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diff --git a/old/67089-0.txt b/old/67089-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index fd4b05c..0000000 --- a/old/67089-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5296 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Master Rogue, by David Graham -Phillips - -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 -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Master Rogue - The Confessions of a Croesus - -Author: David Graham Phillips - -Illustrator: Gordon H. Grant - -Release Date: January 2, 2022 [eBook #67089] - -Language: English - -Produced by: D A Alexander, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by - University of California libraries) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MASTER ROGUE *** - - - - - -THE MASTER ROGUE - - - - - OTHER BOOKS BY - DAVID GRAHAM PHILLIPS - - [Illustration] - - _The Great God Success_, _Her Serene Highness_ - _A Woman Ventures_ - _Golden Fleece_ - - -[Illustration: “_The razor cut me and dropped to the floor._”] - - - - - _THE MASTER ROGUE_ - - _The Confessions of a Crœsus_ - - _By_ - - _David Graham Phillips_ - - _Illustrated by Gordon H. Grant_ - - [Illustration] - - _McClure, Phillips & Co._ - _New York_ - _1903_ - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1903, BY - McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO - - Published September, 1903 - - - - -LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS - - - “The Razor cut me, and dropped to the floor” _Frontispiece_ - - FACING - PAGE - - “‘Don’t get apoplectic,’ he said, calmly; ‘you - know you stole your start’” 39 - - “‘You liar! you forger!’” 73 - - “‘Not to have told you would have been a lie’” 119 - - “‘You will marry on the sixteenth of April, at - noon. Get yourself ready’” 129 - - “I came upon Helen, sitting in the alcove, sobbing” 218 - - - - -THE MASTER ROGUE - - - - -I - - -I cannot remember the time when I was not absolutely certain that I -would be a millionaire. And I had not been a week in the big wholesale -dry-goods house in Worth Street in which I made my New York start, -before I looked round and said to myself: “I shall be sole proprietor -here some day.” - -Probably clerks dream the same thing every day in every establishment -on earth--but I didn’t dream; I _knew_. From earliest boyhood I had -seen that the millionaire was the only citizen universally envied, -honoured, and looked up to. I wanted to be in the first class, and I -knew I had only to stick to my ambition and to think of nothing else -and to let nothing stand in the way of it. There are so few men capable -of forming a definite, serious purpose, and of persisting in it, that -those who are find the road almost empty before they have gone far. - -By the time I was thirty-three years old I had arrived at the place -where the crowd is pretty well thinned out. I was what is called a -successful man. I was general manager of the dry-goods house at ten -thousand a year--a huge salary for those days. I had nearly sixty -thousand dollars put by in gilt-edged securities. I had built a -valuable reputation for knowing my business and keeping my word. I -owned a twenty-five-foot brownstone house in a side street not far from -Madison Avenue, and in it I had a comfortable, happy, old-fashioned -home. At thirty-two I had gone back to my native town to marry a girl -there, one of those women who have ambition beyond gadding all the time -and spending every cent their husbands earn, and who know how to make -home attractive to husband and children. - -I couldn’t exaggerate the value of my family, especially my wife, to -me in those early days. True, I should have gone just as far without -them, but they made my life cheerful and comfortable; and, now that -sentiment of that narrow kind is all in the past, it’s most agreeable -occasionally to look back on those days and sentimentalise a little. - -That I worked intelligently, as well as hard, is shown by the fact -that I was made junior partner at thirty-eight. My partner--there -were only two of us--was then an elderly man and the head of the old -and prominent New York family of Judson--that is not the real name, -of course. Ours was the typical old-fashioned firm, doing business on -principles of politeness rather than of strict business. One of its -iron-clad customs was that the senior partner should retire at sixty. -Mr. Judson’s intention was to retire in about five years, I to become -the head of the firm, though with the smaller interest, and one of -his grandsons to become the larger partner, though with the lesser -control--at least, for a term of years. - -It was called evidence of great friendship and confidence that Mr. -Judson thus “favoured” me. Probably this notion would have been -stronger had it been known on what moderate terms and at what an -easy price he let me have the fourth interest. No doubt Mr. Judson -himself thought he was most generous. But I knew better. There was no -sentimentality about my ideas of business, and my experience has been -that there isn’t about any one’s when you cut through surface courtesy -and cant and get down to the real facts. I knew I had earned every -step of my promotion from a clerk; and, while Mr. Judson might have -selected some one else as a partner, he wouldn’t have done so, because -he needed me. I had seen to that in my sixteen years of service there. - -Judson wasn’t a self-made man, as I was. He had inherited his share in -the business, and a considerable fortune, besides. The reason he was so -anxious to have me as a partner was that for six years I had carried -all his business cares, even his private affairs. Yes, he needed -me--though, no doubt, in a sense, he was my friend. Who wouldn’t have -been my friend under the circumstances? But, having looked out for his -own interest and comfort in selecting me, why should he have expected -that I wouldn’t look out for mine? The only kind of loyalty a man who -wishes to do something in the world should give or expect is the mutual -loyalty of common interest. - -I confess I never liked Judson. To be quite frank, from the first day -I came into that house, I envied him. I used to think it was contempt; -but, since my own position has changed, I know it was envy. I remember -that the first time I saw him I noted his handsome, carefully dressed -figure, so out of place among the sweat and shirt sleeves and the -litter of goods and packing cases, and I asked one of my fellow-clerks: -“Who’s that fop?” When he told me it was the son of the proprietor, and -my prospective chief boss, I said to myself: “It won’t be hard to get -_you_ out of the way;” for I had brought from the country the prejudice -that fine clothes and fine manners proclaim the noddle-pate. - -I envied my friend--for, in a master-and-servant way, that was highly, -though, of course, secretly distasteful to me, we became friends. I -envied him his education, his inherited wealth, his manners, his -aristocratic appearance, and, finally, his social position. It seemed -to me that none of these things that he had and I hadn’t belonged of -right to him, because he hadn’t earned them. It seemed to me that his -having them was an outrageous injustice to me. - -I think I must have hated him. Yes, I did hate him. How is it possible -for a man who feels that he is born to rule not to hate those whom -blind fate has put as obstacles in his way? To get what you want in -this world you must be a good hater. The best haters make the best -grabbers, and this is a world of grab, not of “By your leave,” or “If -you’ll permit me, sir.” You can’t get what you want away from the -man who’s got it unless you hate him. Gentle feelings paralyse the -conquering arm. - -So, at thirty-eight, it seemed to be settled that I was to be a -respectable Worth Street merchant, in active life until I should -be sixty, always under the shadow of the great Judson family, and -thereafter a respectable retired merchant and substantial citizen with -five hundred thousand dollars or thereabouts. But it never entered -my head to submit to that sort of decree of destiny, dooming me to -respectable obscurity. Nature intended me for larger things. - -The key to my true destiny, as I had seen for several years, was the -possession of a large sum of money--a million dollars. Without it, I -must work on at my past intolerably slow pace. With it, I could leap -at once into my kingdom. But, how get it? In the regular course of any -business conducted on proper lines, such a sum, even to-day, rewards -the successful man starting from nothing only when the vigour of youth -is gone and the habits of conservatism and routine are fixed. I knew -I must get my million not in driblets, not after years of toil, but at -once, in a lump sum. I must get it even at some temporary sacrifice of -principle, if necessary. - -If I had not seen the opportunity to get it through Judson and -Company, I should have retired from that house years before I got the -partnership. But I did see it there, saw it coming even before I was -general manager, saw it the first time I got a peep into the private -affairs of Mr. Judson. - -Judson and Company, like all old-established houses, was honeycombed -with carelessness and wastefulness. To begin with, it treated its -employees on a basis of mixed business and benevolence, and that is -always bad unless the benevolence is merely an ingenious pretext for -getting out of your people work that you don’t pay for. But Mr. -Judson, having a good deal of the highfaluting _grand seigneur_ about -him, made the benevolence genuine. Then, the theory was that the -Judsons were born merchants, and knew all there was to be known, and -did not need to attend to business. Mr. Judson, being firmly convinced -of his greatness, and being much engaged socially and in posing as a -great merchant at luncheons and receptions to distinguished strangers -and the like, put me in full control as soon as he made me general -manager. He interfered in the business only occasionally, and then -merely to show how large and generous he was--to raise salaries, to -extend unwise credits, to bolster up decaying mills that had long sold -goods to the house, to indorse for his friends. Friends! Who that can -and will lend and indorse has not hosts of friends? What I have waited -to see before selecting my friends is the friendship that survives the -death of its hope of favours--and I’m still waiting. - -As soon as I became partner I confirmed in detail the suspicion, or, -rather, the instinctive knowledge, which had kept me from looking -elsewhere for my opportunity. - -I recall distinctly the day my crisis came. It had two principal events. - -The first was my discovery that Mr. Judson had got the firm and -himself so entangled that he was in my power. I confess my impulse -was to take a course which a weaker or less courageous man would have -taken--away from the course of the strong man with the higher ambition -and the broader view of life and morals. And it was while I seemed to -be wavering--I say “seemed to be” because I do not think a strong, -far-sighted man of resolute purpose is ever “squeamish,” as they -call it--while, I say, I was in the mood of uncertainty which often -precedes energetic action, we, my wife and I, went to dinner at the -Judsons. - -That dinner was the second event of my crucial day. Judson’s family and -mine did not move in the same social circle. When people asked my wife -if she knew Mrs. Judson--which they often maliciously did--she always -answered: “Oh, no--my husband keeps our home life and his business -distinct; and, you know, New York is very large. The Judsons and we -haven’t the same friends.” That was her way of hiding our rankling -wound--for it rankled with me as much as with her; in those days we had -everything in common, like the humble people that we were. - -I can see now her expression of elation as she displayed the note of -invitation from Mrs. Judson: “It would give us great pleasure if you -and your husband would dine with us quite informally,” etc. Her face -clouded as she repeated, “quite informally.” “They wouldn’t for worlds -have any of their fashionable friends there to meet US.” Even then she -was far away from the time when, to my saying, “You shall have your -victoria and drive in the park and get your name in the papers like -Mrs. Judson,” she laughed and answered--honestly, I know--“We mustn’t -get to be like these New Yorkers. Our happiness lies right here with -ourselves and our children. I’ll be satisfied if we bring them up to be -honest, useful men and women.” That’s the way a woman should talk and -feel. When they get the ideas that are fit only for men everything goes -to pot. - -But to return to the Judson dinner--my wife and I had never before been -in so grand a house. It was, indeed, a grand house for those days, -though it wouldn’t compare with my palace overlooking the park, and -would hardly rank to-day as a second-rate New York house. We tried to -seem at our ease, and I think my wife succeeded; but it seemed to me -that Judson and his wife were seeing into my embarrassment and were -enjoying it as evidence of their superiority. I may have wronged him. -Possibly I was seeking more reasons to hate him in order the better to -justify myself for what I was about to do. But that isn’t important. - -My wife and I were as if in a dream or a daze. A whole, new world was -opening to both of us--the world of fashion, luxury, and display. True, -we had seen it from the outside before; and had had it constantly -before our eyes; but now we were touching it, tasting it, smelling -it--were almost grasping it. We were unhappy as we drove home in our -ill-smelling public cab, and when we reentered our little world it -seemed humble and narrow and mean--a ridiculous fool’s paradise. - -We did not have our customary before-going-to-sleep talk that night, -about my business, about our investments, about the household, about -the children--we had two, the boys, then. We lay side by side, silent -and depressed. I heard her sigh several times, but I did not ask her -why--I understood. Finally I said to her: “Minnie, how’d you like to -live like the Judsons? You know we can afford to spread out a good -deal. Things have been coming our way for twelve years, and soon----” - -She sighed again. “I don’t know whether I’m fitted for it,” she said; -“I think all those grand things would frighten me. I’d make a fool of -myself.” - -It amuses me to recall how simple she was. Who would ever suspect -her of having been so, as she presides over our great establishments -in town and in the country as if she were born to it? “Nonsense!” I -answered. “You’d soon get used to it. You’re young yet, and a thousand -times better looking than fat old Mrs. Judson. You’ll learn in no time. -You’ll go up with me.” - -“I don’t think they’re as happy as we are,” she said. “I ought to be -ashamed of myself to be so envious and ungrateful.” But she sighed -again. - -I think she soon went to sleep. I lay awake hour after hour, a -confusion of thoughts in my mind--we worry a great deal over nice -points in morals when we are young. Then, suddenly, as it seemed to me, -the command of destiny came--“You can be sole master, in name as well -as in fact. You _are_ that business. He has no right there. Put him -out! He is only a drag, and will soon ruin everything. It is best for -him--and you _must_!” - -I tossed and turned. I said to myself, “No! No!” But I knew what I -would do. I was not the man to toil for years for an object and then -let weakness cheat me out of it. I knew I would make short shrift of a -flabby and dangerous and short-sighted generosity when the time came. - -One morning, about six months later, Mr. Judson came to me as I was -busy at my desk and laid down a note for five hundred thousand dollars, -signed by himself. “It’ll be all right for me to indorse the firm’s -name upon that, won’t it?” he said, in a careless tone, holding to a -corner of the note, as if he were assuming that I would say “Yes,” and -he could then take it away. - -A thrill of delight ran through me at this stretch of the hand of my -opportunity for which I had been planning for years, and for which -I had been waiting in readiness for nearly three months. I looked -steadily at the note. “I don’t know,” I said, slowly, raising my eyes -to his. His eyes shifted and a hurt expression came into them, as if -he, not I, were refusing. “I’m busy just now. Leave it, won’t you? I’ll -look at it presently.” - -“Oh, certainly,” he said, in a surprised, shy voice. I did not look up -at him again, but I saw that his hand--a narrow, smooth hand, not at -all like mine--was trembling as he drew it away. - -We did not speak again until late in the afternoon. Then I had to go -to him about some other matter, and, as I was turning away, he said, -timidly: “Oh, about that note----” - -“It can’t be indorsed by the firm,” I said, abruptly. - -There was a long silence between us. I felt that he was inwardly -resenting what he must be calling the insolence of the “upstart” he had -“created.” I was hating him for the contemptuous thoughts that seemed -to me to be burning through the silence from his brain to mine, was -hating him for putting me in a false position even before myself with -his plausible appearance of being a generous gentleman--I abhor the -idea of “gentleman” in business; it upsets everything, at once. - -When he did speak, he only said: “Why not?” - -I went to my desk and brought a sheet of paper filled with figures. “I -have made this up since you spoke to me this morning,” I said, laying -it before him. - -That was false--a trifling falsehood to prevent him from -misunderstanding my conduct in making a long and quiet investigation. -The truth is that that crucial paper was the work of a great many days, -and not a few nights, of thought and labour--it was my cast for my -million. - -The paper seemed to show at a glance that the firm was practically -ruined, and that Mr. Judson himself was insolvent. It was to a certain -extent an over-statement, or, rather, a sort of anticipation of -conditions that would come to pass within a year or two if Mr. Judson -were permitted to hold to his course. While in a sense I took advantage -of his ignorance of our business and his own, and also of his lack of -familiarity with all commercial matters, yet, on the other hand, it -was not sensible that I should tide him over and carry him, and it was -vitally necessary that I should get my million. Had he been shrewder, -I should have got it anyhow, only I should have been compelled to use -methods that, perhaps, would have seemed less merciful. - -I sat beside him as he read; and, while I pitied him, for I am human, -after all, I felt more strongly a sense of triumph, that I, the poor, -the obscure, by sheer force of intellect, had raised myself up to where -I had my foot upon the neck of this proud man, ranking so high among -New York’s distinguished merchants and citizens. I have had many a -triumph since, and over men far superior to Judson; but I do not think -that I have ever so keenly enjoyed any other victory as this, my first -and most important. - -Still, I pitied him as he read, with face growing older and older, and, -with his pride shot through the vitals, quivering in its death agony. -I said, gently, when he had finished and had buried his face in his -hands: “Now, do you understand, Mr. Judson, why I won’t sign away my -commercial honour and my children’s bread?” - -He shrank and shivered, as if, instead of having spoken kindly to him, -I had struck him. “Spare me!” he said, brokenly. “For God’s sake, spare -me!” and, after a moment, he groaned and exclaimed: “and I--_I_--have -ruined this house, established by my grandfather and held in honour for -half a century!” A longer pause, then he lifted his haggard face--he -looked seventy rather than fifty-five; his eyeballs were sunk in deep, -blue-black sockets; his whole expression was an awful warning of the -consequences of recklessness in business. I have never forgotten it. “I -trust you,” he said; “what shall I do?” - -He placed himself entirely in my hands; or, rather, he left his affairs -where they had been, except when he was muddling them, for more than -six years. I dealt generously by him, for I bought him out by the -use of my excellent personal credit, and left him a small fortune in -such shape that he could easily manage it. He was free of all business -cares; I had taken upon my shoulders not only the responsibilities of -that great business, but also a load of debt which would have staggered -and frightened a man of less courageous judgment. - -I did not see him when the last papers were signed--he was ill and -they were sent to his house. Two or three weeks later I heard that he -was convalescent and went to see him. Now that he was no longer in my -way, and that the debt of gratitude was transferred from me to him, I -had only the kindliest, friendliest feelings for him. Those few weeks -had made a great change in me. I had grown, I had come into my own, -I realised how high I was above the mass of my fellow-men, and I -was insisting upon and was receiving the respect that was my due. My -sensations, as I entered the Judson house, were vastly different from -what they were when the pompous butler admitted me on the occasion -of the one previous visit, and I could see that he felt strongly the -alteration in my station. I felt generous pity as I went into the -library and looked down at the broken old failure huddled in a big -chair. What an unlovely thing is failure, especially grey-haired -failure! I said to myself: “How fortunate for him that this helpless -creature fell into my hands instead of into the hands of some rascal or -some cruel and vindictive man!” I was about to speak, but something in -his steady gaze restrained me. - -“I have admitted you,” he said, in a surprisingly steady voice, when he -had looked me through and through, “because I wish you to hear from me -that I know the truth. My son-in-law returned from Europe last week, -and, learning what changes had been made, went over all the papers.” - -He looked as if he expected me to flinch. But I did not. Was not my -conscience clear? - -“I know how basely you have betrayed me,” he went on. “I thank you for -not taking everything. I confess your generosity puzzles me. However, -you have done nothing for which the law can touch you. What you have -stolen is securely yours. I wish you joy of it.” - -My temper is not of the sweetest--dealing with the trickeries and -stupidities of little men soon exhausts the patience of a man who has -much to do in the world, and knows how it should be done. But never -before or since have I been so insanely angry. I burst into a torrent -of abuse. He rang the bell; and, when the servant came, calm and clear -above my raging rose his voice, saying, “Robert, show this person to -the door.” For the moment my mind seemed paralysed. I left, probably -looking as base and guilty as he with his wounded vanity and his -sufferings from the loss of all he had thrown away imagined me to be. - -I confess that that was a very bad quarter of an hour. But, to make -a large success in this world, and in the brief span of a lifetime, -one must submit to discomforts of that kind occasionally. There are -compensating hours. I had one last week when I attended the dedication -of the splendid two-million-dollar recitation hall I have given to ---- -University. - -Not until I was several blocks from Judson’s did the sense of my -wrongs sting me into rage again. I remember that I said: “Infamous -ingratitude! I save this fine gentleman from bankruptcy, and my reward -is that he calls me a thief--me, a millionaire!” - -Millionaire! In that word there was a magic balm for all the wounds to -my pride and my then supersensitive conscience--a justification of the -past, a guarantee of the future. - -With my million safely achieved, I looked about me as a conqueror looks -upon the conquered. A thousand dollars saved is the first step toward -a competence; a million dollars achieved is the first step toward a -Crœsus; and, in matters of money, as in everything else, “it is the -first step that counts,” as the French say. I was filled with the -passion for more, more, more. I felt myself, in imagination, growing -mightier and mightier, lifting myself higher and more dazzlingly -above the dull mass of work-a-day people with their routines of petty -concerns. - -In the days of our modesty my wife used to plan that we would retire -when we had twenty thousand a year--enough, she then thought, to -provide for every want, reasonable or unreasonable, that we and the -children could have. Now, she would have scorned the idea of retiring -as contemptuously as I would. She was eager to do her part in the -process of expansion and aggrandisement, was eager to see us socially -established, to put our children in the position to make advantageous -marriages. We would be outshone in New York by none! - -To win a million is to taste blood. The