slowly in large, owlish characters, this:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="indent0">If you smile— -</div><div class="indent6">$300,000,000 -</div><div class="indent0">No smile -</div><div class="indent6">$350,000,000 -</div></div></div></div> - -<p>Having written it he stopped to gaze at it thoughtfully<span class="pagenum">[344]</span> -for a minute, then pulled out the slide leaf of his -desk, tossed the pad there for Bullguard to see, and -leaned back.</p> - -<p>Bullguard glanced at it and stood up.</p> - -<p>“That!” he said, tapping the $350,000,000 with his -forefinger, and stalked out.</p> - -<p>Slaymaker, Awns, Wingreene and Pick were waiting -in the big room. John walked in and threw the -pad on the table.</p> - -<p>“There are the terms.”</p> - -<p>Knowing John they understood the pencil writing.</p> - -<p>“Did he smile?” they asked as one.</p> - -<p>“No,” said John.</p> - -<p>“My God!” murmured Slaymaker. He sank into a -chair and wept.</p> - -<p>Two-fifths of it was John’s. His share included the -Thane interest which amounted to nearly twenty millions. -Slaymaker, Awns, Wingreene and Pick divided -$170,000,000. The balance went to thirty or forty -minor stockholders in the Breakspeare companies.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[345]</span></p> - - - - -<h2>XLII</h2> - - -<p class="dropcap">So the fabulous Damosel of the Dirty Face, rescued -from the goat herds who had found and reared -her, was clothed in what she should wear, christened in -due manner, annointed in the name of order, and presented -to the American people. Or, that is to say, -the steel industry was bought from the barbars and -sold to the public.</p> - -<p>Auspicated by Bullguard and Company, manipulated -by Sabath, advertised by common wonder, the -shares of the biggest trust in the world were launched -on the New York Stock Exchange. Popular imagination, -prepared in suspense, delivered itself headlong -to the important task of buying them. A craze to exchange -money for steel shares swept the country. That -seemed to be only what people got up every morning -to do. Such manias, like panics inverted, have often -occurred. They have a large displacement in the literature -of popular delusions. This one, although of a -true type and spontaneous, was fomented in an extraordinary -manner by Sabath, who for the first time in -his life had all the power and sanction of Wall Street -behind him. The hand of the Ishmaelite that everyone -feared now strummed the official lyre and the tune -it played untied a million purse strings.</p> - -<p>The steel people removed their hats and bowed.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[346]</span></p> - -<p>“We were amateurs,” they admitted.</p> - -<p>For weeks and weeks they sat behind piles of steel -engraved certificates, fresh from the printer, and -signed their names until they were weary of making -pen strokes at ten thousand dollars each. Before the -ink of their signatures was dry the certificates were -cast upon the market to be converted into cash,—the -market Sabath made. There seemed no bottom or -end to it. The capacity of that market was unlimited. -The public’s power to buy was greater than anybody -knew.</p> - -<p>When it was over, when Sabath’s sweet melody -ceased, when the public owned the steel industry and -the barbars were out, then steel shares began to fall. -For several years they fell, disastrously, and the public -howled with rage. The trust went near the rocks.</p> - -<p>All who had had any part in the making of it faced -a storm of wild opprobrium. There is much to be said -in reproach. However, given the problem as it was, -how else could anyone have solved it? The trust got -by the rocks. The steel industry was stabilized. And -ultimately the shares were worth much more than the -public originally paid for them.</p> - -<p>This eventuality few of the great steel barbars lived -to witness. A little touched with madness anyhow, as -heroic stature is, the Wall Street harvest finished them. -They were of a sudden Nabobs with nothing on earth -to do. Their wealth had been in mills and mines and -ships, and business was a very jealous mistress. Now -it was in money and they were free.</p> - -<p>In the first place they didn’t know what to do with<span class="pagenum">[347]</span> -the money itself. Some of them bought banks of their -own to keep it in. Then what could they spend it for? -What could they invest it in? The only thing they -knew was steel and they were out of that. Some of -them began to buy railroads. They would say: “This -looks like a pretty good railroad. Let’s buy that.” -And they would buy it offhand in the stock market. -Then Wall Street, controlling railroads without owning -them, was struck with a new terror. It wasn’t -safe to leave control of a railroad lying around loose. -There was no telling what these men would do next -with their money. They had got control of several -great banks and railroads before anyone knew what -they were doing.