million-mania--for, in a sense, -I’ll admit it is a mania--is roused and put upon the scent, and it -never sleeps again, nor is its appetite ever satisfied or even made -less ravenous. - -A few years, and I left dry-goods for finance, where the pursuit of my -passion was more direct and more rapidly successful. Every day I fixed -my thoughts upon another million; and, as all who know anything about -the million-mania will tell you, the act of fixing the thought upon a -million, when one has earned the right to acquire millions, makes that -million yours, makes all who stand between you and it aggressors to be -clawed down and torn to pieces. As I grew my rights were respected more -and more deferentially. Men now bow before me. They understand that I -can administer great wealth to the best advantage, that I belong to -one of that small class of beings created to possess the earth and to -command the improvident and idealess inhabitants thereof how and where -and when to work. - -My family? - -I confess they have not risen to my level or to the opportunities I -have made for them. Naturally, with great wealth, the old simple -family relationship was broken up. That was to be expected--the duties -of people in our position do not permit indulgence in the simple -emotions and pastimes of the family life of the masses. But neither, -on the other hand, was it necessary that my wife should become a cold -and calculating social figure, full of vanity and superciliousness, -instead of maintaining the proud dignity of her position as my wife. -Nor was it necessary that my children should become selfish, heartless, -pleasure-seekers, caring nothing for me except as a source of money. - -I suppose I am in part responsible--my great enterprises have left -me little time for the small details of life, such as the training -of children. They were admirably educated, too. I provided the best -governesses and masters, and saw to it that they learned all that a -lady or a gentleman should know; and in respect of dress and manners I -admit that they do very well, indeed. Possibly, the complete breaking -up of the family, except as it is held together by my money, is due to -the fact that we see so little of one another, each having his or her -separate establishment. Possibly I am a little old-fashioned, a little -too exacting, in my idea of wife and children. Certainly they are -aristocratic enough. - -My son James is the thorn in my side. And, whenever I have a moment’s -rest from my affairs, I find myself thinking of him, worrying over him. -The latest development in his character is certainly disquieting. - -He was twenty-five years old yesterday. He was educated at our most -aristocratic university here, and at one in Europe of the same kind. It -was his mother’s dream that he should be “brought up as a gentleman”; -and that fell in with my ideas, for I did not wish him to be a -money-maker, but the head of the family I purposed to found upon my -millions, which are already numerous enough to secure it for many -generations. “There is no call for him to struggle and toil as I have,” -I said to myself. “The sort of financial ability I possess is born -in a man and can’t be taught or transmitted by birth. He would make -a small showing, at best, as a business man. As a gentleman he will -shine. He only needs just enough business training to enable him to -supervise those who will take care of his fortune and that of the rich -woman he will marry.” I was determined that he should marry in his own -class--and, indeed, he is not a sentimentalist, and, therefore, is not -likely to disregard my wishes in that matter. - -When he was eighteen I caught him in a fashionable gambling-house one -night when I thought he was at his college. I could not but admire -the coolness with which he made the best of it: stood beside me as I -sat playing faro, then went over to a roulette table and lost several -hundred dollars on a few spins of the ball. But the next day I took him -sharply to task--it was one thing for me to play, at my age and with my -fortune, I explained, but not the same for him, at his age, and with -nothing but an allowance. - -He shrugged his shoulders indifferently. “Really, governor,” he said, -“a man must do as the other fellows in his set do. Didn’t you see whom -I was with? If you wish me to travel with those people I must go their -gait.” - -That was not unreasonable, so I dismissed him with a cautioning. At -twenty he went abroad, and, a year after he had returned, his bills -and drafts were still coming. I sent for him. “Why don’t you pay your -debts, sir?” I demanded, angrily, for such conduct was directly -contrary to my teaching and example. - -He gave me his grandest look--he is a handsome, aristocratic-looking -fellow, away ahead of what Judson must have been at his age. “But, my -dear governor,” he said, “a gentleman pays his debts when he feels like -it.” - -“No, he don’t,” I answered, furiously, for my instinct of commercial -promptness was roused. “A scoundrel pays his debts when he feels like -it. A gentleman pays ’em when they’re due.” - -His reply was a smile of approval, and “Excellent! The best epigram -I’ve heard since I left Paris. You’re as great a genius at making -phrases as you are at making money.” - -I caught him speculating in Wall Street--“One must amuse one’s self,” -he said, cheerfully. But I was not to be put off this time. I had -had some reports on his life--many wild escapades, many fantastic -extravagances. The terrible downfall of two young men of his set made -me feel that the time for discipline was at hand. But, as I was very -busy, I had only time to read him a brief lecture on speculation and to -exact from him a promise that he would keep out of Wall Street. He gave -the promise so reluctantly that I felt confident he meant to keep it. - -A week ago yesterday morning he came into my bedroom, before I was up, -and said to my valet, Pigott: “Just take yourself off, Piggy!” And, -when we were alone, he began: “Mother said I was to come straight to -you.” - -“What is it?” I demanded, my anger rising--experience has taught me -that the more offhand his manner, the more serious the offence I should -have to repair. - -“I broke my promise to you about speculating, sir,” he replied, much as -if he were apologising for having jostled me in a crowd. - -I sat up in bed, feeling as if I were afire. “And does a gentleman keep -his promises only when he feels like it?” I asked. - -“But that isn’t all,” he went on. “My pool’s gone smash--you were on -the other side and I never suspected it. And I’ve got a million to pay, -besides----” - -He took out his cigarette case, and lighted a cigarette with great -deliberation. - -“Besides--what?” I said, wishing to know all before I began upon him. - -“I wrote your name across the back of a bit of paper,” he answered, -hiding his face in a big cloud of smoke. - -I fell back in the bed, feeling as if I had been struck on the head -with a heavy weight. “You scoundrel!” I gasped. - -“Sour grapes,” he muttered, his cheeks aflame and his eyes blazing at -me. - -[Illustration: “_‘Don’t get apoplectic,’ he said, calmly; ‘you know you -stole your start.’_”] - -“What do you mean?” I said, my mind in confusion. - -“The fathers have eaten sour grapes,” he quoted, “and the children’s -teeth are set on edge.” - -I half sprang from the bed at this insolence. “Don’t get apoplectic,” -he said, calmly; “you know you stole your start.” - -At this infamous calumny I leaped upon him and flung him bodily out of -the room. It was several hours before I was calm enough to dismiss the -incident sufficiently to take up my affairs. - -This has come at a particularly unfortunate time for me, as I am in the -midst of several delicate, vast, and intricate negotiations, involving -many millions and demanding all my thought. He has gone down on Long -Island in care of his mother. It will be at least ten days before I -can take up his case and dispose of it. I am undecided whether to give -him another trial under severe conditions or to cast him off and make -his younger brother my principal heir and successor. I confess to a -weakness for him--possibly because he is so audacious and fearless. -His younger brother is entirely too smooth and diplomatic with me; if -I should elevate him, he would fancy that he had deceived me with his -transparent tricks. - -However, we shall see. - - - - -II - - -About a month after I sent James to my place on Long Island to be in -the custody of his mother, I was dining in my Fifth Avenue house with -only Burridge, my secretary, and Jack Ridley, who calls himself my -“court fool.” - -Although my mind was crowded with large affairs involving great -properties and millions of capital, hardly a day had passed without my -thinking of James and of his infamous conduct toward me. But without -neglecting the duties which my position as a financial leader impose -upon me, it was impossible for me to take time to do my duty as a -parent. The duty which particularly pressed and absolutely prevented -me from attending to my son was that of overcoming difficulties I -had encountered in consolidating the three railways which I control -in the State. To achieve my purpose it was necessary that a somewhat -radical change be made in a certain law. I sent my agent to Boss ---- -to arrange the matter. I learned that he refused to order the change -unless I would pay him three hundred thousand dollars in cash and would -give him the opportunity to buy to a like amount of the new stock at -par. He pleaded that the change would cause a tremendous outcry if it -were discovered, as it almost certainly would be, and that he must -be in a position to provide a correspondingly large campaign fund to -“carry the party” successfully through the next campaign. He said his -past favours to me had brought him to the verge of political ruin. In -a sentence, the miserable old blackmailer was trying to drive as hard -a bargain with me as if I had not been making stiff contributions to -what he calls his “campaign fund” for years with only trifling favours -in return. I was willing to pay what the change was worth, but I would -not be bled. I brought pressure to bear from the national organisation -of his party, and he came round--apparently. - -Just as my bill was slipping quietly through the State Senate, having -passed the Lower House unobserved, the other boss raised a terrific -hullabaloo. Boss ---- denied to my people that he had “tipped off” -what was doing in order to revenge himself and get his blood-money in -another way; but I knew at once that the sanctimonious old thief had -outwitted me. - -It looked as if I would have to yield. Of course I should have done -so in the last straits, for only a fool holds out for a principle -when holding out means no gain and a senseless and costly loss. But -the knowledge that a defeat would cost me dear in future transactions -of this kind made me struggle desperately. I sent for my lawyer, -Stratton--an able fellow, as lawyers go, but, like most of this stupid, -lazy human race, always ready to say “impossible” because saying so -saves labour. “Stratton,” I said, “there must be a way round--there -always is. Can’t I get what I want by an amendment to some other law -that can be slipped through by the lobby of some other corporation as -if for its benefit only? Take a week. Paw over the books and rake that -brain of yours! There’s a hundred and fifty thousand in it for you if -you find me the way round.” - -“But the law--” he began. - -I lost my temper--I always do when one of my men begins his reply -to an order I’ve given him with the word “But.” “Don’t ‘but’ me, -damn you,” said I. “I’m getting sick and tired of your eternal -opposition. Crawford”--Crawford was my lawyer until I put him into the -Senate--“used always to tell me how I could do what I wanted to do. -You’re always telling me that I can’t do what I want to do.” - -“I’m sorry to displease you, sir, but----” - -“‘But’ again!” I exclaimed, sarcastically. - -“Then, however,” he went on, with a conciliatory smile, “I’m not a -legislator; I’m a lawyer.” - -“Precisely,” said I. “And the only use I have for a lawyer is to show -me how to do as I please, in spite of these wretched demagogues and -blackmailers that control the statute-books. If you are as intelligent -as Crawford led me to believe and as my own observation of you -suggests, you’ll profit by this little talk we’ve had. Look round -you at the men who are making the big successes in your profession -nowadays--look at your predecessor, Crawford. Imitate them and stop -casting about for ways of interpreting the law against your employer’s -interest.” - -Two days later he came to me in triumph. He had found the “way round.” -I had my law slipped through, signed by the Governor, and safely put on -the statute-book, the two bosses as unsuspicious as were the newspapers -and the public. Then I came out in a public disavowal of my original -purpose, denounced it as a crime against the people, and deplored that -my railroad corporation should be unjustly accused of promoting it. You -must fight the devil with fire. - -Those two bosses--and the sensational newspapers that had been -attacking them and my corporations--were astounded, and haven’t -recovered yet. It will be six months before they realise that I have -accomplished my purpose; even then they won’t be sure that I planned -it, but will half believe it was my “luck.” - -In passing, I may note that Stratton tells me I ought to pay him two -hundred and fifty thousand dollars instead of one hundred and fifty -thousand--for pulling me out of the hole! He has wholly forgotten -having said “can’t be done” and “impossible” to me so many times that -I finally had to stop him by cursing him violently. With their own -vanity and their women-folks’ flattery for ever conspiring to destroy -their judgment, it’s a wonder to me that men are able to get on at all. -Indeed, they wouldn’t if they didn’t have masters like me over them. - -After I had got my little joke on the bosses and the impertinent public -safely on the statute-book, there remained the problem of how to take -advantage of it without stirring up the sensational newspapers and the -politicians, always ready to pander to the spirit of demagogy. I had -my rights safely embodied in the law; but in this lawless time that is -not enough. Instead of being respectful to the great natural leaders -and deferential to their larger vision and larger knowledge, the people -regard us with suspicion and overlook our services in their envy of the -trifling commissions we get--for, what is the wealth we reserve for -ourselves in comparison with the benefits we confer upon the country? - -At this dinner which I have mentioned, both Burridge and Ridley were -silent, and so my thoughts had no distraction. As I know that it is -bad for my digestion to use my brain as I eat, I tried to start a -conversation. - -“Have you seen Aurora to-day?” I asked Burridge. She is my eldest -daughter, just turned eighteen. - -“She and Walter”--he is my second son, within a month or so of -twenty-two--“are dining out this evening; she at Carnarvon’s, he at -Longview’s. I think they meet at Mrs. Hollister’s dance and come home -together.” - -This was agreeable news. The names told me that my wife was at -last succeeding in her social campaign, thanks to the irresistible -temptation to the narrow aristocrats of the inner circle in the -prospective fortunes of my children. While this social campaign of -ours has its vanity side--and I here admit that I am not insensible -to certain higher kinds of vanity--it also has a substantial business -side. The greatest disadvantage I have laboured under--and at times -it was serious--has been a certain suspicion of me as a newcomer and -an adventurer. Naturally this has not been lessened by the boldness -and swiftness of my operations. When I and my family are admitted on -terms of intimacy and perfect equality among the people of large and -old-established fortune, I shall be absolutely trusted in the financial -world and shall be secure in the position of leadership which my brains -have won for me and which I now maintain only by steady fighting. - -“And Helen?” I went on. Helen is my other daughter, not yet twelve. - -“She’s dining in her own sitting-room with her companion,” replied -Burridge. - -“I haven’t seen her for a day or two,” I said. - -“Two weeks to-morrow,” answered Burridge. - -Jack Ridley laughed, and I frowned. It irritates me for Ridley to note -it whenever I am caught in seeming neglect of my children. He pretends -not to believe that it is my sense of duty that makes me deprive myself -of the family happiness of ordinary men for the sake of my larger -duties. But he must know at the bottom that all my self-sacrifice is -for my children, for my family, ultimately. I have the thankless, -misunderstood toil; they have the enjoyment. - -“Two weeks!” I protested; “it can’t be!” - -“She came to me for her allowance this morning,” he said, “and she -asked after you. She said your valet had told her you were staying here -and were well. She said she’d like to see you some time--if you ever -got round to it.” - -This little picture of my domestic life did not tend to cheer me. -Naturally, I went on to think of Jim. Ridley interrupted my thoughts by -saying: “Have you been down on Long Island yet?” - -This was going too far even for a “court fool”--his name for himself, -not mine. Ridley is my pensioner, confidant, listening machine, -and talking machine. He is of an old New York family, an honest, -intelligent fellow, with an extravagant stomach and back. My wife -engaged him, originally, to help her in her social campaigns. I saw -that I could use him to better advantage, and he has gradually grown -into my confidence. - -In my lesser days, one of the things that most irritated me against -the very rich was their habit of buying human beings, body and soul, -to do all kinds of unmanly work, and I especially abhorred the -“parasites”--so I called them--who hung about rich men, entertaining -them, submitting to their humours, and bearing degradations and -humiliations in exchange for the privileges of eating at luxurious -tables, living in the colder corners of palaces, driving in the -carriages of their patrons, and being received nominally as their -social equals. But now I understand these matters better. It isn’t -given to many men to be independent. As for the “parasites,” how should -I do without Jack Ridley? - -I can’t have friends. Friends take one’s time--they must be treated -with consideration, or they become dangerous enemies. Friends impose -upon one’s friendship--they demand inconvenient or improper, or, at -any rate, costly favours which it is difficult to refuse. I must -have companionship, and fate compels that my companion shall be my -dependant, one completely under my control--a Jack Ridley. I look after -his expensive stomach and back; he amuses me and keeps me informed as -to the trifling matters of art, literature, gossip, and so forth, which -I have no time to look up, yet must know if I am to make any sort of -appearance in company. Really, next to my gymnasium, I regard poor old -Jack as my most useful belonging, so far as my health and spirits are -concerned. - -To his impertinent reminder of my neglected duty I made no reply beyond -a heavy frown. The rest of the dinner was eaten in oppressive silence, -I brooding over the absence of cheerfulness in my life. They say it is -my fault, but I know it is simply their stupidity in being unable to -understand how to deal with a superior personality. It is my fate to be -misunderstood, publicly and privately. The public grudgingly praises, -often even derides, my philanthropies; the members of my family laugh -at my generosities and self-sacrifices for them. - -As I was going to my apartment and to bed, Ridley waylaid me. “You’re -offended with me, old man?” he asked, his eyes moist and his lips -trembling under his grey moustache. He weeps easily: at a glass of -especially fine wine; over a sentimental story in a paper or magazine; -if a grouse is cooked just right; when I am cross with him. And I think -all his emotions, whether of heart or of stomach, are genuine--and -probably about as valuable as most emotions. - -“Not at all, not at all, Jack,” I said, reassuringly; “but you ought to -be careful when you see I’m low in my mind.” - -“Do go down to see the boy,” he went on, earnestly. “He’s a good boy at -heart, as good as he is handsome and clever. Give him a little of your -precious time and he’ll be worth more to you than all your millions.” - -“He’s a young scalawag,” said I, pretending to harden. “I’m almost -convinced that it’s my duty to drive him out and cut him off -altogether. After all I’ve done for him! After all the pains I’ve taken -with him!” - -Ridley looked at me timidly, but found courage to say: “He told me he’d -never talked with you so much as sixty consecutive minutes in his whole -life!” - -This touched me at the moment. I’m soft at times, where my family is -concerned. “I’ll see; I’ll see,” I said. “Perhaps I can go down to him -Sunday. But don’t annoy me about it again, Jack!” There’s a limit to my -good-nature, even with poor old well-meaning Ridley. - -But other matters pressed in, and it was the following Monday and then -the following Saturday before I knew it. Then came the first Sunday in -the month, and Burridge, as usual, brought in the preceding month’s -domestic accounts as soon as I had settled myself at breakfast after -my run and swim and rubdown in my “gym” in the basement. As a rule, -at that time I’m in my best possible humour. My wife and children -know it and lie in wait then with any particularly impudent requests -for favours or particularly outrageous confessions that must be made. -But on the first Sunday in the month even my “gym” can’t put me in -good-humour. I am a liberal man. My large gifts to education and -charity and my generosity with my family prove it beyond a doubt. My -wife looks scornful when I speak of this. Her theory is that my public -gifts are an exhibition of my vanity, and that my establishments, my -yacht, etc., etc., are partly vanity, and partly my selfish passion -for my own comfort. She, however, never attributes a good motive or -instinct to me, or to any one else, nowadays. Really, the change in -her since our modest days is incredible. It is amazing how arrogant -affluence makes women. - -But, as I was saying, my monthly bill-day is too much for my -good-humour. It is not the money going out that I mind so much, though -I’m not ashamed to admit that it is not so agreeable to me to see money -going out as it is to see money coming in. The real irritation is the -waste--the wanton, wicked, dangerous waste. - -I can’t attend to details. I can’t visit kitchens, do marketing, -superintend housekeepers and butlers, oversee stables, and buy all the -various supplies. I can’t shop for furniture and clothing, and look -after the entertainments. All those things are my wife’s business and -duty. And she has a secretary, and a housekeeper, and Burridge, and -Ridley, to assist her. Yet the bills mount and mount; the waste grows -and grows. Extravagance for herself, extravagance for her children, -thousands thrown away with nothing whatever to show for it! The money -runs away like water at a left-on faucet. - -The result is the almost complete estrangement between my wife and me. -Every month we have a fierce quarrel over the waste, often a quarrel -that lasts the month through and breaks out afresh every time we meet. -She denounces me as a miser, a vulgarian. She goads me into furious -outbursts before the children. What with my battles against stupidity -and insolence down-town, and my battles against waste in my family, -my life is one long contention. However, I suppose this is the lot of -all the great men who play large parts on the world’s stage. No wonder -those who fancy we are on earth to seek and find happiness regard life -as a ghastly fraud. - -“What’s the demnition total, Burridge?” I asked, when he appeared with -his arms full of books and papers. - -“Ninety-two thousand, four, twenty-six, fifty-one,” he answered, in a -tone of abject apology. - -I could not restrain an indignant expostulation. “That’s seventy-three -hundred and four above last month. Impossible! You’ve made a mistake in -adding.” - -He went over his figures nervously and flushed scarlet. “I beg your -pardon, sir,” he said, in a tone of terror. “The total is ninety-five -thousand instead of ninety-two.” - -Ten thousand-odd above month before last! Eighty-nine hundred above the -same month last year! I had to restrain myself from physical violence -to Burridge. I ordered him out of the room--giving as my reason anger -at his mistake in addition. I wanted to hear no more, as I felt sure -the details of the shameful waste would put me in a rage which would -impair my health. The total was enough for my purpose--we were now -living at the rate of more than a million dollars a year! I took the -eleven o’clock train for my place on Long Island. - -When I reached my railway station none of my traps was there. In -my angry preoccupation I had forgotten to telephone from the Fifth -Avenue house; and, of course, neither Pigott nor the butler nor -Burridge nor Ridley nor any of my herd of blockhead servants had had -the consideration to repair my oversight. Yet there are fools who say -money will buy everything. Sometimes I think it won’t buy anything but -annoyances. - -So I had to go to my place in a rickety, smelly station-surrey--and -that did not soothe my rage. However, as I drove into and through my -grounds--there isn’t a finer park on Long Island--I began to feel -somewhat better. There is nothing like lands and houses to give one the -sensation of wealth, of possession. I have often gone into my vaults -and have looked at the big bundles and boxes of securities; and, by -setting my imagination to work, I have got some sort of notion how vast -my wealth and power are. But bits of paper supplemented by imagination -are not equal to the tangible, seeable things--just as a hundred-dollar -bill can’t give one the sensation in the fingers and in the eyes that -a ten-dollar gold piece gives. That is why I like my big houses and my -city lots and my parked acres in the country--yes, and my yacht and -carriages and furniture, my servants and horses and dogs, my family’s -jewels and finery. - -But the instant I entered the house my spirits soured again, curdled -into an acid fury. - -I had sent my son down there with his mother to await my sentence upon -him for his crimes--his insults to me, his waste of nearly a million -of my money, his violation of his word of honour, his forgery. I had -been assuming that in those five weeks of waiting he was suffering from -remorse and suspense, was thinking of his crimes against me and of my -anger and justice. As I entered the large drawing-room unannounced, -they were about to go in to luncheon. “They” means my wife and James, -and Walter and Aurora, who had gone down to the country for the -week-end. “They” means also ten others, six of whom were guests staying -in the house. As I stood dumfounded, five more who had been to church -came trooping in. I had gone, expecting a house of mourning. I had -found a revel. - -At sight of me the laughter and conversation died. My wife coloured. -James looked abashed for a moment. Then--what a well-mannered, -self-possessed dog he is!--he burst out laughing. “Fairly trapped!” he -said. And he went on to explain to the others: “The governor and I had -a little fall-out, and he sent me down here to play with the ashes. -You’ve caught me with the goods on me, governor. It’s up to me--I’ve -got to square myself. So I’ll pay by giving you the two prettiest young -girls in the room to sit on either side of you at luncheon. Let’s go -in, for I’m half-starved.” - -As all the women in the room except three--including Aurora--were -married, James’s remark was doubly adroit. What could I do but put -aside my wrath and set my guests at their ease? - -This was the less difficult to do as Natalie Bradish and Horton Kirkby -were among the guests--and stopping in the house. I have long had my -eye on Miss Bradish as the proper wife for James or Walter--whichever -should commend himself to me as my fit successor at the head of the -family I purpose to found with the bulk of my wealth. She is a handsome -girl; she has a proud, distinguished look and manner; she will inherit -several millions some day that can’t be distant, as her father is -in hopelessly bad health; she comes of a splendid, widely connected -family, and is extremely ambitious and free from sentimental nonsense. -Young Kirkby is the very husband for Aurora. His great-grandfather -founded their family securely in city real estate and lived long enough -firmly to establish the tradition of giving the bulk of the fortune to -the eldest male heir. Kirkby is not brilliant; but Aurora has brains -enough for two, and he has a set of long, curved fingers that never -relax their hold upon what’s in them. - -After luncheon I drew my wife away to the sitting-room for the plain -talk which was the object of my visit. As the presence of Miss Bradish -and Kirkby in the house had lessened my anger on the score of my wife -and son’s light-hearted way of looking at his crimes, I put forward the -matter of the expense accounts. - -“Burridge tells me the total for last month is--” I began, and paused. -As I was speaking I was glancing round the room. I had not been in it -for several years. I had just noted the absence of a Corot I bought ten -years before and paid sixteen thousand dollars for. I don’t care for -pictures or that sort of thing, any more than I care for the glitter -of diamonds or the colours of gold and silver in themselves. I know -that most of this talk of “art” and the like is so much rubbish and -affectation. But works of art, like the precious stones and metals, -have come to be the conventionally accepted standards of luxury, the -everywhere recognised insignia of the aristocracy of wealth. So I have -them, and add to my collection steadily just as I add to my collection -of finely bound books that no one ever opens. What slaves of convention -and ostentation we are! - -“What’s become of the Corot that used to hang there?” I asked, -suspiciously, because I had had so many experiences of my family’s -trifling with my possessions. - -My wife smiled scornfully. “I believe you carry round in your head -an inventory of everything we’ve got, even to the last pot in the -kitchen,” she said. “The Corot is safe. It’s hanging in my bedroom.” - -In her bedroom! A Corot I’ve been offered twenty-five thousand dollars -for, and she had hidden it away in her bedroom! I was irritated when -she put it in her sitting-room where few people came, for it should -have had a good place in our New York palace. But in her bedroom, where -no one but the servants would ever have a chance to look at it! - -“Why didn’t you put it in the attic or the cellar?” I asked. - -She lifted her eyebrows and gave me an affected, disdainful glance. “I -put it in my bedroom because I like to look at it,” she said. - -I laughed. What nonsense! As if any sensible person--and she is -unquestionably shrewdly sensible--ever looks at those things except -when some one is by, noting their “devotion to art.” I said: “Certainly -my family has the most amazing disregard of money--of value. If it were -not----” - -“You started to say something about last month’s accounts,” she -interrupted. - -“The total was ninety-five thousand,” I said, looking sternly at her. -“You are now living at the rate of more than a million a year. In ten -years we have jumped from one hundred thousand a year to a million a -year. And this madness grows month by month.” - -She--shrugged her shoulders! - -“I came to say to you, madam--” I went on, furiously. - -“Did you look at the items?” she cut in coldly. - -“No,” I replied; “I could not trust myself to do it.” - -“Twenty-seven thousand of last month’s expenses went toward paying a -small instalment on your little place for your own amusement in the -Adirondacks. I had nothing to do with it. None of us but you will ever -go there.” - -This was most exasperating. I can’t account for my leaping into such -a trap, except on the theory that my preoccupation with the railway -matters must have made me forget ordering that item into my domestic -accounts instead of into my personal accounts down-town. Of course, my -contention of my family’s extravagance was sound. But I had seemed to -give the whole case away, had destroyed the effect of all I had said, -and, as I glanced at my wife, I saw a triumphant, contemptuous smile in -her eyes. “You are always trying to punish some one else for your own -sins,” she said. “The truth is that the only truly prodigal member of -the family is yourself.” - -Me prodigal with my own wealth! But I did not answer her. One is -at a hopeless disadvantage in discussion with a woman. They are -insensible to reason and logic except when they can gain an advantage -by using them. It’s like having to keep to the rules in a game where -your antagonist keeps to them or makes his own rules as it suits him. -“Nevertheless,” I said, “the waste in my establishments must stop and -your son James must come to his senses. It was about him that I came.” - -“Poor boy--he’s had such a bad example all his life!” she said. “My -dear, _we_ have no right to judge him.” - -I knew that she, like him, was throwing up to me my transactions with -Judson. And like him, she was taking the petty, narrow view of them. -“Madam,” I said, “your son is a liar, forger, and thief.” - -Just then there came a knock at the door and James’s voice called: “May -I come in, mother?” - -“No, go away, Jim. Your father and I are busy,” she called in reply. - -I went to the door and opened it, beside myself with fury. “Come in!” I -exclaimed. “It’s business that concerns you.” - -He entered--tall and strong, his handsome face graver than I had ever -seen it before. He closed the door behind him and stood looking from -one to the other of us. “Well?” he said, “but--no abuse!” - -Whenever James and I have come face to face in a crisis I have always -had the, to me, maddening feeling that a will as strong as my own -has been lifting its head defiantly against me. My wife and my son -Walter deal with me by evasion and slippery trickery. My daughter -Aurora wins from me, when I choose to let her, by cajolery or tears. -Little Helen has never yet had to do with me in a serious matter, and -I cannot remember her ever a me even the trifling favours which -most children seek from their parents. But James has always played the -high and haughty--and I am ashamed to think how often he has ridden -me down and defeated me and gained his object. As I have looked upon -him as entitled to peculiar consideration because I had planned for -him one day to wear my mantle, he has had me at a disadvantage. But my -indulgent conduct toward him only makes the blacker his conduct toward -me. - -[Illustration: “_‘You liar--you forger!’_”] - -As he stood there that day, looking so calm and superior, I can’t -describe the conflict of pride in him and hatred of him that surged up -in me. I lost control of myself. I clinched my fists and shook them in -his face. “You liar! You forger! You conscienceless----” - -His mother rushed between us. “I knew it! I knew it!” she wailed. “Ever -since he was a baby, I knew this day would come. Oh, my God! James, my -husband--James, my son!” - -James lowered the hand he had lifted to strike me. His face was pale -and his eyes were blazing hate at me--I saw his real feeling toward me -at last. How could I have overlooked it so long? - -“Who would ever think you were my father?” he asked, in a voice -that sounded to me like an echo of my own. “You--with hate in your -face--hate for the son whom you poisoned before he was born, whom you -have been poisoning ever since with your example. _You_--my _father_!” - -The young scoundrel had taunted me into that calm fury which is so -dreadful that I fear it myself--for, when I am possessed by it, -there is no length to which I would not go. Our wills had met in -final combat. I saw that I must crush him--the one human being who -dared to oppose me and defy me, and he my own child who should have -been deferential, grateful, obedient, unquestioning. “But I am _not_ -your father,” I said. “In my will I had made you head of the family, -had given you two-thirds of my estate. I shall write a revocation -here--immediately. I shall make a new will to-morrow.” - -If the blow crushed him, he did not show it. He did not even wince as -he saw forty millions swept away from him. “As you please,” he said, -putting scorn into his face and voice--as if I could be fooled by such -a pretence. The man never lived who could scorn a tenth, or even a -fortieth, of forty millions. “I came into this room,” he went on, “to -tell you how ashamed I was of what I have done--how vile and low I -have felt. I didn’t come to apologise to _you_, but to my--my mother -and to myself in your presence. I am still ashamed of what I did, of -what you made me do. Do you know why I did it? Because your money, your -millions, have changed you from a man into a monster. This wealth has -injured us all--yes, even mother, noble though she is. But you--it has -made you a fiend. Well, I wished to be independent of you. You have -brought me up so that I could not live without luxury. But you haven’t -destroyed in me the last spark of self-respect. And I decided to make -a play for a fortune of my own. I--broke my word and speculated. I -overreached--I saw my one hope of freeing myself from slavery to you -slipping from me. I--I--no matter. What _did_ matter after I’d broken -my word? And I was justly punished. I lost--everything.” - -As he flung these frightful insults at me my calm fury grew cold as -well. “You will leave the house within an hour,” I said. “Your mother -will make your excuses to her guests--I shall spare you the humiliation -of a public disowning. During my lifetime you shall have nothing from -me--no, nor from your mother. I shall see to that. In my will I shall -leave you a trifling sum--enough to keep you alive. I am responsible to -society that you do not become a public charge. And you may from this -day continue on your way to the penitentiary without hindrance from -those who were your kin.” - -As I finished, he smiled. His smile grew broader, and became a laugh. -“Very well, ex-father,” he said; “there’s one inheritance you can’t rob -me of--my mind. I’ll lop off its rotten spots, and I think what’s left -will enable me to stagger along.” - -“You imagine I’ll relent,” I went on, “but my days of weakness with you -are over.” - -“You--relent!” He smiled mockingly. “I’m not such a fool as to fancy -that. Even if you had a heart, your pride wouldn’t let you. And I’m not -sorry--just at this moment. Perhaps I shall be later--I’m fond of cash, -and your pot for me was a big one. But just now I feel as if you were -doing me a favour.” He drew a long breath. “God!” he exclaimed. “I’m -free! In spite of myself, I’m free! I’m a man at last!” - -I did not care to listen to any more of the frothings of the silly -young fool. Already I was regarding him as a stranger, was turning to -his brother Walter as a possible successor to him and my principal -heir. I left the room and went for a walk with my daughter and Natalie -Bradish. When we returned he was gone. I sent for Walter and told him -the news. - -“Your brother has forfeited everything,” I said, in conclusion. “It -remains for you to prove yourself worthy of the place I had designed -for him. In the will I shall make to-morrow my estate will be divided -equally among my three children, your mother getting her dower rights. -If you do not show the qualities I hope, the will shall stand. If you -do, I shall make another, giving you your own share plus what I had -intended for James.” - -Walter is a square-shouldered youth of medium height, with irregular, -rather commonplace features, a rough skin, and an unpleasant habit -of shifting his eyes rapidly round and round yours as you talk with -him--I am as impartial a judge of my own family as a stranger would -be. Walter has been a good deal of a sneak all his life--at least, he -was up to the time when a man’s real character disappears behind the -pose he adopts to face and fool the world with. “I don’t know what to -say, sir,” he said to me now. “I’d plead for my brother, only that you -are just and must have done what was right. I don’t know how to thank -you for the chance you’re giving me. I can’t hope to come up to your -standards, but I’ll just keep on trying to do my best to please you and -show my gratitude to you. I always have been very proud of being your -son. It will make me doubly proud if I can win your confidence so that -you will select me as head of our family if it should ever need another -head. But all that’s too far away to think about.” - -I was much pleased by the modesty and sound sense of what he said, and -from that moment have been taking a less unfavourable view of him. -Indeed, it seems to me that I was unjust to him in my partiality for -his brother. I exaggerated Jim’s impudence into courage, Walter’s -diplomacy into cringing cowardice. This is another illustration of how -careful a man should be not to let his hopes and desires blind him. I -had been refusing to see what a wretched, untrustworthy scoundrel James -was, all because I wished my elder son and namesake to be my principal -heir and had made up my mind that he must be worthy of the honour. - -There was only one point left unguarded--lest his mother should, in her -weakness for her first-born, secretly supply him with money. I might -have been powerless to prevent this, though I had determined to take -from her all power over the domestic expenditures and put it in the -hands of Burridge, in order that she might have as few spare dollars -as possible. I knew I could count on her not sacrificing her personal -vanity to keep him in funds. But with characteristic folly James shut -his one door upon himself and spared me the trouble of watching his -mother. - -She came to town Thursday last and sent for me. I went up to the house -for luncheon with her. As soon as she heard that I was there she joined -me in the library. Her face was stern and hard. “Read this,” she said, -handing me a letter. It was in James’s handwriting: - - _Mother dear_: You don’t know Theodora, or you couldn’t have written - what you did about her. You will love her--no one can help loving her - who knows her. We were married this morning. When will you come and - let me show her what a beautiful, good mother I have? I know you’ll - come as soon as ever you can. - JIM. - -“Theodora?” I said--I couldn’t imagine whom he had induced to share his -poverty. - -“Theodora Glendenning,” she replied. - -“The miserable boy!” I exclaimed, forgetting for an instant that he is -nothing to me. Theodora Glendenning was a widow, an adventuress from -heaven knows where. She had obtained a slight footing in fairly good -New York society a few years before, as a young girl, and had been -invited to one or two first-class houses. She was good-looking, had -the ways and voice of a siren, and a certain plausible sweetness and -gentleness. She trapped young Nick Glendenning. His family promptly -cast him off and they sank into obscurity, living on the income of the -few hundred thousands he had inherited from a grandaunt. Then he died. -We did not know where or how James met her. - -“He wrote me on Tuesday,” said my wife, “that he’d been engaged to -Theodora for six months. It is infamous. I wrote him that, if he -sacrificed all his chances for position and recognition in New York by -marrying an adventuress, he needn’t expect me to do anything for him.” - -“Now you realise that I knew what I was about when I shook him off,” I -said. - -“Yes, James. And after all the care I gave him, after all I did for -him! To defy me, to trample on my love, and marry that worthless nobody -with her beggarly income! I had arranged for him to marry Natalie -Bradish. She’d have helped us with her splendid family.” - -I smiled. “She wouldn’t have had him, my dear,” I said; “she will marry -Walter.” - -“No--she would have married James. She was crazy about him.” - -This amazed me--women are always thinking each other sentimental, yet -every woman ought to know that at bottom all women are sensible and -never take their eyes off the main chance. But I said nothing. I was -too well content with matters as they stood. Women are so perverse -that had I joined her just then in attacking James she might have -veered round to him again on impulse. - -Now that he has thwarted her ambitions for him, and for herself through -him, she will be bitter in her hate where I shall be calm in mine. -She had her whole heart in the social strength she was to gain by his -making a brilliant marriage. He has crushed her heart, has killed the -affection she had for him. She would have forgiven him anything but a -wife offensive to her. - -I don’t altogether like the idea of this sort of mother love. Men -should be just; but women should be merciful and loving. New York and -wealth and the social struggle have made her too hard. However, I’m not -quarrelling seriously with what works so admirably for my purpose as to -James. Our common disaster in him will draw us nearer together than we -have been for years--at least until the next wrangle over an expense -account. For years we have had opposite interests--I, to restrain her; -she, to outwit me. Now we again have a common interest, and it is -common interest that makes husband and wife live together in harmonious -peace. - -Nothing happens with me as with ordinary human beings. What could be -stranger than that my new era of domestic quiet should be founded, not -upon love or affection or feelings of that sort, but upon hate--upon my -and her common hate for our unworthy elder son? - - - - -III - - -It has been two years and five months since I expelled James, yet my -dissatisfaction with Walter has not decreased. - -No doubt this is due in part to the grudge a man of my age who loves -power and wealth must have against the impatient waiter for his throne -and sceptre. No doubt, also, age and long familiarity with power have -made me, perhaps, too critical of my fellow-beings and too sensitive to -their shortcomings. But, after all allowances, I have real ground for -my feeling toward Walter. - -My principal heir and successor, who is to sustain my dignity after I -am gone, and to maintain my name in the exalted position to which my -wealth and genius have raised it, should have, above all else, two -qualifications--character and an air of distinction. - -Walter has neither. - -My wife defends him for his lack of distinction in manner and look by -saying that I have crushed him. “How could he have the distinction -you wish,” she says, “when he has grown in the shadow of such a big, -masterful, intolerant personality as yours?” There is justice in this. -I admire distinction, or individuality, but at a distance. I cannot -tolerate it in my immediate neighbourhood. There it tempts me to crush -it. I suspect that it would have exasperated me even in one of my own -flesh and blood. Indeed, at bottom, that may have had something to do -with the beginnings of my break with James. - -But whatever excuse there may be for Walter’s shifty, smirking, -deprecating personality, which seems to me, at times, not a peg above -the personality of a dancing-master, there is no excuse whatsoever for -his lack of character. - -I rarely talk to him so long as ten minutes without catching him in -a lie--usually a silly lie, about nothing at all. In money matters -he is not sensibly prudent, but downright miserly. That is not an -unnatural quality in age, for then the time for setting the house in -order is short. An avaricious young man is a monstrosity. I suppose -that avarice is almost inseparable from great wealth, or even from -the expectation of inheriting it. Just as power makes a man greedy -of power, so riches make a man greedy of riches. But, granting that -Walter has to be avaricious, why hasn’t he the wit to conceal it? It -gives me no pleasure, nowadays, to give; in fact, it makes me suffer -to see anything going out, unless I know it is soon to return bringing -a harvest after its kind. Yet, I give--at least, I have given, and -that liberally. Walter need not have made himself so noted and disliked -for stinginess that he has been able to get into only one of the -three fashionable clubs I wished him to join--and that one the least -desirable. - -His mother says he was excluded because the best people of our class -resent my having elbowed and trampled my way into power too vigorously, -and with too few “beg pardons,” and “if you pleases.” Perhaps my -courage in taking my own frankly wherever I found it may have made his -admission difficult, just as it has made our social progress slow. -But it would not have excluded him--would not have made him patently -unpopular where my money and the fear of me gains him toleration. A -very few dollars judiciously spent would have earned him the reputation -of a good fellow, generous and free-handed. - -Your poor chap has to fling away everything he’s got to get that name, -but a rich man can get it for what, to him, is a trifle. By means of a -smile or a dinner I’d have to pay for anyhow, or perhaps by allowing -him to ride a few blocks beside me in my brougham or victoria, I send a -grumbler away trumpeting my praises. I throw an industry into confusion -to get possession of it, and then I give a twentieth of the profits to -some charity or college; instead of a chorus of curses, I get praise, -or, at worst, silence. The public lays what it is pleased to call the -“crime” upon the corporation I own; the benefaction is credited to me -personally. - -Nor has Walter the excuse for his lying and shifting and other moral -lapses that a man who is making