</p> - -<p>But after they had invested their money in banks -and railroads they still had nothing really to do. They -built themselves castles, in some cases two or three -each, and seldom if ever lived in them because they -were so lonesome. One transplanted a full grown -forest and it died; he did it again with like result, and -a third time, and then he was weary. He never went -back to see. They got rid of their old wives and bought -new and more expensive ones. Even that made no perceptible -hole in their wealth. They tried horses and art -and swamped everything they touched. Gambling they -forgot. One developed a peacock madness, never wore -the same garments more than an hour; his dressing -room resembled a clothing store, with hundreds of -suits lying on long tables in pressed piles. One had a -phantasy for living out the myth of Pan and ceased to -be spoken of anywhere. One travelled ceaselessly and<span class="pagenum">[348]</span> -carried with him a private orchestra that played him -awake and attended his bath. He died presently under -the delusion that he had lost all his money and all -his friends, which was only half true.</p> - -<p>They disappeared.</p> - -<p>Blasted prodigies!</p> - -<p>Children of the steel age, overwhelmed in its cinders.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[349]</span></p> - - - - -<h2>XLIII</h2> - - -<p class="dropcap">John like all the others signed steel trust certificates -until his hand became an automaton. If he -noticed what it was doing it faltered and forgot. He -sat in the big room at the long table, a clerk standing -by to remove the engraved sheets one by one and blot -the signature. Suddenly he saw it all as for the first -time, in an original, unfamiliar manner.</p> - -<p>“What are we doing?” he asked the clerk.</p> - -<p>“Signing the certificates, sir. They want this lot -before 2 o’clock.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, but what does it mean?”</p> - -<p>“What does it mean?” the clerk repeated. “I don’t -know, sir. What do you mean?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know either,” said John. He threw the pen -away, got up, reached for his hat.</p> - -<p>“You’re not going now, sir? They are waiting for -these certificates.”</p> - -<p>“Let them wait.”</p> - -<p>“What shall I say when they call for them?”</p> - -<p>“Anything you like. Ask them what it means.”</p> - -<p>Up and down the money canyon people moved with -absent gestures, some in haste, some running, some -loitering, all with one look in their eyes. Bulls were -bellowing on the Stock Exchange. Steel shares were -rising. Sabath was in his highest form. To the strumming<span class="pagenum">[350]</span> -of his lyre men of all shapes and conditions -turned from their ways and came hither and wildly -importuned brokers to exchange their money for bits -of paper believed to represent steel mills they had -never seen, would never see, had never heard of before. -What did it mean?</p> - -<p>As John gazed at the scene it became unreal and -detached. He was alone, as one is in some dreams, -there and not there, somehow concerned in the action -but invisible to the actors and to oneself. It was like -a dream of anxiety, full of confusion and grotesque -matter.</p> - -<p>He was lonely and very wretched and accused -Agnes. He would accuse her to her face. That was -what he was on his way to do, perhaps because there -was no other excuse for seeing her in the middle of -the day. He would tell her how selfish and unreasonable -she was. They were two solitary beings in one -world together. Their hours were running away. He -loved her. He had always loved her. And at least -she loved nobody else. Then why should they not join -their lives?</p> - -<p>Three times he had asked her that question. Each -time she had said: “Let’s go on being friends. That’s -very nice, isn’t it?”</p> - -<p>A year had passed since the last time. He had -watched for some sign of change. But she was always -the same, except that after having been gently though -firmly unwilling to say either yes or no she seemed to -come nearer in friendship and baffled him all the more. -If she had any feeling for him whatever beyond friendship<span class="pagenum">[351]</span> -he had been unable to detect or surprise it, and -fate would bear witness that the possibility was one he -had stalked with all patience and subtlety. In fact, -he really believed that if he pressed her to the point -she would say no,—that she had not said it already -only because she hated to hurt him. This notion tormented -him exceedingly. It would be a relief to know.</p> - -<p>She had been for some weeks in town, at the Savoy, -where he detained her on the pretext that her presence -was necessary in her own interest. It was only -a little past twelve when he arrived there and called -her on the telephone, from the desk, asking her down -to lunch. She was surprised and pleased and answered -him in a voice that had a ring of youth.