his way could plead. - -I did many things in my early days which I’d scorn to do now. I did -them only because they were necessary to my purpose. Walter has not -the slightest provocation. When his mother says, “But he does those -things because he’s afraid of you,” she talks nonsense. The truth is -that he has a moral twist. It is one thing for a clear-sighted man -of high purpose and great firmness, like myself, to adopt indirect -measures as a temporary and desperate expedient; it’s vastly different -for a Walter, with everything provided for him, to resort to such -measures voluntarily and habitually. - -Sometimes I think he must have been created during one of my periods of -advance by ambuscade. - -How ridiculous to fall out with honesty and truth when there’s any -possible way of avoiding it! To do so is to use one’s last reserves at -the beginning of a battle instead of at the crisis. - -However, it’s Walter or nobody. I cannot abandon my life’s ambition, -the perpetuation of my fortune and fame in a family line. Next to its -shortness, life’s greatest tragedy for men of my kind is the wretched -tools with which we must work. All my days I’ve been a giant, doing -a giant’s work with a pygmy’s puny tools. Now, with the end--no, not -near, but not so far away as it was-- - -Just as I got home from the Chamber of Commerce dinner two weeks ago -to-night, my wife was coming down to go to Mrs. Garretson’s ball. The -great hall of my house, with its costly tapestries and carpets and -statuary, is a source of keen pleasure to me. I don’t think I ever -enter it, except when I’m much preoccupied, that I don’t look round and -draw in some such satisfaction as a toper gets from a brimming glass -of whiskey. But, for that matter, all the luxuries and comforts which -wealth gives me are a steady source of gratification. The children of -a man who rose from poverty to wealth may possibly--I doubt it--have -the physical gratification in wealth blunted. But the man who does the -rising has it as keen on the last day of healthy life as on the first -day he became the owner of a carriage with somebody in his livery to -drive him. - -As my wife came down the wide marble stairs the great hall became -splendid. I had to stop and admire her, or, rather, the way she shone -and sparkled and blazed, becapped and bedecked and bedraped with -jewels as she was. I have an eye that sees everything; that’s why I’m -accused of being ferociously critical. I saw that there was something -incongruous in her appearance--something that jarred. A second glance -showed me that it was the contrast between her rubies and diamonds, -in bands, in clusters, and in ropes, and her fading physical charms. -She is not altogether faded yet--she is fifty to my sixty-four--and -she has been for years spending several hours a day with _masseuses_, -complexion-specialists, hair-doctors, and others of that kind. But -she has reached the age where, in spite of doctoring and dieting and -deception, there are many and plain signs of that double tragedy of a -handsome, vain woman’s life--on the one hand, the desperate fight to -make youth remain; on the other hand, the desperate fight to hide from -the world the fact that it is about to depart for ever. - -Naturally it depressed me that I could no longer think with pride of -her beauty, and of how it was setting off my wealth. I must have shown -what I was thinking, for she looked at me, first with anxious inquiry, -then with frightened suspicion, as if guessing my thoughts. - -Poor woman! I felt sorry for her. - -Her life, for the past twenty years, has been based wholly on vanity. -The look in my face told her, perhaps a few weeks earlier than she -would have learned it from her mirror or some malicious bosom friend, -that the basis of her life was swept away, and that her happiness was -ended. She hurried past me, spoke savagely to the four men-servants -who were jostling one another in trying to help her to her carriage, -and drove away in her grandeur to the ball, probably as miserable a -creature as there was on Manhattan Island that night. - -I went up to my apartment, half depressed, half amused--I have too keen -a sense of humour not to be amused whenever I see vanity take a tumble. -As I reached my sitting-room I was in the full swing of my moralisings -on the physical vanity of women, and on their silliness in setting -store by their beauty after it has served its sole, legitimate, really -useful purpose--has caught them husbands. Only mischief can come of -beauty in a married woman. She should give it up, retire to her home, -and remain there until it is time for her to bring out and marry off -her grown sons and daughters. If my wife hadn’t been handsome she might -have done this, and so might have continued to shine in her proper -sphere--the care of her household and her children, the comfort of her -husband. - -As I reached this point in my moralisings I caught sight of my own face -by the powerful light over my shaving glass. - -I’ve never taken any great amount of interest in my face, or anybody -else’s. I’ve no belief in the theory that you can learn much from your -adversary’s expression. In a sense, the face is the map of the mind. -But the map has so many omissions and mismarkings, all at important -points, that time spent in studying it is time wasted. My plan has been -to go straight along my own line, without bothering my head about the -other fellow’s plans--much less about his looks. I think my millions -prove me right. - -As I was saying, I saw my face--suddenly, with startling clearness, -and when my mind was on the subject of faces. The sight gave me a -shock--not because my expression was sardonic and--yes, I shall confess -it--cruel and bitterly unhappy. The shock came in that, before I -recognised myself, I had said, “Who is this _old_ man?” - -The glass reflected wrinkles, bags, creases, hollows--signs of the old -age of a hard, fierce life. - -Curiously, my first comment on myself, seen as others saw me, was a -stab into my physical vanity--not a very deep stab, but deep enough -to mock my self-complacent jeers at my wife. Then I went on to wonder -why I had not before understood the reason for many things I’ve done of -late. - -For example, I hadn’t realised why I put five hundred thousand -dollars into a mausoleum. I did it without the faintest notion that -my instinctive self was saying, “You’d better see to it at once that -you’ll be fittingly housed--some day.” Again, I hadn’t understood why -it was becoming so hard for me to persuade myself to keep up my public -gifts. - -I have always seen that for us men of great wealth gifts are not merely -a wise, but a vitally necessary, investment. - -Jack Ridley insists that I exaggerate the envy the lower classes feel -for us. “You rich men think others are like yourselves,” he says. -“Because all your thoughts are of money, you fancy the rest of the -world is equally narrow and spends most of its time in hating you -and plotting against you. Why, the fact is that rich men envy one -another more than the poor envy them.” There’s some truth in this. The -fellow with one million enviously hates the fellow with ten; as for -most fellows with twenty or thirty, they can hardly bear to hear the -fellows with fifty or sixty spoken of. But, in the main, Jack is wrong. -I’ve not forgotten how I used to feel when I had a few hundred a year; -and so I know what’s going on in the heads of people when they bow -and scrape and speak softly, as they do to me. It means that they’re -envying and are only too eager to find an excuse for hating. They want -me to think that they like me. - -I used to give chiefly because I liked the fame it brought me--also, a -little, because it made me feel that I was balancing my rather ruthless -financial methods by doing vast good with what many would have kept -selfishly to the last penny. Latterly my chief motive has been more -substantial; and I wonder how I could have let wealth-hunger so blind -me, as it has in the past four or five years, that I have haggled over -and cut my public gifts. - -The very day after I saw my face in the mirror I definitely committed -myself to my long tentatively promised gift of an additional four -millions to the university which bears my name. I also arranged to get -those four millions--but that comes later. Finally, I began to hasten -my son Walter’s marriage to Natalie Bradish. - -My son Walter! - -It certainly isn’t lack of shrewdness that unfits him to be head of the -family. Why do the qualities we most admire in ourselves, and find most -useful there, so often irritate and even disgust us in another? - -I have not told him that he is already the principal heir under the -terms of my will. He will work harder to please me so long as he thinks -the prize still withheld--still to be earned. He does not know how -firmly my mind is set against James. So he never loses an opportunity -to clinch my purpose. One day last week, in presence of his sister -Aurora, I was reproving him for one of his many shortcomings, and, to -enforce my reproof, was warning him that such conduct did not advance -him toward the place from which his brother had been deposed. - -His upper lip always twitches when he is about to launch one of those -bits of craftiness he thinks so profound. The longer I live, the deeper -is my contempt for craft--it so rarely fails to tangle and strangle -itself in its own unwieldy nets. After his lip had twitched awhile, -he looked furtively at Aurora. I looked also, and saw that she was a -partner in his scheme, whatever it was. - -“Well!” said I, impatiently, “what is it? Speak out!” - -“You spoke of the position James lost,” he forced himself to say; -“there wasn’t any such place, was there, Aurora?” - -“No,” she answered; “James was deceiving you right along.” - -“What do you mean?” I demanded. - -Aurora looked nervously at Walter, and he said: “James often used to -talk to us about your plans, and he always said that he wouldn’t let -you make him your principal heir. He said he would disregard your will -and would just divide the money up, giving a third to mother and making -all us children equal heirs with him.” - -It is amazing how the most astute man will overlook the simplest and -plainest dangers. In all my thinking and planning on the subject of -founding a family. I had never once thought of the possibility of my -will being voluntarily broken by its chief beneficiary. - -“What reason did he give?” I asked, for I could conceive no reason -whatsoever. - -Aurora and Walter were silent. Walter looked as if he wished he had not -launched his torpedo at James. - -“What reason, Aurora?” I insisted. - -She flushed and stammered: “He said he--he didn’t want to be hated by -mother and the rest of us. He said we’d have the right to hate him, and -couldn’t help it if he should be low enough to profit by your--your----” - -“My--what?” - -“Your heartlessness.” - -“And do you think my plan was heartless?” I asked. - -“No,” said Aurora, but I saw that she thought “Yes.” - -“You’ve a right to do as you wish with your own,” said Walter. “We know -you’ll do what is for the best interest of us all. Even if you should -leave us nothing, we’d still be in your debt. You owe us nothing, -father. We owe you everything.” - -Although this was simply a statement of a truth which I hold to be -fundamental, it irritated me to hear him say it. I know too well what -havoc self-interest works in the sense of right and wrong, and Walter -would be the first of my children to insult my memory if he were to get -less by a penny than any other of the family. Had I been concerning -myself about what my wife and my children would think of me after I was -gone, I should never have entertained the idea of founding a family. -But men of large view and large wealth and large ambition do not -heed these minor matters. When it comes to human beings, they deal in -generals, not in particulars. - -A fine world we should have if the masters of it consulted the feelings -of those whom destiny compels them to use or to discard. - -I looked at this precious pair of plotters satirically. “Naturally,” -said I, “you never spoke to me of James’s purpose so long as there was -a chance of your profiting by his intended treachery to me.” Then to -Aurora I added: “I understand now why, for several months after James -left, you persisted in begging me to take him back.” - -Aurora burst into tears. As tears irritate me, I left the room. -Thinking over the scandalous exhibition of cupidity which these -children of mine had given, I was almost tempted to tear up my will -and make a new one creating a vast public institution that would bear -my name, and endowing it with the bulk of my wealth. I have often -wondered why an occasional man of great wealth has done this. I now -have no doubt that usually it has been because he was disgusted by the -revolting greediness of his natural heirs. If rich men should generally -adopt this course, I suspect their funerals would have less of the air -of sunshine bursting through black clouds--it’s particularly noticeable -in the carriages immediately behind the hearse. - -Jack Ridley says my sense of humour is like an Apache’s. Perhaps that’s -why the idea of a posthumous joke of this kind tickles me immensely. -Were I not a serious man, with serious purposes in the world, I might -perpetrate it. - -The net result of Walter and Aurora’s effort to advance themselves--I -wonder what Walter promised Aurora that induced her to aid him?--was -that I formed a new plan. I resolved that Walter should marry at once. -As soon as he has a male child I shall make a new will leaving it the -bulk of my estate, and giving Walter only the control of the income for -life--or until the child shall have become a man thirty years old. - -That evening I ordered him to arrange with Natalie for a wedding within -two months. I knew he would see her at the opera, as my wife had -invited her to my box. I intended to ask him in the morning what he and -she had settled upon, but before I had a chance I saw in my paper a -piece of news that put him and her out of my mind for the moment. - -James, so the paper said, was critically ill with pneumonia at his -house in East Sixty-third Street, near Fifth Avenue. He has lived -there ever since he was married, and has kept up a considerable -establishment. I am certain that his wife’s dresses and entertainments -are part of the cause of my wife’s rapid aging. Really, her hatred -of that woman amounts to insanity. It amazes me, used as I am to the -irrational emotions of women. I could understand her being exasperated -by the social success of James and his wife. I confess that it has -exasperated me--almost as much as has his preposterous luck in Wall -Street. But there is undeniably a better explanation than luck for -his and her social success. They say she has beauty and charm, and -her entertainments show originality and talent, while my wife’s are -commonplace and dull, in spite of the money she lavishes. But, in -addition to those reasons, there are many of the upper-class people who -hate me. Mine is a pretty big omelet; there is a lot of eggs in it; -and, with every broken egg, somebody, usually somebody high up, felt -robbed or cheated. - -But I did not trust to my wife’s insane hate for James’s wife to keep -her away from her son in his illness. I went straight to her. “I see -that James is ill, or pretends to be,” I said. “Probably he and his -wife are plotting a reconciliation.” - -My wife has learned to mask her feelings behind a cold, expressionless -face; but she has also learned to obey me. She often threatens, but she -dares not act. I know it--and she knows that I know it. - -“You will not go to him under any circumstances,” I went on--“neither -you nor any of the rest of us. If you disobey, I shall at once -rearrange my domestic finances. Thereafter you will go to Burridge for -money whenever you want to buy so much as a paper of pins.” - -She was white--perhaps with fury, perhaps with dread, perhaps with -both. I said no more, but left her as soon as I saw that she did not -intend to reply. Toward six o’clock that evening I met Walter in the -main hall of the first bedroom floor. He was for hurrying by me, but I -stopped him. I have an instinct which tells me unerringly when to ask a -question. - -“Where are you going?” I asked. - -He shifted from leg to leg; he, like most people, is never quite at -ease in my presence; when he is trying to conceal some specific thing -from me he becomes a victim of a sort of suppressed hysteria. “To the -drawing-room,” he answered. - -“Who’s there?” said I. - -He shivered, then blurted it out: “James’s wife.” - -“Why didn’t you tell me in the first place?” - -He stammered: “I--wished to--to spare you--the----” - -“Bah!” I interrupted. As if I could not read in his face that her -coming had roused his fears of a reconciliation with James! “What are -you going to say to her?” - -“A message from mother,” he muttered. - -“Have you seen your mother, or did you make up the message?” - -“A servant brought mother her card and a note. I didn’t know she was in -the house till mother sent for me and gave me the message to take down.” - -“Will your mother see her?” - -“No, indeed,” he replied, recovered somewhat; “mother won’t have -anything to do with them.” - -“Well, go on and deliver your message,” I said; “I’ll step into the -little reception-room behind the drawing-room. See that you speak loud -enough for me to hear every word.” - -As I entered the reception-room, he entered the drawing-room. “Mother -says,” he said--naturally, his voice was ridiculously loud and -nervous--“that she has no interest in the information you sent her, and -no acquaintance with the person to whom it relates.” - -There was a silence so long that curiosity made me move within range of -one of the long drawing-room mirrors. I saw her and Walter reflected, -facing each other. She was so stationed that I had a plain view of her -whole figure and of her face--the first time I had ever really seen her -face. Her figure was drawn to its full height, and her bosom was rising -and falling rapidly. Her head was thrown back, and upon poor Walter was -beating the most contemptuous expression I ever saw coming from human -eyes. No wonder even his back showed how wilted and weak he was. - -As I watched, she suddenly turned her eyes; her glance met mine in -the mirror. Before I could recover and completely drive the look of -amusement from my face, she had waved Walter aside and was standing in -front of me. “You heard what your son said!” she exclaimed; “what do -_you_ say?” - -I liked her looks, and especially liked her voice. It was clear. It was -magnetic. It was honest. When I wish to separate sheep from goats I -listen to their voices, for voices do not often lie. - -“I refuse to believe that he delivered my note to--to James’s mother.” -There was a break in her voice as she spoke James’s name--it distinctly -made my nerves tingle, unmoved though my mind was. “James is--is--” she -went on, slowly, but not unsteadily--“the doctors say there’s no hope. -And he--your son--sent me, and I am here when--when--but--what do _you_ -say?” - -It is extraordinary what power there is in that woman’s personality. -If Walter hadn’t been there I might have had to lash myself into a -fury and insult her to save myself from being swept away. As it was, I -looked at her steadily, then rang the bell. The servant came. - -“Show this lady out,” I said, and I bowed and went to Walter in the -drawing-room. I can only imagine how she must have felt. Nothing -frenzies a woman--or a man--so wildly as to be sent away from a “scene” -without a single insult given to gloat over or a single insult received -to bite on. - -The morning paper confirmed her statement of James’s condition. In -fact, I didn’t have to wait until then, for toward twelve that night -I heard the boys in the street bellowing an “extra” about him--that -he was dying, and that none of his family had visited him. Those -whose sense of justice is clouded by their feelings will be unable to -understand why I felt no inclination to yield. Indeed, I do not expect -to be understood in this except by those of my class--the men whose -large responsibilities and duties have forced them to put wholly aside -those feelings in which the ordinary run of mankind may indulge without -harm. I don’t deny that I had qualms. I can sympathise now with those -kings and great men who have been forced to order their sons to death. -And I have charged against James the pangs he then caused me. - -In the superficial view it may seem inconsistent that, while I stood -firm, I was shocked by my wife’s insensibility. I had to do my duty, -but she should have found it impossible to do hers. I could not, of -course, rebuke her and Aurora for not transgressing my orders; but all -that night and all the next day I wondered at their hardness, their -unwomanliness. It seemed to me another illustration of the painful side -of wealth and position--their demoralising effect upon women. - -The late afternoon papers announced--truthfully--a favourable change -in James’s condition. In defiance of the doctors’ decree of death, -he had rallied. “It is that wife of his,” I said to myself. “Such a -personality is a match for death itself.” I had a sense of huge relief. -Indeed, it was not until I knew James wasn’t going to die that I -realised how hard a fight my parental instinct had made against duty. - -If I had liked Walter better I should not have been thus weak about -James. - -When I reached home and was about to undress for my bath and evening -change, my daughter Helen knocked and entered. “Well?” said I. - -She stood before me, tall and slim and golden brown--the colour is -chiefly in her hair and lashes and brows, but there is a golden brown -tinge in her skin; as for her eyes, they are more gold than brown, I -think. Her dress reaches to her shoe-tops. With her hands clasped in -front of her, she fixed her large, serious eyes upon me. - -“I went to see James this morning,” she said; then seemed to be -waiting--not in fear, but in courage--for my vengeance to descend. - -I scowled and turned away to hide the satisfaction this gave me. At -least there is one female in my family with a woman’s heart! - -“Who put you up to it?” I demanded, sharply. - -[Illustration: “_‘Not to have told you would have been a lie.’_”] - -“Nobody. I heard the boys calling in the street--and--I went.” - -I turned upon her and looked at her narrowly. “Why do you tell me?” I -asked. - -“Because not to have told you would have been a lie.” - -She said this quite simply. I had never been so astonished before in -my life. “And what of that?” said I--a shameful question under the -circumstances to put to a child; but I was completely off my guard, and -I couldn’t believe there was not an underlying motive of practical gain. - -“I do not care to lie,” she answered, her eyes upon mine. I found her -look hard to withstand--a new experience for me, as I can usually -compel any one’s gaze to shift. - -“You’re a good child,” said I, patting her on the shoulder. “I shall -not punish you this time. You may go.” - -She flushed to the line of her hair, and her eyes blazed. She drew -herself away from my hand and left me staring after her, more -astonished than before. - -A strange person--surely, a personality! She will be troublesome some -day--soon. - -With such beauty and such fine presence she ought to make a magnificent -marriage. - -I was free to take up Walter and Natalie again. After dinner I said to -him, as we sat smoking: “Have you spoken to Natalie? What does she say? -What date did you settle upon?” - -He looked sheepishly from Burridge to Ridley, then appealingly at me. I -laughed at this affectation of delicacy, but I humoured him by sending -them away. “What date?” I repeated. - -He twitched more than usual before he succeeded in saying: “She refuses -to decide just yet.” - -“Why?” I demanded. - -“She says she doesn’t want to settle down so young.” - -“Young!” I exclaimed. “Why, she’s twenty-one--out three seasons. What’s -the matter with you, that you haven’t got her half frightened to death -lest she’ll lose you?” With all he has to offer through being my son -and my principal heir he ought to be able to settle the marriage on his -own terms in every respect--and to keep the whip for ever afterward. - -“I don’t know,” he replied; “she just won’t. I don’t think she cares -much about--about the marriage.” - -This was too feeble and foolish to answer. There isn’t a more sensible, -better-brought-up girl in New York than Natalie. Her mother began -training her in the cradle to look forward to being mistress of a great -fortune. I knew she, and her mother and father too, had fixed on mine -as _the_ fortune as long ago as five years--she was only sixteen when -I myself noted her making eyes at Jim and never losing a chance to -ingratiate herself with me. Her temporising with Walter convinced me -there was something wrong--and I suspected what. I went to see her, and -got her to take a drive with me. - -As my victoria entered the Park I began: “What’s the matter, Natalie? -Why won’t you ‘name the day’? We’re old friends. You can talk to me as -freely as to your own father.” - -“I know it,” she replied; “you’ve always been _so_ good to me--and you -are _so_ kind and generous.” There isn’t a better manner anywhere than -Natalie’s. She has a character as strong and fine as her face. - -“I’m getting old,” I went on, “and I want to see my boy settled. I want -to see you my daughter, ready to take up your duties as head of my -house.” - -“Don’t try to hurry me,” she said, a trace of irritation in her voice. -“I’m only twenty-one. I wish to have a little pleasure before I become -as serious as I’ll have to be when I’m--your daughter.” - -I noticed that she pointedly avoided saying “Walter’s wife.” This -confirmed my suspicion. The habit of judging everything and everybody -calmly and dispassionately has made me see the members of my own family -just as I see outsiders. And I couldn’t blame her for balking at -Walter, exasperating though it was to have her thus impede my plans. - -“Is there anything wrong, Natalie?” I asked, gently. “Speak frankly to -me--perhaps I can smooth it out.” - -“Oh, thank you!” she exclaimed. It’s really delightful to see a person -who can be warmhearted, yet stop short of indiscreet and dangerous -sentimentality. “But,” she went on, “how can I tell _you_?” - -“Is it Walter?” I asked, with a smile that invited confidence and -guaranteed sympathy. - -She was silent. - -“Has he been disagreeable to you?” - -“Oh, no!--he’s kindness itself. But--I don’t know--I simply can’t make -up my mind to marry.” - -She didn’t add “him,” but she let me see that she meant it. I saw the -struggle that had been going on in her mind. She did not like him, to -put it mildly. She longed to give him up. Every time she thought of him -she felt that she must. Every time she thought of me and my fortune, -and the position I would give my son’s wife, she felt that she couldn’t. - -“Have you talked with your mother about this?” I knew what a -clear-headed, far-sighted woman Matt Bradish’s wife was--she’s married -off three children, all splendidly, not to speak of her catching Matt. - -“If she doesn’t stop nagging me she’ll drive me to marry--somebody -else,” said Natalie, her voice trembling with anger. “I’ll kick the -traces, sure as fate.” - -“But I’m sure you don’t care for this somebody else,” I said, -positively. I knew the chap--a painter. I can’t conceive why people of -our sort permit youths of that kind to roam among their marriageable -daughters. Even a sensible, well-trained girl, with all youth’s disdain -of poverty and adoration of wealth, has her foolish moments like the -rest of us. “I’m sure you don’t,” I repeated. - -“But at least I don’t--don’t--_dislike_ him.” - -I was thoroughly alarmed. I saw that she was actually trying to goad -me into anger against her; that she was riding for a fall; wished to -force herself into a position where marriage with Walter would be made -impossible. The poor child hadn’t the heart to refuse the prize which -she lacked the stomach to take; she wished to make me snatch it from -her. But the Bradish connection is far too important to my plans. I -haven’t had my hand on my temper-rein for forty years without being -able to control my feelings--when I wish. Besides, it was Walter that -she practically said she disliked; and I can see how she might--I -certainly shouldn’t love him if it were not my duty to do so. - -“You’ve got your choice, my child,” said I, “of being married for -your money or of marrying into as enviable a position as there is in -New York. I _know_ you’re too sensible to let trifles obscure your -judgment.” - -“I simply _won’t_ be driven!” she retorted. “Why should I bother? I’ve -got a little something in my own right.” - -“Just enough to make you realise the possibilities of wealth,” I -replied--“just enough to spur your ambition.” I began to watch her face -keenly. “And you sha’n’t have to wait for your triumph,” I said, and I -made an impressive pause before I slowly added: “I’m going to settle an -annual income of a quarter of a million on you for life.” - -I saw her face soften. The colour came and went in her delicate skin. - -“I have tested you, Natalie,” I went on. “I know you are the woman -I want as my daughter. It will make me happy to see you outshining -them all, as you will. And I’ll make you absolutely independent of -Walter--of me, even.” - -She was looking at me with glistening eyes. I saw that I had thrilled -her through and through. Profoundly to move a human being, one must -touch his or her deepest passion--his or her particular form of vanity. - -“Won’t you, Natalie?” I pleaded, “won’t you make me happy? Won’t you -let me give you what your beauty and refinement demand?” - -She looked at me sweetly--a look of surrender. - -I knew I had won. Then her eyes were twinkling, and instantly I grasped -the reason. We both burst out laughing. It certainly was amusing--a -father wooing and winning for his son where all his son’s efforts had -made his cause only more hopeless. And throughout, what a quaint -reversal of old-established, generally accepted ideas of love and -marriage! But--“Other times, other customs!” - -[Illustration: “_‘You will marry on the sixteenth of April, at noon. -Get yourself ready.’_”] - -I dropped Natalie at Mrs. Kirkby’s and went back to my study. I rang -the bell and sent the answering servant for Walter. Presently I looked -up from my work--he was standing before me, shifting his eyes from -point to point, his body from leg to leg. - -“You will marry on the sixteenth of April, at noon,” said I. “Get -yourself ready.” - -And I dismissed him with a wave of my hand. - -It would be sheer madness for me to keep my apparent promise, made, in -the heat of my earnestness, merely to save Natalie from her own folly, -and therefore not really binding. To give her a quarter of a million a -year absolutely and for life would be to invite disaster--no, to compel -it. She’d be in the divorce courts ridding herself of Walter within -two years. - -She shall have the substance of my promise--I shall do everything for -her. But she must not have the mere letter, which would injure her, -would tempt her to wreck her life and my plans and the future of her -children. It was wise to promise; it would be wrong to fulfil. No, I -must retain full control, must keep my steadying hand firmly upon her. -And, after all, what did I pledge? - -I was careful to phrase it delicately, for I’m always extremely -particular in my choice and use of words at crucial moments. I was -careful to say, “an annual income of a quarter of a million.” All turns -upon the word “an”--if it were “the,” my phrase would mean something -entirely different. - -I shall settle two hundred and fifty thousand on her on the day they -marry--after the ceremony. I shall protest that a quarter of a million -in all was what I meant--and I certainly did, though I don’t here deny -that I may have meant for her to think I meant a quarter of a million a -year. She will be--not in what you would call a pleasant state of mind. -But what can she do? When she shall have calmed down, she’ll probably -give me the benefit of the doubt, tell herself she misunderstood me, -rail at herself for her folly, and then--behave herself. - -True, she’s shrewd, and her parents, too. They’ll try legally to commit -me _before_ the wedding. But surely I can circumvent them. - -There’s “a way out.” There _always_ is! - - - - -IV - - -It was necessary for me to find, calculating liberally, about -eight million dollars--the four millions definitely promised to my -university, a quarter of a million to redeem my promise to Natalie, -a million properly to set Walter and her going in an independent -establishment, two millions to provide them with the income to -maintain it, and about half a million for my own and my family’s -regular annual expenses. Further, an investment of twelve millions -that had been sending its seven per cent. securely and regularly for -the past nine years was about to fall in through the payment of the -debt it represented--I could write a volume on the harassments and -exasperations of hunting investments. Finally, I was hoping that Aurora -would marry Horton Kirkby, which might mean a million, perhaps several -millions, more, if he should demand a dowry. - -The situation commanded me to plan and carry through some new -enterprise which would afford me a safe investment for my released -twelve millions and in addition would net me enough to cover well the -other demands upon me. Years ago--as soon as I had my first million put -by--I resolved that I would never for any purpose whatsoever subtract -a penny either from the principal or from the income of my fortune. -Gifts of all kinds, expenses of all kinds, outgo of every description, -must come from new sources of revenue; my fortune and its income and -the surplus over the previous year’s outgo must be treated as a sacred -fund of which I was merely the trustee. That rule has put me often -in straits, has forced me to many money-making measures that in the -narrow view would be called relentless. But to it the world owes my -highest achievements, as a financier and industrial leader, and to it I -owe the bulk of my fortune. - -The brain earns in vain, however hugely, if the hands do not hoard; -and, thanks to my rule, my hands have been like those valves which open -only to pressure from without and seal the more tightly the greater the -pressure from within. - -I could not break my rule. Yet I must properly marry my children -and must keep my promise to my university; and to have left twelve -millions of capital idle would have been to show myself unworthy of the -responsibilities of great wealth. I was thus literally driven to one -of those large public services which are so venomously criticised by -the small and the envious. Every action of no matter what kind produces -both good and bad consequences. To wait until one could act without -any unfortunate results to anybody would be to sit motionless, even to -refrain from eating. The most that conscience demands is that one shall -do only those things which in his best judgment will show a balance on -the side of good. - -I had long had my eye on certain mines and appendant manufactories -situated at several points on two of my three lines of railway. They -were doing well enough in a small way; but I knew that, combined under -the direction of such a brain as mine, they would become immensely -more profitable. I now saw no alternative to taking them and making -them as valuable and as useful as they were clearly intended to be. -In preparation for the _coup_ I withdrew from the directory of my -third railway, substituting one of my unrecognised agents, himself a -millionaire in a small way; and I put my stock in the names of others -of my agents and did not deny the report that I had ceased to have any -financial interest in the road. Thus I was in a position to alter its -freight rates without the change being traced to me by those prying -meddlers who are so active in their interference in other people’s -business nowadays. When it was universally believed that I no longer -had any connection with my third road, and that it had passed to a -control hostile to me, I ordered it to give large secret rebates upon -all freight of the kind I wished to affect. - -The result was that the owners of those mines and factories, being -compelled to ship by my two other railways, which stiffly maintained -rates, were no longer able to compete. Their competitors, shipping by -my third line, easily undersold them with the assistance of the secret -rebate. They came in a stew and sweat to my two presidents and said -that secret rebates by the third line were the cause of their impending -ruin. My two presidents agreed with them and opened a fierce war of -words upon my third president--him whom they and every one else thought -hostile to me. He retorted with a sweeping denial of their charges. “It -is nothing new in a world of self-excuse,” said he, “for incompetent -business men to attribute their misfortunes to the wickedness of others -instead of to the real source--their own incapacity and incompetence.” -And so the sham battle raged by mail and newspaper interview. But--the -mine and factory owners I was gunning for got nothing tangible out -of it. Their competitors continued to undersell them; their business -rapidly languished. - -When I saw that they were in a sufficiently humble frame of mind I came -to their relief. I sent word to them that, as I had a warm personal -feeling for the towns dependent upon the prosperity of their works, I -would take a hand in their languishing businesses if they wished and -would do my utmost to maintain the apparently hopeless battle. - -My offer was received with enthusiastic gratitude--as it should have -been; for, while it is true that I had precipitated the crisis which -their antiquated methods of doing business would have inevitably -brought sooner or later, is it not also true that I have the right -to do what I wish with my own? And are not those two railways, and -the third, as well, my own? But for the present rampant spirit of -contemptuous disregard for the rights of private property and the -impudent intrusions into private business it would not have been -necessary for me to disguise myself and act like a housebreaker in -order to exercise my plain rights--yes, and do my plain duty; for can -there be any question in any judicial mind that it is the duty of men -of the commercial and financial genius which I possess to use it to -bring the resources of the country to their highest efficiency? - -After some negotiations I got control of the properties that I needed -and that needed me. I agreed to pay altogether fifteen millions for -a controlling share in them--about half what it would have cost me -before I brought my rebate artillery to bear, but about twice what -control would have cost had I battered away for six months longer. I -might have accomplished my purpose much more cheaply; but I am not -a hard man, and I do not flatter myself when I say that conscience -is the dominant factor in all my operations. I felt that in the -circumstances the owners were entitled to consideration and that to -make my victory complete would be an abuse of power. It is hardly -necessary to add that my generosity had its prudent side, as has all -rational generosity. To have assailed the properties too long in order -to get them cheap would have permanently impaired their value; to have -wiped out the owners utterly would have caused a profound, possibly -dangerous, public resentment against my class, too many members of -which had been guilty of the grave blunder of using their power without -regard to public opinion. But while prudence was a factor in my general -settlement, the main factor was, as I have said, conscience. Not -the narrow conscientiousness of ordinary men, which is three parts -ignorance, two parts cowardice, and five parts envy--for is it not -usually roused only when the acts of others are to be judged? - -When my offer was accepted I organised a combination to take over -the properties, and I paid for them with its guaranteed bonds and -preferred stock. Then I countermanded the order for a heavy secret -rebate against their products and, instead, issued an order for a -small secret rebate in their favour--letting the public think I had by -some secret audacious move regained control of my third railroad. The -combination’s business boomed, its stock went up, and all that it was -necessary for me to sell was eagerly bought. What with the bonds and -the stocks I sold, I had gained control without its having cost me a -penny. It is not vanity, is it, when I call that genius? - -But control is not possession, and these properties are worth -possessing. I must possess them. It is not just that so large a part of -the profits of my labour--of my act of creation--should go to others. - -I have anticipated somewhat. The operation took a considerable time, -but not long in view of the great results. When one has my vast -resources and my peculiar talents, men and events _move_, obstacles -are blown up, roads are thrust swift and straight through the thickest -tangles, and the objective is reached before feeble folk have got -beyond the stage of debate and diplomacy. Still, nearly a year elapsed -between the start and the finish, and many things happened which were -the reverse of satisfactory--most of them, as usual, in my domestic -affairs. - -I had got the enterprise only fairly under way when the invitations -for Walter’s wedding were issued. Natalie’s father had seen me several -times and had shown his determination to intervene in the matter of -her dowry by bringing up the subject at our business conferences -whenever he could force the smallest opening. Like all my associates, -from capitalist to clerk, he is in awe of me. I see to it that in -the velvet glove there shall always be holes through which the iron -hand can be plainly seen. That often saves me the exertion of using -it. An iron hand, once it has an established reputation, is mightier -when merely seen than when felt. He would always begin by some vague, -halting reference to my promised generosity. - -“A royal gift, Galloway!” he would say, enthusiastically. “You -certainly are a king, much more powerful than those European -figureheads.” - -But he never had the courage to speak the exact sum, the “quarter of a -million dollars a year,” that I saw in his hungry, glistening, hopeful, -yet doubtful eyes. And I would not take the hint to discuss the gift -further, but would put him off by showing how completely I was absorbed -in the forming combination. Probably at the time he was letting his -greed blind him into believing I would make as big a fool of myself as -I had rashly promised and so was fearful of irritating me in any way. -Two days before the wedding invitations went out he forced himself on -me for lunch. I saw determination written in his face--determination -to compel me to something definite about that “quarter of a million a -year” for his daughter. So, at the first pause in the conversation, I -played my card. - -“Matt,” said I, “I really must arrange the formalities for that -settlement on _our_ daughter. I’ll have my lawyer--will the latter part -of the week do? He’s up to his eyes in the combination just now.” - -Bradish looked enormously relieved. He could hardly keep from laughing -outright with delight--the miserable old seller of his own children. -“Oh, I wasn’t disturbing myself,” he replied; “your word’s good -enough, though, of course, you’d--we’d--want the thing in legal -shape--before the marriage.” - -“Of course,” said I, waving the matter aside as settled, and beginning -again on the affairs of the combination. I had let him into it on -attractive terms and had put him on my board of directors. He revelled -in these favours as the mere foretaste of his gains from the powerful -commercial alliance he was making through his daughter. - -Out went the invitations--and the first danger point was rounded. - -On the following Sunday night I left suddenly in my private car for an -inspection of the new properties. Every day of nearly two weeks was -full to its last minute. When I returned to New York five days before -the wedding, I was utterly worn out. I went to bed and sent for my -doctor--Hanbury. - -He is one of those highly successful New York physicians who are famed -among the laity for their skill in medicine, and in the profession -for their skill at hocus-pocus. He is a specialist in what I may call -the diseases of the idle rich--boredom, exaggeration of a slight -discomfort into a frightful torture, craving for fussy personal -attentions, abnormal fear of death, etc. He is a professional “funny -man,” a discreet but depraved gossip, and a tireless listener--and is -handsome and well-mannered. He has a soft, firm touch--on pulse and on -purse. The women adore him--when they want to rest, they complain of -nervousness and send for him to prescribe for them. One of his most -successful and lucrative lines of treatment is helping wives to loosen -the purse-strings of husbands by agitating their sympathies and fears. -He never irritates or frightens his clients with unpleasant truths. He -doesn’t tell the men to stop eating and drinking and the women to stop -gadding. He gives them digestion-tablets and nerve-tonics and sends -them on agreeable excursions to Europe. Of all the swarm of parasites -that live upon rich New Yorkers none keeps up a more dignified front -than does Hanbury. I’ve found him useful in social matters, and, as -I’ve paid him liberally, he is greatly in my debt. - -“Hanbury,” I said, from my bed, “I’m a very sick man.” - -“Nonsense--only tired,” replied he. “A good sleep, a few days’ rest----” - -I looked at him steadily. “I tell you I’m desperately ill, and here’s -my son’s wedding only five days away!” - -“You’ll be all right by that time. I’ll guarantee to fix you up, good -as new.” - -I continued to look at him steadily. “No, I sha’n’t--it’s impossible. -And I sha’n’t be able to transact any business whatever. I mustn’t be -allowed to see even the members of my own family. Do you understand?” - -He glanced curiously at me, then reflected, twisting the end of his -Van Dyck beard. He looked at my tongue, listened to my heart, felt my -pulse, and took my temperature. “I’m afraid you’re right,” he said, -gravely; “I see you’re worse off than I thought. We must have a trained -nurse.” - -“But I must have you, too,” said I. “You must move into the house, and -I don’t want anybody but you to attend me.” - -“Very well. You know I’m at your service. I’ll--_superintend_ the -nurse.” - -“Thank you, Hanbury,” said I. “You understand me perfectly. I can trust -you. And--something might happen to me--I’ll write you a check for ten -thousand at once--a little personal matter quite apart from your bill.” - -Hanbury reddened. I think he thought he was hesitating. But when he -spoke it was to say: “Thank you--if you wish--but I’m sure I’ll pull -you through.” - -“I shall be able to see _no one_,” I went on. “But I’ve set my heart on -my son’s marrying--the wedding _must not be put off_. I’m sure it would -kill me if there were to be a delay.” - -“I understand.” His eyes were smiling; the rest of his face was grave. - -“And not a word of the serious nature of my illness must get into -the papers. You will deny any rumour of that kind, should there be -occasion. My stocks must not be affected--and they would be, and the -whole list----” - -“And the prosperity of the country,” said Hanbury. - -This illness of mine, while primarily for smoothly carrying through -Walter’s marriage, was really inspired by an actual physical need. I -had long felt that the machine needed rest. The necessity of preventing -Natalie from making a fool of herself gave me the opportunity to -combine rest with accomplishment. Before shutting myself in I had put -my affairs into such shape that my lieutenants and secretaries could -look after them. I dozed and slept and listened to the nurse or Hanbury -reading, or talked with Hanbury. The nurse had little to do--and I -suspect could do little. What Hanbury did not do was done by my stupid -old Pigott, half crazed with fear lest I should die and he should find -that he was right in suspecting he had not been handsomely remembered -in my will. Hanbury’s manner was so perfect that, had I not felt -robustly well on long sleep, short diet, and no annoyances, I might -have been convinced and badly frightened. My family--Hanbury managed to -keep them from thinking it necessary to try to impress me with their -affection for me by pretending wild alarm. He had most difficulty with -poor little Helen--not so very little any more, though I think of her -as a baby still. It’s astonishing how unspoiled she is--another proof -of her unusuality. - -On the third day Hanbury said: “Your wife tells me she must see you, -and that, if she doesn’t, the wedding will surely be postponed.” - -“It’s impossible to admit her--when I’m just entering the crisis,” -replied I. “Tell her--you know how to do it--that, if Bradish acts up, -she shall as a last resort go to Burridge, who will let him see my -will. And can’t you call--don’t you think you had better call--some -one--say Doctor Lowndes--in consultation?” - -He reflected for several minutes. “I’ll call Lowndes,” he said. “You -couldn’t possibly have picked out a better man.” And he looked at me -with the admiration I deserved. - -“Let Bradish know you’ve done it,” I added. - -“Certainly,” he replied, in a tone which assured me he knew what to do -at the right time. - -Lowndes came--and went. A quarter of an hour before he came Hanbury -gave me a dose of some strong-smelling, yellow-black medicine. The -blood bounded through my arteries and throbbed with fierce violence in -my veins; I sank into a sort of stupor. I dimly realised that another -man was in the room with