</p> - -<p>The sound of it echoing in his ears evoked memories -and caused the years to fall away. He waited, -not there in the hotel lobby, but in a boxwood hedge, -surreptitiously, and saw her as a girl again, plucking -flowers, pretending not to know he was there, yet -coming nearer, always nearer, with a thoughtful air; -and for a moment he forgot that anything had happened -since.</p> - -<p>“Business or pleasure at this time of day?” she -asked, coming up behind him.</p> - -<p>Instantly, at the provocation of her voice, an impish, -youth-time impulse took possession of him. It -provided its own idea complete and he did not stop to -examine it. His mood seized it.</p> - -<p>“Personal,” he said.</p> - -<p>“But you look so serious.”</p> - -<p>“It is serious—for me.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[352]</span></p> - -<p>They sat at a table in the far corner of the dining -room.</p> - -<p>“Out with it. Lucky it isn’t murder. You’d be -suspected at first glance.”</p> - -<p>“What shall we eat? Pompano. That ought to be -good.... Don’t look at me like that. I’m so happy -I can’t stand it. That’s all that’s the matter with me.... -Filet of sole. How about that?”</p> - -<p>“Anything to cure such happiness. Sole, salad and -iced tea for me, please. Now then.”</p> - -<p>“A sweet? Or shall we decide about that later?”</p> - -<p>“Later. I may be too much surprised by that time -to want a sweet.”</p> - -<p>She was regarding him intently, with a very curious -expression. He avoided her eyes.</p> - -<p>“Yes, it may surprise you,” he said. “<em>Here, waiter!...</em> -Of course you know—(<em>Sole, hearts of lettuce -and tomato salad, French dressing, iced tea for one, -large coffee, sweets later</em>)—what an emotional animal -I am.—(<em>Two salads, yes.</em>)—Or romantic. Whatever -you like to call it. (<em>Sole for two.</em>) After all, I don’t -know why—(<em>No, hot coffee for one.</em>)—Why I should -be so self-conscious about it. The fact is simple -enough. I’m going to be married.”</p> - -<p>“Oh! How exciting. When?”</p> - -<p>“When? When, did you say? Why, right away. -This evening perhaps.”</p> - -<p>“Who is the lady?”</p> - -<p>“I’d rather not tell you yet.”</p> - -<p>“Yet? But it’s to be this evening, you say.”</p> - -<p>“You would know her name at once and you might<span class="pagenum">[353]</span> -be prejudiced in spite of yourself. I can’t very well -explain it. But I want you to meet her first.”</p> - -<p>“This afternoon?”</p> - -<p>“Or this evening. I’m coming to that. I very much -need your help. It’s an extraordinary thing to ask. -I’m anxious to keep it very quiet, both on her account -and my own. Not the fact afterward. That must -come out. But its taking place, when and where. -Then of course we can go away, for a year, two years; -live permanently abroad perhaps.”</p> - -<p>“Yes?”</p> - -<p>“I say I can’t explain it very clearly. You’ll just -have to take a good deal of it for granted. The newspapers -are so curious and impertinent. I’d like this -to happen without anyone knowing it until the notice -is published and we are gone. She has no home. I -mean, she lives at a hotel. I have no home either. -At a church or any public place like that we’d be -noticed at once.”</p> - -<p>“Will you ask the waiter to bring some more butter, -please. Yes, go on. What can I do to help?”</p> - -<p>“Take mine. I hoped you’d guess by this time. -There’s no one else I can ask.”</p> - -<p>“Thanks. No, I can’t guess.”</p> - -<p>“Well, if you would let the ceremony take place in -your apartment here and sort of manage the fussy -part I’d never know how much to thank you.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, indeed. I’d love to do it. Why did you make -such a bother of asking? I’ll have some decorations -sent in. What will she wear? What colors does she -like?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[354]</span></p> - -<p>“I’ll have to find out.”</p> - -<p>“And the time?”</p> - -<p>“I’ll let you know.”</p> - -<p>“As soon as you can. And that’s what you were so -glum about? Now cheer up. Men are such lumps -when they are happy.”</p> - -<p>“You are very sweet about it.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t mind me. Only go as fast as you can and -get the details. You don’t know how important they -are. I’ll expect to hear from you within an hour. -You will call me up?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>The next he knew he was in the Central Park Zoo -looking at the monkeys and wondering why they were -so mystified. What had they to be puzzled about? -Then there was a little brown bear that precisely expressed -the absurdity he felt in himself. He did not -mind feeling absurd. No, that was even comforting. -A pain in the ego counteracting one in the heart. -Clumsy as the device was it had served his purpose. -He had found out. But it was no relief whatever. In -the way he hoped she might she cared less than not -at all—less than a foster sister or an old maid aunt. -He could not be mistaken. He had watched her -closely. She had betrayed not the slightest sign of -self-concern. He had that same diminished, ignominious -feeling with which he retired from the boxwood -hedge on the evening of their first youth-time encounter.