Hanbury and was making a hasty examination -of me. It must have been an amusing farce. Lowndes indorsed Hanbury, -and--yesterday I paid Lowndes’s bill for twelve hundred dollars. - -I fell asleep while he was still solemnly studying Hanbury’s -temperature chart. When I awoke the latter was reading by the shaded -electric light on the night-stand. I felt somewhat dazed and tired, but -otherwise extremely comfortable. - -“What news?” I asked. - -“Your wife says the wedding is to go on--a quiet ceremony at Mr. -Bradish’s house. I fear I gave him the impression that, while there was -no immediate danger, you would----” - -“Hardly pull through?” - -“I fear so.” - -That amused me. “Did he see my will?” I asked. - -“I believe he did. I think that was what decided him.” - -And well it might, for not only had he read that I had willed -three-fourths of my entire estate to my son Walter, but also he had -read a schedule of my chief holdings which I had folded in with the -will in anticipation of this very contingency. It must have amazed -him--it must have stirred every atom in his avaricious old body--to -see how much richer I am than is generally supposed. No, it would have -been impossible for him to take any chances on losing my principal -heir for his daughter after that will and that schedule had burned -themselves into his brain. - -I’ve not the slightest doubt that he knew his daughter would never get -the dowry she was dreaming of, for he is a sensible, practical man. -If I did not know how glibly young people talk and think of huge sums -of money nowadays I’d not believe Natalie herself silly enough ever -seriously to imagine me giving her outright the enormous sum necessary -to produce a quarter of a million a year. - -Hanbury urged that Walter and his bride go down to the country near -town, assuring them he could give them several hours’ warning of a -turn for the worse. The change in the wedding plans had started a -report that I was dangerously ill. As the best possible denial of this -stock-depressing rumour they yielded to Hanbury’s representations. - -I ordered Hanbury to give it out that I was much better, as soon as -I heard that the marriage ceremony had been performed, and I began -to mend so rapidly that he, in alarm for his reputation, begged me -to restrain myself. “I want people to say I worked a cure,” he said, -“not to say I worked a miracle--and then wink.” In two weeks I was far -enough advanced for Walter and Natalie to sail on the trip which my -illness had delayed. - -I was now free to give my entire attention to my down-town affairs. -My long rest had made me young again and had given me fresh points of -view upon nearly every department of my activity. Also I found that -my success with my big combination and my stupendous public gift had -enormously increased my reputation. Half one’s power comes from within -himself, the other half from the belief of other people in him. My star -was approaching the zenith, and I saw it. I always work incessantly, -regardless of the position of my star--no man who accomplishes great -things ever takes his mind off his work. - -Not that I am one of those who disbelieve in luck. Luck is the tide. -When it is with me, I reach port--if I row hard and steer straight. -When it is against me, I must still row hard and steer straight to keep -off the rocks and be ready for the turn. - -At my suggestion, my down-town confidential man intimated to a few of -the principal men in the towns dependent on my mines and factories -that it would be gracious and fitting to show in some public way their -appreciation of what I had done. Usually these demonstrations are -extremely perfunctory, betraying on the surface that they are got up -either by the man honoured or out of a reluctant sense of decency and a -lively sense of the right way to get more favours. But in this instance -the suggestion met with a spontaneous and universal response. All that -my agents had to do in the matter was to organise the enthusiasm and -relieve the entertainment committee of the heavier expenses--such as -railway transportation, catering, music, and carriages. The people did -the rest. - -They regarded me as their saviour--and so I was. Could I not have -destroyed them had I willed it? Was I not inaugurating for them a -prosperity such as the former small-fry owners of those properties had -neither the genius nor the resources to create? - -The trouble with those who criticise the morality of the actions of men -like me is that they are trying to study astronomy with a microscope. - -Jack Ridley and I fell into an argument along these lines one evening -after dinner, and the only answer he could make to me was, “Then a -murderer, on the same principle, could say: ‘I’m killing this man -so that his family, to whom he’s really of no use, may get his life -insurance and live comfortably and happily. I’m not doing it because -I want what he has in his pockets--though I’ll take it partially to -repay me for risking my neck.’” I couldn’t help smiling--he put it so -plausibly. I should have reasoned precisely like that twenty years ago. -But my mind and my conscience have grown since then. I no longer look -out upon life through the twisted glass of the windows of the House of -Have-not; I see it through the clear French-plate of the House of Have. - -When the programme for my testimonial was perfected, a joint delegation -from the city governments, the chambers of commerce, and the ministers’ -associations of the five towns waited upon me to invite me to a grand -joint reception and banquet to be held in the largest town. They -invited my wife, also, but I did not permit her to accept. In the first -place, she had done nothing to entitle her to divide the honour with -me; and, in the second place, she would have had her head even more -utterly turned than it now is. On the appointed day I went up in my -private car, taking Burridge and Jack Ridley with me. I had outlined to -Ridley what I wished to say, and he had expanded it into the necessary -three speeches. In the main he caught the spirit of my ideas very -cleverly. The only editing I had to do was in striking out a lot of -self-deprecatory rubbish which would have made me minimise my part in -the new era for the towns. A man is a fool who assists his enemies to -rob him of what is justly his. How could I expect any one to have a -proper respect for me if I did not show that I have a proper respect -for myself? - -Where this so-called modesty is genuine it is a dangerous weakness; -where it is false, it is hypocritical cowardice. - -As the train carrying my car drew into the station I stared amazed, -much to the delight of the reception committee, which had joined me at -the station below. Before me I saw ten or twelve thousand people. The -schoolgirls, each dressed in white and carrying flowers, occupied the -front space--there must have been a thousand of them. - -“Wonderful! Wonderful!” I exclaimed. - -“There hasn’t been such an outpouring of the people,” said a gentleman -who stood near me, “since Mr. Blaine passed through here when he was a -candidate for the presidency.” - -I noted that several of the committee grew red and frowned at him. -Afterward Ridley told me why--the Blaine demonstration had led them -to expect that he would carry the county by an overwhelming majority; -instead, he had lost it by a “landslide” vote against him. - -When the train stopped, a battery of artillery began to fire a salute -of one hundred guns. Several bands struck up, the children sang “The -Star-Spangled Banner,” and the crowd burst into frenzies of cheering. -I was overcome with emotion and the tears streamed down my cheeks. At -that the cheering was more tremendous and I saw many of the women and -little girls crying. - -I entered the carriage drawn by six horses, the mayor of the town -beside me, and the march to the Court House began. I had given my -workingmen a holiday and my excursion trains had poured the people -of the four other towns into this fifth town, about quadrupling its -population for the day. The streets were therefore thronged from the -house-walls to the edges of a lane just wide enough for the procession. -The houses were draped with bunting; arches of evergreens and bunting, -each bearing my name and words of welcome, spanned the route of march -at frequent intervals. I stood all the way, my hat in hand. As I bowed, -the cheers answered me. The bells in all the towers and steeples rang, -cannon boomed, and the procession, in five divisions, each with a band -and militia, wound in my wake. My heart swelled with triumph and with -grateful appreciation. I fully realised myself for the first time in my -life. - -As I have said, I always did have a self-respecting opinion of -myself, even when an over-nice and inexperienced conscience was -annoying me with its hair-splittings. As I have grown older, and have -seen the inferiority of other men and the superiority of my own mind -and judgment, naturally my early opinion has been strengthened and -deepened. But on that day I realised how my own sight of myself had -been obscured by a too close view. My domestic exasperations, the -necessary disagreeableness and pettiness of so many of the details of -my great projects, the triviality of my routine of business and its -harassments--all these had combined to make me belittle my own stature -and bulk. On that day I saw myself as others see me. I felt a great -uplifting, a supreme disdain for those who oppose me or cavil at me, a -high and firm resolve to devote myself thereafter more confidently and -more boldly to my plans. - -But--the more splendid the crown, the more splitting the headache. - -At the banquet in the evening I observed that the enthusiasm of the -daytime was not being sustained. I was amazed and irritated by the -large number of vacant places at the tables, when my agents had been -instructed judiciously and quietly to distribute free tickets should -there not be a sufficient number of persons able to pay the five -dollars a plate we were charging for a nine-dollar dinner. I was -puzzled by the nervous uneasiness of those who sat with me at the -table of honour and who had been all geniality a few hours before. -The speeches seemed to me halting and inadequate--my own speech, -well calculated to rouse local pride, was received with a faint -hand-clapping which soon died away. After the dinner I, Burridge, and -Ridley drove alone to the station. It was filled with weary throngs -taking the returning excursion trains. They did not cheer me; they only -stared curiously. - -When we were on our way back to New York I wished to discuss the -triumph with my two companions, but Burridge was dumb and Ridley -morose. In the morning I called for the New York dailies; they were -haltingly produced. Imagine my amazement when I saw, in many kinds -of type, now jubilant, now regretful, now apologetic headlines, all -agreeing that my reception was a _fiasco_. Only my stanch ---- printed -the truth, and it laid entirely too much stress upon the “act of -malicious and mendacious demagoguery.” That act was: Some enemy of -mine had discovered inside facts as to my manipulation of freight -rates to get control of the mines and factories, and, late in the -afternoon, in the interval between the reception and the banquet, a -New York newspaper containing what purported to be a full account of -my machinations had been hawked about the streets, and was read by -everybody--except me. - -I do not here deny that the basic facts were practically true as -printed. But the worst possible colour was given to them, and the worst -possible motives of rapacity and conscienceless cruelty were ascribed -to me. Instead of showing that I was like a general who sacrifices a -comparative few in order that he may save millions and advance a great -cause, the wretched rag held me up as a swindler and robber--worse, as -an assassin! - -I understood all, and sympathised with my hosts, the people of those -five towns, in their embarrassment. As their local newspapers, which -I got the next day, assured me, they did not believe the slanderous -story. But I can readily see how nervous it must have made them. It is -fortunate for them that they had the good sense to discern the truth. -Had I been insulted, I should have taken a terrible revenge, even -though it had cost me several hundred thousand dollars. - -While I was reading those New York papers, Jack Ridley was smoking a -cigar at the opposite side of the breakfast-table. When I had finished, -I spoke. “Did you see that newspaper yesterday?” I demanded, my rage -hardly able to wait upon his answer before bursting. - -Ridley nodded. - -“And Burridge?” - -“Yes--he saw it.” - -“Why didn’t you tell me?” - -“Bad news will always keep.” - -I shouted for Burridge, and, when he came, ordered him into a seat. -“At every step in my career I’ve been harassed and hampered by petty -minds,” I said--“not among my enemies, for there they have been a help, -but among my employees and servants of every kind. How often have I -told both of you never to think for me? I don’t pay you to _think_--I -pay you to _do_ what _I_ think. Had you told me I could have met this -slander when and where it showed itself and would have choked it to -death. As it is, everybody except you two believes I knew and was -silent. Fortunately my reputation is strong enough to compel them to -put a decent interpretation on my silence. But no thanks to you! I -discharge you both.” - -Burridge rose and went to the other part of the car--and I did not -see him again. Ridley fell to whimpering and crying, and for old -friendship’s sake, and because the poor devil is useful in his way, I -took him back at two-thirds his former pay. His gratitude was really -touching--sometimes I think he’s honestly fond of me, though no doubt -the wages and what he has free enter into it. He’s one of those fellows -who actually enjoy licking the hand they fear. Burridge did not try -to get himself reinstated. Probably he thought himself indispensable -and held aloof in the belief that I would beg him to come back. But -I was on the whole glad to get rid of him. He was too much of an -alleged gentleman for the work he had to do. There’s room for only one -gentleman in my establishment. - -Into his place I put a young chap named Cress who had been near me -at the office for several years and had shown loyalty, energy, and -discretion. He was not at his new work a week before my wife came to -me in a hot temper and demanded that he be dismissed. “He has insulted -me!” she said, her head rearing and her nose in the air. - -“How?” I asked; “I can’t discharge a faithful servant on a mere -caprice.” - -“He has dared to question my accounts,” she replied, in her grandest -manner. - -This was interesting! “But that’s his business,” said I; “that’s what I -pay him for.” - -“To insult your wife?” - -“To guard my money.” - -“Mr. Burridge never found it necessary to insult me in guarding your -money. He ventured to assume that as your wife I was to be respected, -and----” - -“Burridge had no right to assume any such thing,” I said. “He was -nothing but my machine--my cash-register. I instructed him, again and -again, to assume that everybody was dishonest. A ridiculous mess I -should make of my affairs if I did not keep a most rigid system of -checks upon everybody. You must remember, my dear, that I am beset by -hungry fellows, many of them clever and courageous, waiting for me to -relax my vigilance so that they can swoop on my fortune. I’m moving -through a swarm of parasites who prey upon my prey or upon me, and the -larger I become the larger the swarm and the more dangerous. I must -have eyes everywhere. You should be reasonable.” - -She gave me a curious look. “And you’re so sublimely unconscious of -yourself!” she said. “That is why you are so terrible. But it saves you -from being repulsive.” I was instantly on the alert. Flattery tickles -me--and tickling wakes me. “Can’t you see, you great monster of a man,” -she went on, “that you mustn’t treat your wife and children as if they -were parasites?” - -“They must keep their accounts with my fortune straight,” said I. - -To that point I held while she cajoled, stormed, denounced, -threatened, wept. The longer she worked upon me the more set I became, -for the more firmly I was convinced that there had been some sort of -chicanery at which that weak fool Burridge had winked. She was greatly -agitated--and not with anger--when she left me, though she tried to -conceal it. I sent for Cress and ordered him to hunt out Burridge’s -accounts and vouchers for the past fifteen years, or ever since I put -my domestic finances on the sound basis of business. I told him to take -everything to an expert accountant. - -After two days’ search he reported to me that he could find accounts -for only nine years back and vouchers for only the last three years. -The rest had been lost or deliberately destroyed--contrary to my -emphatic orders. One of the curses of large affairs with limited time -and imbecile agents is the vast number of ragged ends hanging out. I -never take up any part of my business after having disregarded it for -a while without finding it ravelled and ravelling. A week later I had -the accountant’s report, reviewed by Cress. I read it with amazement. -I sent at once for my wife. I ordered Cress out of the room as soon as -she entered, for I wished to spare her all unnecessary humiliation. - -“Madam,” said I, without the slightest heat, “you will kindly make over -to me all my money and property which you have got by juggling your -accounts. It’s about half a million, I think--Cress and I may presently -discover that it is more. But, whatever it is, it must all be made -over.” - -“I have nothing that belongs to you,” she replied, as calm as I, and -facing me steadily. - -“We won’t quibble,” said I, determined to keep my temper. “All you -have must be made over. I give you until--day after to-morrow morning.” - -“I shall answer then as I answer now,” she said--and I saw that she -felt cornered and would fight to the last. - -“I’ve often heard,” I went on, “that some wives take advantage of their -husbands’ carelessness and confidence to--to--I shall not use the -proper word--I shall say to _reserve_ from the household and personal -allowances by over-charges, by conspiring with tradespeople of all -kinds, by making out false bills, by substitution of jewels----” - -“That is true enough,” she interrupted. “Women who thought they were -marrying men and find they are married to monsters sometimes do imitate -their husbands’ methods in a small, feeble way, and for self-defence -and for the defence of their children, and I’m one of those women. I’m -ashamed of it--you’ve not hardened me beyond shame yet. But in another -sense I’m not ashamed of it--I’m----” - -“We won’t quarrel,” said I; “I’m not the keeper of your conscience. All -I say is--disgorge!” - -“I’ve nothing that belongs to you,” she repeated. - -“Then you deny that you have sto--” I began. - -“I deny nothing. I have learned much from you since you ceased to be a -man, but I’ve not yet learned how to educate my conscience into being -my pander.” - -I smiled and pointed significantly at the cooked accounts. “Yes--here’s -the evidence how sensitive your conscience is and how it must trouble -you!” I couldn’t resist saying this. It was a mistake, as retorts -always are--for it was the spark that touched off her temper. - -“My conscience does trouble me!” she blazed out--“troubles me because -I have remained in this house all these years. I have permitted myself -and my children to become corrupted. I have been content with merely -trying to provide against your going mad with vanity and greediness, -and turning against your own children. I am guilty--though I stayed -first through weakness and love of you--guilty because afterward it -was weakness and love of what your wealth bought that kept me. But I -thought it was my duty to my children. I should have gone and taken -them with me. I should have gone the day I learned you had stolen -Judson’s----” - -In my fury I almost struck her. The very mention of Judson’s name makes -me irresponsible. But she did not flinch. “Yes,” she went on, “and if -you persist in your demand, if you don’t call off that miserable spy of -yours, I tell you, James Galloway, I’ll walk out of your house publicly -and never set foot in it again!” - -“After you have disgorged,” said I, getting and keeping myself well in -hand. - -“I shall go,” she continued, “and what will become of your social -ambitions, of your pet scheme to marry Aurora to Horton Kirkby, of -your public reputation? If I go, the whole country shall ring with the -scandal of it.” - -I hadn’t thought of that! I saw instantly that she had me. With a -scandal of that kind public, it would be impossible to marry Aurora -into one of the oldest and proudest and richest families in New York. I -knew just how it would impress old Mrs. Kirkby, who, if her notion of -her social position were correct, would find all New York on its knees -as she took the air in her victoria. Then there was Natalie--it would -surely stir her up to do something disagreeable when she learns that -she isn’t going to get the quarter of a million a year she’s dreaming -of. - -I studied my wife carefully as she stood facing me, and afterward, -while we went on with our talk, and saw that she meant just what she -said, I pretended to believe her statement that she hadn’t more than -a small part of her “commissions” left--indeed, it may be so. With -this pretence as a basis, I let her off from disgorging. “But,” said -I, “hereafter Cress manages the household--_all_ the accounts--I can’t -trust you.” - -“As you will,” she replied, affecting indifference. Probably she was so -relieved by my consenting to drop the past that she was glad to concede -the future. - -If women were as large as they are crafty, it would be the men who -would stay at home and mind the babies. As it is they can only irritate -and hamper the men. It is fortunate for me that women have never had -influence over me. I’d not be where I am if I had taken them seriously. - -Soon after this shocking discovery there happened what was, in some -respects, the most unpleasant incident of my life. - -One afternoon, as the heating apparatus in my sitting-room was out of -order, I went down to the library and was lying on the lounge thinking -out some of the day’s business complications. I was presently disturbed -by the sound of excited voices--my wife’s and my daughter Helen’s. The -noise came from the small reception-room adjoining the library. It -is very annoying to hear voices, especially agitated voices, and not -to be able to distinguish the words. I rose and went quietly to the -connecting door and listened. - -“I won’t have it, Helen!” my wife was saying. “You know that is the -most exclusive dancing class in New York.” - -“I don’t care; I shall never go again--_never_!” The child’s voice was -as resolute as it was angry. - -“Helen, you must not speak in that way to your mother!” replied my -wife. “Unless you give a good reason, you must go--and there can’t be -any reason.” - -“Don’t ask me, mother!” she pleaded. - -“You must tell me why. I insist.” - -There was a long silence, then Helen said: “I can’t tell you any more -than that some of the girls--insult me.” - -“What _do_ you mean?” exclaimed my wife. - -“Several of them turn their backs on me, and won’t speak to me, and -look at me--_oh_!” That exclamation came in a burst of fury. “And they -sneer at me to the boys--and some of them won’t speak to me, either.” - -There was another silence. Then my wife said: “You must expect that, -Helen. So many are envious of your father’s--of his wealth, that they -try to take their spite out upon us. But you must have pride. The way -to deal with such a situation is to face it--to----” - -All the blame upon _me_! I could not endure it. I put the door very -softly and very slightly ajar and returned to the lounge. From there -I called out: “Don’t forget the other reason, madam, while you’re -teaching your child to respect her parents.” Then I rose and went into -the reception-room. - -Helen was white as a sheet. My wife was smiling a little--satirically. -“Eavesdropping?” she said--apparently not in the least disturbed at my -having heard her insidious attack upon me. - -“I could not help overhearing your quarrel,” I replied, “and I felt it -was time for me to speak. No doubt your lack of skill in social matters -is the chief cause of this outrage upon Helen. Of what use is it for -me to toil and struggle when you cannot take advantage of what my -achievement ought to make so easy for you?” - -“Father--” interrupted Helen. - -“Your mother is right,” I said, turning to her. “You must go to the -class. In a short time all these unpleasant incidents will be over. If -any of those children persist, you will give me their names. I think I -know how to bring their fathers to terms, if your mother is unable to -cope with their mothers.” - -“Father,” Helen repeated, “it wasn’t