</p> - -<p>What an asinine thing to have done!</p> - -<p>When he called her on the telephone two hours<span class="pagenum">[355]</span> -later, as he had promised to do, this conversation -occurred:</p> - -<p>“This is John.”</p> - -<p>“Yes. Now tell me all about it. You’ve been a -long time.”</p> - -<p>“Hello.”</p> - -<p>“Yes. What time?”</p> - -<p>“Hello.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I’m here.”</p> - -<p>“Agnes, it’s too much of an imposition altogether. -I can’t imagine how I could have asked you to do it. -Thanks all the same, but we’ll call it off.”</p> - -<p>“Nonsense. You’re not telling me the truth. Something -has happened.”</p> - -<p>“Maybe so. Anyhow, I withdraw the request.”</p> - -<p>“Where are you?”</p> - -<p>“Near by. Not very far.”</p> - -<p>“Meet me in the tea room downstairs. I’ll be there -in ten minutes.”</p> - -<p>Not waiting for him to answer she closed the wire. -She was there waiting when he arrived.</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry if anything has happened,” she said, most -sympathetically. “Can you tell me about it?”</p> - -<p>“It’s off,” he said, feeling secretly and utterly ludicrous. -“That’s all.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, that can’t be,” she said. “Suppose I talk to -her. I shan’t be modest about you. I’ll not promise -to be even truthful.”</p> - -<p>“No use,” he said. “I’ve said everything there is -to say for myself. She knows me well enough—too -well, perhaps. That may be it.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[356]</span></p> - -<p>“Tell me about her. What is she like?”</p> - -<p>“Cold. You wouldn’t think so, but she is. The fact -that a man loves her means nothing—not a thing.”</p> - -<p>“Is she so used to it?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know. No. That isn’t it....”</p> - -<p>“What?”</p> - -<p>“I was going to say selfish. I ought not to say that. -I’m selfish to want her. She wants to keep her life to -herself. It’s her own life.”</p> - -<p>“But it’s only postponed. She doesn’t say no, does -she?”</p> - -<p>“Worse than that. She says—”</p> - -<p>“Yes. What does she say?”</p> - -<p>“She says it’s nicer as it is. We shall go on being -friends. Friendship is all right. It blooms in the -next world.”</p> - -<p>“Let me talk to her, please.”</p> - -<p>“No. It’s hopeless.”</p> - -<p>“I’d not urge you if I weren’t so sure I could change -her mind. The fact is, I think I know her.”</p> - -<p>John started and became rigid with astonishment. -He regarded her fixedly with a groping, incredulous -expression. She stirred her tea very thoughtfully and -kept her eyes down.</p> - -<p>“If she’s the person I think she is,” Agnes continued, -still looking down, “what you say about her is probably -true. And yet—”</p> - -<p>“Agnes! Be careful what you say.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll be as careful as I know how to be. Trust me.”</p> - -<p>“How long have you known her?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum">[357]</span></p> - -<p>“In one way, of course, you deserve to be wretched. -It isn’t all on one side. Do you think it’s nice—?”</p> - -<p>“How long have you known her, I ask?”</p> - -<p>“A long time. Longer than you have,” she said.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Note from the society column of the New York -<cite>Times</cite>, November 6, 1901:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>Mr. and Mrs. Breakspeare are passing their -honeymoon in Mediterranean waters on Mr. -Breakspeare’s yacht, the “Damascene.”</p></div> - -<p class="center p1">THE END</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div><!--Page break for ePub--> - -<div class="transnote"> -<h2 style="margin-top: 0em">Transcriber’s Notes:</h2> - -<p>Punctuation has been made consistent.</p> - -<p>Variations in spelling and hyphenation were retained as they appear in -the original publication, except that obvious typographical errors -have been corrected.</p> - -<p>The following change was made:</p> - -<p><a href="#Ref_11">p. 11</a>: 1879 changed to 1789 (in 1789 Gen.)</p></div> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Cinder Buggy, by Garet Garrett - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CINDER BUGGY *** - -***** This file should be named 60593-h.htm or 60593-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/0/5/9/60593/ - -Produced by Tim Lindell, Craig Kirkwood, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - -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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