on _her_ account that -they--they----” - -This exasperated me afresh. “Your mother has trained you well, I see,” -said I. “Now--I tell you that what you say is----” - -She started to her feet, her eyes flashing, her breath coming fast. -“I’ll tell you why I came home to-day and said I’d never go there -again. I was talking to Herbert Merivale at the dance, this afternoon, -and his sister Nell and Lottie Stuyvesant were sitting near, and Lottie -said, loud, so that Herbert and I would hear: ‘I don’t see why your -brother talks to her. None of the very nice boys and girls will have -anything to do with her, you know. How can we when she’s--she’s----’” - -Helen stopped, her face flushed, and her head dropped. My wife said: -“Go on, Helen; what was it?” - -“‘When she’s the--the--daughter of a--_thief_!’” - -I was so overwhelmed that I fairly staggered into a chair. Helen -darted to me and knelt beside me. “And I _won’t_ go there again! I -didn’t show her that I was cut. I didn’t feel cut. I only felt what -a great, noble father I have, and how low and contemptible all those -girls and boys and their parents are. I stayed until nearly the last. -But I’ll never go again. You won’t ask me to, will you, father?” - -I patted her on the shoulder. It was impossible for me to answer her. -Whether through fear of me or to gain her point with her child, my wife -concealed the triumph she must have felt, and said: “The more reason -for going, Helen. Where is your pride? If you should stay away, they -would say it was because you were ashamed----” - -“But that isn’t the reason,” interrupted Helen. “And I don’t care what -_they_ think!” she added, scornfully. - -I have never been in such a rage as possessed me at that moment. I felt -an insane impulse to rush out and strangle and torture those envious -wretches who were seeking to revenge themselves for having been worsted -in the encounter with me down-town by humiliating my children. But -the matter of Helen’s holding the social advantage we had gained when -we got the Merivales to put her in that class was too important to be -neglected for a burst of impotent fury. I joined with her mother, and -finally we brought her round to see that she must keep on at the class -and must make a fight to overthrow the _clique_ of traducers of her -father. When she saw it her enthusiasm was roused, and--well, she can’t -fail to win with her cleverness and good looks, and with me to back her -up. - -What that miserable girl said in her hearing, and her expression as she -repeated it, comes back to me again and again, and, somehow, I feel as -if old Judson were getting revenge upon me. First James--and now Helen! -But James believed it, while Helen, splendid girl that she is, knew at -once that it was untrue. At least, I think so. - -What an ugly word “thief” is! And how ugly it sounds from the lips -of my child--even when there is no real justification for it! I know -that all who come in contact with me, whether socially or in business, -envy and hate me. It seems to me now that I know the thought in their -spiteful brains--know the word that trembles on their lips but dares -not come out. - -Yesterday I turned upon my wife when we were alone for a moment. I have -felt that she has been gloating over me ever since that afternoon. - -“Well,” I said, angrily--for I have been extremely irritable through -sleeplessness of late, “why don’t you say it, instead of keeping this -cowardly silence? Why don’t you taunt me?” - -She showed what she’d been thinking by understanding me instantly. -“Taunt you!” she said; “I’m trying to forget it--I’ve been trying to -forget it all these years. That’s why I’m an old woman long before my -time.” - -Her look was a very good imitation of tragedy. I felt unable to answer -her and so begin a quarrel that might have relieved my mind. The best -I was able to do was to say, sarcastically: “So that’s the reason, is -it? I had noted the fact, but was attributing it to your anxiety about -falsifying your accounts.” - -I hurried away before she had a chance to reply. - - - - -V - - -A curious kind of cowardice has been growing on me of late. Whenever I -feel the slightest pain or ache--a twinge I’d not have given a second -thought to a year or so ago--I send post-haste for my doctor, the -ridiculous, lying, flattering Hanbury. My intelligence forbids me to -put the least confidence in him. I know he’d no more tell me or any -other rich man a disagreeable truth than he’d tell one of his rich -old women that she was past the age of pleasing men. Yet I send for -Hanbury; and I swallow his lies about my health, and urge him on to -feed me lies about my youthful appearance that are even more absurd. -I’m thinking of employing him exclusively and keeping him by me--for -companionship. Cress is worse than worthless except for business, Jack -is getting stale and repetitive with age, and I badly need some one to -amuse me, to take my mind off myself and my affairs and my family. - -At this moment I happen to be in my mood for mocking my fears and -follies about the end. The End!--I’m not afraid of what comes after. -All the horror I’m capable of feeling goes into the thought of giving -up my crown and my sceptre, my millions and my dominion over men and -affairs. The afterward? I’ve never had either the time or the mind for -the speculative and the intangible--at least not since I passed the -sentimental period of youth. - -Each day my power grows--and my love of power and my impatience of -opposition. It seems to me sacrilege for any one to dare oppose me -when I have so completely vindicated my right to lead and to rule. -I understand those tyrants of history who used to be abhorrent to -me--much could be said in defence of them. Once the power I now wield -would have seemed tremendous. And it is tremendous. But I am so often -galled by its limitations, more often still by the absurd obstacles -that delay and fret me. - -Early last month I found that down at Washington they were about to -pass a law “regulating” railway rates, which means, of course, lowering -them and cutting my dividends and disarranging my plans in general. I -telephoned Senator ----, whom we keep down there to see that that sort -of demagoguery is held in check, to come to me in New York at once. He -appeared at my house the same evening, full of excuses and apologies. -“The public clamour is so great,” said he, “and the arguments of the -opposition are so plausible, that we simply have to do something. This -bill is the least possible.” - -I rarely argue with understrappers. I merely told him to go to my -lawyer’s house, get the bill I had ordered drawn, take it back to -Washington on the midnight train, and put it through. “You old women -down there,” said I, “seem incapable of learning that the mob isn’t -appeased, but is made hungrier, by getting what it wants. Humbug’s the -only dish for it. Fill it full of humbug and it gets indigestion and -wishes it had never asked for anything.” - -My substitute was apparently more drastic than the other bill, but I -had ordered into it a clause that would send it into the courts where -we could keep it shuffling back and forth for years. To throw the -demagogues off the scent, Senator ---- had it introduced by one of -the leaders of the opposition--as clever a dealer in humbug as ever -took command of a mob in order to set it brawling with itself at the -critical moment. Our fellows pretended to yield with great reluctance -to this “sweeping and dangerous measure,” and it went through both -houses with a whirl. - -The President was about to sign it when up started that scoundrel ----, -who owes his fortune to me and who got his place on the recommendation -of several of us who thought him a safe, loyal, honourable man. The -rascal pointed out the saving clause in my bill and made such a stir in -the newspapers that our scheme was apparently ruined. - -I quietly took a regular express for Washington, keeping close to my -drawing-room. By roundabout orders from me a telegram had been sent to -a signal tower in the outskirts of Washington, and it halted the train. -In the darkness I slipped away, hailed a cab, and drove to ----’s -house. He was taken completely by surprise--I suppose he thought I’d be -afraid to come near him, or to try to reach him in any way with those -nosing newspapers watching every move. The only excuse he could make -for himself was a whine about “conscience.” - -“I am taking the retaining fee of the people,” said he; “I must serve -their interests just as I served you when I took your retainers.” This -was his plea at the end of a two hours’ talk in which I had exhausted -argument and inducement. I felt that gentleness and diplomacy were in -vain. I released my temper--temper with me is not waste steam, but -powder to be saved until it can be exploded to some purpose. - -“We put you in office, sir,” I replied, “and we will put you out. You -owe your honours to us, not to this mob you’re pandering to now in the -hope of getting something or other. We’ll punish you for your treachery -if you persist in it. We’ll drop you back into obscurity, and you’ll -see how soon your ‘people’ will forget you.” - -He paled and quivered under the lash. “If the people were not so sane -and patient,” said he, “they’d act like another Samson. They’d pull the -palace down upon themselves for the pleasure of seeing you banqueting -Philistines get your deserts.” - -“Don’t inflict a stump speech on me,” said I, going to the door--it -just occurred to me that he might publicly eject me from his house and -so make himself too strong to be dislodged immediately. “Within six -months you’ll be out of office--unless you come to your senses.” - -So I left him. A greater fool I never knew. I can understand the -out-in-the-cold fellow snapping his fangs; but for the life of me -I can’t understand a man with even a job as waiter or crumb-scraper -at the banquet doing anything to get himself into trouble. He proved -not merely a fool, but a weak fool as well; for, after a few days -of thinking it over, he switched round, withdrew his objection, and -explained it away--and so my bill was signed. But we are done with him. -A man may be completely cured of an attack of insanity, but who would -ever give him a position of trust afterward? Not I, for one. Too many -men who have never gone crazy are waiting, eager to serve us. - -Still, looking back over the incident, I am not satisfied with myself. -I won, but I played badly. I must be careful--I am becoming too -arrogant. If he had been a little stronger and cleverer, he would -have had me thrown out of his house, and I don’t care to think what -a position that would have put me in, not only then, but also for -the future. As long as I was engaged in hand-to-hand battle and had -personally to take what I got, it was well to have an outward bearing -that frightened the timid and made the easy-going anxious to conciliate -me. But, now that I employ others to retrieve the game I bring down, it -is wiser that I show courtesy and consideration. I get better service; -I cause less criticism. Enemies are indispensable to a rising man--they -put him on his mettle and make people look on him as important. But to -a risen man they are either valueless or a hindrance, and, at critical -moments, a danger. - -It is one of the large ironies of life that when one has with infinite -effort gained power, one dares not indulge in the great pleasure of -openly exercising it, for fear of losing it. Not even I can eat my cake -and have it. Sometimes success seems to me to mean rising to a height -where one can more clearly see the things one cannot have. - -And now luck, plus strong rowing and right steering, swept me on to -another success--this time a brilliant marriage. The element of luck -was particularly large in this instance, as in any matter where one of -the factors is feminine. Every wise planner reduces the human element -in his projects to the minimum, because human nature is as uncertain as -chance itself. But while one can always rely, to a certain extent, upon -the human element where it is masculine, where it is feminine there’s -absolutely no more foundation than in a quicksand. The women not only -unsettle the men, but they also unsettle themselves; and, acting always -upon impulse, they are as likely as not to fly straight in the face of -what is best for them. Women are incapable of cooperation. The only -business they understand or take a genuine interest in is the capture -of men--a business which each woman must pursue independently and alone. - -Fortunately, Aurora, like most of the young women of our upper class, -had been thoroughly trained in correct ideas of self-interest. - -She was born in the purple. When she came into the world I had been a -millionaire several years, and my wife and I had changed our point of -view on life from that of the lower middle class in which we were bred -(though we didn’t know it at the time, and thought ourselves “as good -as anybody”), to that of the upper class, to which my genius forced our -admission. Aurora was our first child to have a French nurse, the first -to have teachers at home--a French governess and a German one. - -James had gone to the public school and then to Phillips Exeter; -Walter had gone to public school a little while, and then to ----, -where he was prepared for Harvard, not in a mixed and somewhat motley -crowd, as James was, but in a company made up exclusively of youths -of his own class, the sons of those who are aristocratic by birth or -by achievement. Aurora was even more exclusively educated. She--with -difficulty, as we were still new to our position--was got into a small -class of aristocratic children that met at the house of the parents -of two of them. Each day she went there in one of our carriages with -her French nursery governess, promoted to be her companion; and, when -the class was over for the day, the companion called for her in the -carriage and took her home. - -All Aurora’s young friends were girls like herself, bred in the -strictest ideas of the responsibilities of their station, and intent -upon making a social success, and, of course, a successful marriage. -At the time, my wife, who had not then been completely turned by the -adulation my wealth had brought her, used to express to me her doubts -whether these children were not too sordid. I was half inclined to -agree with her, for it isn’t pleasant to hear mere babies talk of -nothing but dresses and jewels, palaces and liveries and carriages, -good “catches,” and social position. But I see now that there is -no choice between that sort of education and sheer sentimentalism. -It is far better that children who are to inherit millions and -the responsibilities of high station should be over-sordid than -over-sentimental. Sordidness will never lead them into the ruinous -mischief of prodigality and bad marriages; sentimentalism is almost -certain to do so. - -My wife was extremely careful, as the mothers of our class must be, to -scan the young men who were permitted to talk with Aurora. Only the -eligible had the opportunity to get well acquainted with her--indeed, I -believe Horton Kirkby was the first man she really knew well. - -It was a surprise to me when Kirkby began to show a preference for her. -His mother is one of the leaders of that inner circle of fashionable -society which still barred the doors haughtily against us, though -it admitted many who were glad to be our friends--perhaps I should -say _my_ friends. Kirkby himself keenly delighted in the power which -his combination of vast wealth, old family, and impregnable social -position gave him. Every one supposed he would marry in his own set. -But Aurora got a chance at him, and--well, Aurora inherits something -of my magnetism and luck. Kirkby’s coldness to me at the outset and -his mother’s deliberately snubbing us again and again make me think -his intentions were not then serious. But Aurora alternately fired and -froze him with such skill that she succeeded in raising in his mind -a doubt which had probably never entered it before--a doubt of his -ability to marry any woman he might choose. So, she triumphed. - -But after they were engaged she continued to play fast and loose with -him. At first I thought this was only clever manœuvring on her part to -keep him uncertain and interested. But I presently began to be uneasy -and sent her mother to question her adroitly. “She says,” my wife -reported to me, “that she can’t take him and she can’t give him up. She -says there’s one thing she’d object to more than to marrying him, and -that is to seeing some other girl marry him.” - -“What nonsense!” said I; “I thought she was too well brought up for -such folly.” - -“You must admit Kirkby is--clammy,” replied my wife, always full of -excuses for her children. - -Before I could move to bring Aurora to her senses, Kirkby did it--by -breaking off the engagement and transferring his attentions to Mary -Stuyvesant, poor as poverty but beautiful and well born. Within a week -Aurora had him back; within a fortnight she had the cards out for the -wedding. - -The presents began to pour in; two rooms down-stairs were filling with -magnificence, and we had sent several van loads to the safety deposit -vaults. There must have been close upon half a million dollars’ worth, -including my gift of a forty-thousand-dollar tiara. Every one in the -house was agitated. I had given my wife and daughter _carte blanche_, -releasing Cress and Jack Ridley from attendance on me to assist them -and to see that extravagance did not spread into absolutely wanton -waste. But this does not mean that I was not in hearty sympathy with -my wife’s efforts to make the full realisation of our social ambition -a memorable occasion. On the contrary, I wanted precisely that; and -I knew the way to accomplish it was by getting five cents’ worth for -every five cents spent, not by imitating the wastefulness of the -ignorant poor. I was willing that the dollars should fly; but I was -determined that each one should hit the mark. - -Jack Ridley said to me once: “Why, to you five hundred dollars is less -than one dollar would be to me.” - -“Not at all,” I replied; “we cling to five cents more tightly than you -would to five dollars. We know the value of money because we have it; -you don’t know because you haven’t.” - -But the happiest, most interested person in all the household was my -daughter Helen. She was to be maid of honour, and on the wedding day -was to make her first appearance in a long dress. It seemed to me that -she suddenly flashed out into wonderful beauty--a strange kind of -beauty, all in shades of golden brown and having an air of mystery that -moved even me to note and admire and be proud--and a little uneasy. -Obviously she would be able to make a magnificent marriage, if she -could be controlled. The greater the prize, the greater the anxiety -until it is grasped. - -When she tried on that first long dress of hers she came in to show -herself off to me. She has never been in the least afraid of me--there -is a fine, utter courage looking from her eyes--an assurance that she -could not be afraid of any one or anything. - -She turned round slowly, that I might get the full effect. “Well, -well!” said I, put into a tolerant mood by my pride in her. “Aurora had -better keep you out of Horton’s sight until after the ceremony.” - -She tossed her head. “He’d be safe from me if there wasn’t another man -in the world,” she answered. - -I frowned on this. “You’ll have a hard time making as good a marriage -as your sister, miss,” said I. “You’ll see, when we begin to look for a -husband for you.” - -“I shall look for my own husband, thank you,” she replied, pertly. - -But her smile was so bright that I only said, “We’ll cross that bridge, -miss, when we come to it--we’ll cross it together.” - -There was an unpleasant silence--her expression made me feel more -strongly than ever before that she would be troublesome. I said: “How -old are you now?” - -“Why, don’t you remember? I was sixteen last Wednesday. You gave me -_this_.” She touched a pearl brooch at her neck. - -No, I didn’t remember--Ridley attends to all those little matters for -me. But I said, “To be sure,” and patted her on the shoulder--and let -her kiss me, and then sent her away. For a moment I envied the men -whose humble station enables them to enjoy more of such intercourse as -that. I confess I have my moments when all this striving and struggling -after money and power seems miserably unsatisfactory, and I picture -myself and my fellow strugglers as so many lunatics in a world full of -sane people whom we toil for and give a bad quarter of an hour now and -then as our lunacy becomes violent. - -But that is a passing mood. - -The next I heard of Helen she had set the whole house in an uproar. Two -days before the wedding she shut herself in her apartment and sent out -word by her maid that she would not be maid of honour--would not attend -the wedding. “I can do nothing with her,” said my wife; “she’s been -beyond my control for two years.” - -“I’ll go to her,” I said. “We’ll see who’s master in this house.” - -She herself opened her sitting-room door for me. She had a book in her -hand and was apparently calm and well prepared. The look in her eyes -made me think of what my wife had once said to me: “Be careful how you -try to bully her, James. She’s like you--and Jim.” - -“What’s this I hear about you refusing to appear in your first long -dress?” I asked--a very different remark, I’ll admit, from the one I -intended to open with. - -She smiled faintly, but did not take her serious eyes from mine. “I -can’t go to the wedding,” said she. “Please, father, don’t ask it! I--I -hoped they wouldn’t tell you. I told them they might say I was ill.” - -I managed to look away from her and collect my thoughts. “You are the -youngest,” I began, “and we have been foolishly weak with you. But -the time has come to bring you under control and save you from your -own folly. Understand me! You will go to the wedding, and you will go -as maid of honour.” I was master of myself again and I spoke the last -words sternly, and was in the humour for a struggle. She had roused one -of my strongest passions--the passion for breaking wills that oppose -mine. - -There was a long pause, and then she said, quietly: “Very well, -father. I shall obey you.” - -I was like a man who has flung himself with all his might against -what he thinks is a powerful obstacle and finds himself sprawling -ridiculously upon vacancy. I lost my temper. “What do you mean,” I -exclaimed, angrily, “by making all this fuss about nothing? You will go -at once and apologise to your mother and sister.” - -She sat silent, her eyes down. - -“Do you hear?” I demanded. - -She fixed her gaze steadily on mine. “Yes, sir,” she answered, “but I -cannot obey.” - -“How dare you say that to me?” I said, so furious that I was calm. I -had a sense of impotence--as if the irresistible force had struck the -immovable body. - -“Because what you ask isn’t right.” - -“You forget that I am your father.” - -“And you forget that I am”--she drew herself up proudly and looked at -me unafraid--“your daughter.” - -There seems to be some sort of magic in her. I can’t understand it -myself, but her answer completely changed my feeling toward her. It -had never before occurred to me that the fact of her being my daughter -gave her rights and privileges which would be intolerable in another. I -saw family pride for the first time and instantly respected it. “If I -only had a son like you!” I said, on impulse, for the moment forgetting -everything else in this new conception of family line and its meaning. - -The tears rushed to her eyes. She leaned forward in her eagerness. “You -_had_--you _have_,” she said. “Oh, father----” - -“Not another word,” I said, sternly; “why did you refuse to go to -Aurora’s wedding?” - -“Tuesday night she came into my room and got into my bed. She put her -arms round me and said, ‘Helen, I _can’t_ marry him! He’s--he’s just -_awful_! It makes me cold all over for him to touch me.’ We talked -nearly all night--and--I feel sorry for her--but I felt it would be -wrong for me to go to the wedding or have anything to do with it. She -wouldn’t break it off--she said she’d go on if it killed her. And -I begged her to go to you and ask you to stop it, but she said she -wanted to marry him or she wouldn’t. And--but when you said I must go, -it seemed to me it’d be wrong to disobey. Only--I can’t apologise to -them--I can’t--because--I’ve done nothing to apologise for.” - -“Never mind, child,” I said--I felt thoroughly uncomfortable. It is -impossible clearly to explain many matters to an innocent mind. “You -need not apologise. But pay no attention to Aurora’s hysterics--and -enjoy yourself at the wedding. Girls always act absurdly when they’re -about to marry. Six months from now she’ll be the happiest woman in New -York, and if she didn’t marry him she’d be the most wretched.” - -“Poor Aurora!” said Helen, with a long sigh. - -But Helen could not have said “poor” Aurora on the great day at St. -Bartholomew’s. It was, indeed, an hour of triumph for us all. As she -and Kirkby came down from the altar, I glanced round the church and -had one of my moments of happiness. There they all were--all the pride -and fashion and established wealth of New York--all of them at my -feet. I, who had sprung from nothing; I, who had had to fight, fight, -fight, staking everything--yes, character, even liberty itself--here -was I, enthroned, equal to the highest, able to put my heel upon the -necks of those who had regarded me as part of the dirt under their -feet. I went down the aisle of the church, drunk with pride and joy. -I had not had such happiness since that day when, smarting under -Judson’s insults, I suddenly remembered that, if he had honour, I had -the million and was a millionaire. As my wife and I drove back to -the house for the reception, I caught myself muttering to the crowds -pushing indifferently along the sidewalks, intent upon their foolish -little business, “Bow! Bow! Don’t you know that one of your masters is -passing?” - -Just as I was in the full swing of this ecstasy I happened to notice a -huge stain on the costly cream-coloured lining of the brougham--I was -in my wife’s carriage. “What’s that?” said I, pointing to it. - -She told a silly story of how she had carelessly broken a bottle in the -carriage a few days before and had ruined a seven-hundred-dollar dress -and the carriage-lining. - -Instantly the routine of my life claimed me--my happiness was over. I -made the natural comment upon such criminal indifference to the cost of -things; she retorted after her irrational, irresponsible fashion. We -were soon quarrelling fiercely upon the all-important subject, money, -which she persists in denouncing as vulgar. We could scarcely compose -our faces to leave the carriage and make a proper appearance before the -crowds without the house and the throngs within. As for me, my day was -ruined. - -But the reception was, in fact, a failure, though it seemed a success. -Aurora, the excitement of the ceremony over, was looking wretched; -and, as she came down to go away, her face was tragical. I could feel -the hypocritical whisperings of my guests. Exasperated, I turned, -only to stumble on Helen, crying as if her heart were breaking. My new -son-in-law bade me good-bye with a cold, condescending shake of the -hand, and in a voice that made me long to strike him. It set me to -gnawing again on what Helen heard at the dancing class three years ago. -When every one had gone my wife came to me, her eyes sparkling with -anger. - -“Did you see old Mrs. Kirkby leave?” she asked. - -“No--she must have gone without speaking to me,” I replied. - -“She left less than a minute after Aurora and Horton. When I put out -my hand to her she just touched it with the tips of her fingers, and -all she said was, ‘I hope we’ll run across each other at my son’s, some -time.’” - -“They’ll change their tune when I get after them!” I exclaimed. - -“What can _you_ do?” sneered my wife. “They know your money goes to -Walter. Besides, it’s all your fault.” - -“_My_ fault?” I said, in disgust--everything is always my fault, -according to my wife. - -“Yes--it’s your reputation,” she retorted, bitterly. “It’ll take two -generations of respectability to live it down.” - -I left the room abruptly. The injustice of this was so hideous that -reply was impossible. After all my sacrifices, after all my stupendous -achievements, after lifting my family from obscurity to the highest -dignity--_this_ was my reward! Yes, the highest dignity. I know how -they sneer. I know how they whisper the ugly word that Helen heard at -the dancing class. I see it in their eyes when I take them unawares. -But--they cringe before me, they fear me, and they dare not offend me. -What more could I ask? What do I care about their cowardly mutterings -which they dare not let me hear? - -In the upper hall I came upon Helen, sitting in the alcove, sobbing. -“Poor Aurora! Poor Aurora!” she said, when I paused before her. - -“Poor Aurora!” I retorted, angrily. “Your sister is married to one of -the richest men in New York.” - -“He tried to kiss me as they were leaving,” she went on, between sobs, -“and I drew away and slapped him. When Aurora hugged me she whispered, -‘I don’t blame you--I detest him!’ Poor Aurora!” - -I went into my apartment and slammed the door. I knew how it would turn -out, and this hysterical nonsense infuriated me. - -[Illustration: “_I came upon Helen, sitting in the alcove, sobbing._”] - -When Aurora and Kirkby came back from their trip through the South -and burst in on us at lunch [it was a Sunday], probably I was the -only one at the table who wasn’t surprised by their looks. Helen, I -knew, had been expecting Aurora would return with a face like the -last scene of the last act of a tragedy. Instead she was radiant, -beautifully dressed, and with an assurance of manner that was immensely -becoming to her--the assurance of a woman who is conscious of having -married brilliantly and is determined to enjoy her good fortune to -the uttermost. It was plain that she was on the best possible terms -with Kirkby. As for him, he looked foolishly happy and was obviously -completely under her control, as I knew he would be. He is certainly in -himself not a dignified figure--short and fat and sallow and amazingly -ordinary-looking for a man of such birth and breeding. But the instant -people hear who he is, they forget his face, figure, and mind. In this -world, what things really are is not important; it’s altogether what -they seem to be, altogether the valuation agreed upon. I’ve sometimes -watched the children at their games, “playing” that pins and rags have -fantastic big values; and I’ve thought how ridiculous it was to smile -at them and keep serious faces over our own grown-up game of precisely -the same kind. - -Aurora had been sending home the newspapers of every town in which -they had stopped, so we had a pretty good idea of the ovation they -had received. But as soon as she was alone with us she went over it -all--and we were as proud as was she. “I don’t think Horton liked it -particularly, but there wasn’t a place where they didn’t know more -about me than about him,” said she. “You noticed, didn’t you, that the -papers often said, ‘James Galloway’s daughter and her husband’? Horton -was awfully funny about the excitement over us. At first he kept up -the pretence with me that he thought it vulgar. But he soon cut that -out and fairly devoured the newspapers. Of course we didn’t drop our -exclusiveness before people--everywhere they talked about how anxious -we were to avoid notoriety. Whenever the reporters came near us, my! -but didn’t Horton sit on them.” - -She made only one criticism of him--and that a laughing one. “You -thought,” said she, “that we started in a private car. Well, we didn’t. -When I got to Jersey City he put me into a stuffy old regular Pullman -with all sorts of people. And he said, with the grandest air, ‘I took -the drawing-room, as I thought you’d like privacy.’ I saw that it was -my time to assert myself.” She laughed. “We had a little talk,” she -went on, “and at Philadelphia he rushed round and got a private car.” - -She soon brought his mother to terms. Mrs. Kirkby called on my wife -three days after they got back, and took her driving the following -afternoon. That drive is one of the important events in my career. It -marks the completion of my conquest of New York. Thinking it over, I -decided to double Aurora’s portion under my will. Next to Judson, she -has been the most useful person to me--no, not next to Judson, but -without exception. I should have got my million-dollar start somehow, -if I had never seen him; but I should have had some difficulty in -reaching my climax if I had not had Aurora. - -My flood-tide of luck held through one more event--the settlement with -Natalie. - -Naturally, I had put a good deal of thought upon this problem. The -longer I considered it the more clearly I realised that to give her -anything at all would be an act of sheer generosity, perhaps of -dangerous generosity. As I have said before, it did not take me long -to absolve myself from the impossible letter of my promise. If I had -been capable of keeping a promise to give six million dollars--the -sum necessary to produce “_an_ income of a quarter of a million”--to -a person whom it was absolutely vital to have financially dependent -upon me, I should have accomplished very little in the world. At first -my decision to keep the spirit of my promise by giving “_the_ income -of a quarter of a million” seemed as fair as it was liberal. But now -that she was safely married to my son, I began to see that to give her -anything would be to strike a blow at his domestic happiness, and that -would mean striking a blow at her own happiness. It could not fail -to unsettle her mind to find herself with an independent income of -ten or twelve thousand a year in addition to the five or six thousand -she already had. Nothing else is so certain to destroy a husband’s -influence or to unfit a wife contentedly to fill her proper place in -the family as for her to be financially independent. - -I have never been lacking in the courage to do right, no matter what -moral quibble or personal unpleasantness has stood in the way. I -resolved not to give her anything outright, but, instead, to provide -for her in my will--the income of a quarter of a million, to be hers -for life, unless Walter should die and she marry again. - -There now remained only the comparatively simple matter of reconciling -her to this arrangement when she was expecting at once to receive the -equivalent of six millions, free from conditions. - -A weak man would have put off the issue until the last moment, through -dislike of disagreeable scenes. But I am not one of those who aggravate -difficulties by postponing them. The day after Walter and Natalie -sailed from the other side for the homeward journey, I sent for her -father. “Matt,” said I, “as you probably remember, I made up my mind -to do something for your daughter as soon as she decided to become my -daughter, too. I finally got round to it this morning. I thought I’d -tell you I had made the necessary changes in my will.” - -He looked at me narrowly, with an expression between wonder and -suspicion. “I don’t understand,” said he. - -“I promised your daughter she should have the income of a quarter of a -million,” I replied, “and this morning I put the necessary provision -into my will.” - -His mouth dropped open. He wiped his forehead with his handkerchief -several times. Then all of a sudden he flushed a violent red and struck -the table with his fist. “Why, damn it, Galloway,” he exclaimed, “you -promised her you’d settle _an_ income of a quarter of a million on her -at once.” - -I looked at him as if I thought him crazy. “Where did you get that -notion?” said I. “I never heard of anything so preposterous. Did you -think I’d gone stark mad?” I let him see that I was getting angry. - -“She told me so--told me within an hour of your promising it,” he -replied. “And, by heavens, you’ll stick to your promise!” He banged the -table with his fist again. - -As I had made clear my intention--which was my only purpose for that -first interview--I rose. “I permit no man to talk to me in that -fashion,” said I; “not even an old friend who has apparently gone out -of his mind. I do not care to discuss the matter further.” - -I went into my inner office and shut him out. I knew he was too -practical a man ever really to have believed that I intended to give -his daughter any such stupendous sum. I was certain he had pretended -to her that he believed it, because he was as eager for her to marry -Walter as I was. Assuming that he did believe it, he could not but see -there was nothing but disaster for him in offending me. Therefore, I -had not the slightest fear that he would persist in his anger; I knew -he would calm down, would at most cook up some scheme for trying to -frighten some sort of a settlement out of me, and would break the news -to his daughter at the first opportunity, so that he might caution her -against doing anything foolish on impulse. - -I heard nothing from him and did not see him again until we all went -down to the dock to meet Walter and Natalie. The exchange of greetings -between the two families was far from cordial, her father and I barely -nodding at each other. Natalie and her mother and Walter went up-town -together. I saw that her mother could hardly wait to get her alone so -that she could tell her and coach her. - -I did not permit her to see me in circumstances in which she could -have talked freely until nearly two weeks had passed. Then, her -friendly manner was rather strained, but she said nothing about her -settlement--and, of course, I’m not the one to poke a sleeping dog. I -was delighted to find such a striking confirmation of my good opinion -of her. Doubtless she doesn’t feel especially kindly toward me, but she -has given no sign--and that is the important fact. A less intelligent -woman would not have seen how useless it was to make a fight, or would -have given way to her temper just for the pleasure of relieving her -feelings. - -To these two triumphs was now added a third, which, in its -many-sidedness, gave me more satisfaction than either of the others. - -It came in the course of my campaign to push out of my industrial -combination the minor elements that had to be conciliated when I was -forming it. These were the little fellows who were the chief original -owners of the various concerns of which it was composed. They were no -longer of the slightest use to the industry; they were simply clinging -to it, mere parasites fattening upon my brains. I felt that the time -had come for shaking them off, and forcing them to give up their -holdings. I needed every share either for my own investment purposes or -to bind to me the men I had put in direct charge. - -Having always had the shaking off of the parasites in mind, I had never -let the combination develop its full earning capacity. As my first -move toward complete possession, I caused it to be given out that I was -privately much disappointed with the outlook for the industry and for -the combination, and was thinking of disposing of my holdings quietly. -When this rumour that I was about to “unload” was brought to my -attention, I refused either to confirm or to deny it. I followed this -with some slight manipulations of rates, prices, and the stock market. -I was, of course, careful to do nothing violent. I never forget, -nowadays, that I am one of the bulwarks of conservatism and stability; -I and my fellow-occupants of the field of high finance sternly repress -all the stock-raiding moves of the little fellows who are struggling to -get together in a hurry the millions that would enable them to break -into our company. - -My moves against my combination sent its stock slowly down. The -minority stockholders unloaded--the most timid upon the least timid; -then, as fear spread and infected the most hopeful among them, all -unloaded upon the public. Finally, I gave the stock a hard blow that -sent it tumbling--almost openly I sold ten thousand shares, and the -sale was regarded by the public as ominously significant, because -it was known that I no longer speculated, and that I frowned upon -speculation and speculators. When I had gathered in what I wanted, at -bottom prices, I came to the rescue, put up the price with a strong -hand, denounced those who had attacked it, expressed my great faith in -the future of the industry and of my combination--and caught in the -net, along with a lot of _bona fide_ sellers, a vast shoal of wriggling -and gasping speculators in “shorts.” - -The one of these fish that peculiarly interested me was--my son Walter. -I knew he would be there, and had known it since the third week of my -campaign. As I have never permitted him to see into the machinery of my -financial plant, he fancied that he could operate without my finding -it out. But one of my spies had brought the news to my chief brokers -when he placed his second selling order. I was astonished that another -son of mine had gone into such low and stupid and even dishonourable -business--yes, dishonourable. My own speculative operations were never -of the petty character and for the petty purposes that constitute -gambling. I sent at once for a transcript of his bank account--a man -in my position must have at his command every possible source of -inside information and I have made getting at bank accounts one of -my specialties. My astonishment became amazement when I learned that -four cash items in that account, making in the total nearly the whole -of his gambling capital, were four checks for fifty thousand dollars -each--from his mother! - -I had tried many times to get hold of her bank account; but she, partly -through craft, partly through the perversity of luck, did business with -one of the banks into whose secrets I had never been able to penetrate. -I understand at a glance where the two hundred thousand had come -from. They were her “commissions” got from me by stealth, by juggling -household and personal accounts. I saw that I had the opportunity to -give Walter a vivid lesson, to get back my money, and to reduce my wife -once more to a proper complete dependence. So I talked business with -Walter a great deal during those three months, taking always a gloomy -view of prospects of my combination. From time to time through my -spies I learned that he was eagerly taking advantage of these “tips,” -was plunging deeper and deeper in his betting that the stock of my -industrial would continue to fall. When I suddenly put up the price of -the stock, he was on the wrong side of the market to the extent of all -his cash, and, like scores of other fools, far beyond. - -I went home to lunch on the day I hauled in my net, for I wished to be -where I could brand the lesson indelibly upon my wife. I had ordered -my men to give out my strong statement and to rocket the market not -earlier than a quarter past one and not later than half past--our lunch -hour. We had been at table about ten minutes when my wife was called -away to the telephone. She was in high good-humour as she left the -room; indeed, for nearly two months her confident hopes of profits that -would give her a million or more in her own right had made her almost -youthful in looks and in spirits. She was gone a long time, so long -that I was just sending for her when she entered. The change in her was -shocking. For a moment I was alarmed lest my lesson had been too severe. - -Helen started up, upsetting her chair in her fright at her mother’s -grey old face. “Mother!” she exclaimed, “what is it?” - -Her mother tried to smile, but gave me a frightened, cowed glance. -“I--I--I’m not well all of a sudden,” she said. Then she abruptly left -the room, Helen following her. - -As I and Ridley and Cress were smoking our after-lunch cigars, she sent -for me. I found her alone in her darkened sitting-room, lying on the -lounge. She asked me to sit, and then she began: “I wish to speak to -you about--about Walter.” - -“About his gambling?” said I. - -She did not move or speak for fully a minute. It was so dark in her -corner that I could not see her distinctly; besides, when I spoke, she -had quickly covered her face. At length she said: “So you knew all the -time? You set this trap for----” - -“Both of you,” I said, as I saw that she did not intend to complete her -sentence. - -Presently she went on: “Then I needn’t explain. What I want to say -is--it’s all my fault that Walter did it. He’s down at your office -now. He didn’t have a chance to cover, the stock went up so fast. He’s -lost everything, and--but I suppose it’s to you that he’s in debt. I’m -sick--sick in body, and sick in mind. I give up. I’ve made my last -fight. All I ask is--don’t punish him for what’s all my fault.” - -“Your fault?” said I, my curiosity roused. - -“I wished to be free,” she replied. “I wished them to be free. I tried -through James when I saw how certain it was he could never get on with -you. Then I tried through Walter when I saw how you were crushing him -and Natalie.” - -“So you set James to gambling?” - -“Yes--and I’d have confessed, but there were the other children -just at the age when they most needed me to protect them from you. -And--I--I--couldn’t. Besides, he begged me not to--and there was his -forgery. I never thought he had it in him to do that.” - -“But he was _your_ son,” said I, “and he had _your_ example. He knew -how you got the money you gave him----” - -“Oh, don’t! don’t--please don’t!” she wailed, breaking down altogether. -“If you could see yourself as others, as my children and I see you, -you’d understand--No! No! I don’t mean that. Forgive me--and don’t -punish Walter for my sins.” She burst into such a wild passion of sobs -and tears that I rang for her maid, and, when she came, left to go -down-town. - -In my office sat Walter, looking dejected, but far from the sorry -figure I had expected to see. He followed me into my inside room and -stood near my desk, his eyes down. - -“Well, sir!” said I, sternly. In fact, I was not the least bit angry; -my complete victory, and the recovery of my control over my family had -put me in a serene frame of mind. “Your mother has told me everything,” -I added, not wishing him to irritate me with any lies. - -“But she doesn’t know everything,” said he, “I risked half of Natalie’s -money--and--I--her father loaned me two hundred thousand.” - -I frowned still more heavily to conceal the satisfaction this news -gave me. “Did Bradish know what you were going to do with the money?” I -demanded. - -“Yes,” replied Walter, in a voice that must have come out of a -desert-dry throat. “He--he went twenty thousand shares short on his own -account.” - -This was better and better. For the first time in years I felt like -laughing aloud. “You didn’t by any chance draw Kirkby in?” I asked, -with a pretence of sarcasm. - -Walter shook his head. “No--Kirkby doesn’t care about stocks.” - -That gave me a chance to laugh. But it wasn’t a kind of laughter that -Walter found contagious. If anything, he got a few shades whiter. “I’ve -known you were in this for two months and a half,” said I. “I wished -to give you an object-lesson that would make you appreciate why Kirkby -doesn’t care about stocks. I’ve known every move you made--we who rule -down here always know about the small people, about the idiots like -you. We are rarely able to fool each other; what chance have you and -your kind got? I told you all this, and now I’ve taught it to you. I’ve -not decided on your punishment yet. But one thing I can tell you: if -you ever go into the market again, you will--join your ex-brother!” - -He was silent for a moment, then began: “Mother----” - -“I know about her,” I interrupted. “I wish to hear nothing from you.” - -He straightened himself and looked at me for the first time. “She -telephoned me she was going to take all the blame,” he said, -resolutely. “It isn’t true that she led me into this. I started with my -own money, then added Natalie’s, then some from Mr. Bradish, and it -wasn’t until then that I went to mother and induced her to risk her -money.” - -I was astonished at the manliness of his look and tone--as unlike him -as possible. “Marriage seems to have improved you,” said I. - -“Yes--it’s Natalie,” he replied, his face taking on the foolish look -a man gets when he is under the thumb of some woman. “She’s very -different from what we thought--or from what she thought herself. She’s -made me into a new sort of man.” - -“A stock gambler?” said I. - -He reddened, but knew better than to show his teeth at me, when he was, -if possible, more dependent than ever before. - -“A fine story you tell for your mother,” I went on; “but she told me -everything--about James, too.” - -“If she says she led James into speculating, that wasn’t so, either,” -he replied, and again his voice was honest. “Jim was deep in the hole, -and she tried to help him out.” - -“And how do you happen to know so much about James and his -speculating?” I asked, sharply. - -His eyes dropped and he began to shift from leg to leg in his old -despicable fashion. “I--know,” he said, doggedly. - -But I wasn’t interested in James--or, for that matter, in the -comparative guilt of Walter and his mother. I had no more time to give -to the affair. I sent Walter away, after repeating my warning as to -the consequences of another lapse, and then I gave my whole attention -to business--to punishing the other wretched “shorts” and to putting -on full steam throughout my combination, mine now in its entirety and -therefore ready for the utmost development of its earning power. - -Six months later--that is, last week--I doubled the outstanding -capital stock and at the same time increased the dividend from five per -cent. to six. It is now earning forty-two per cent. on my total actual -investment--a satisfactory property, quite up to my expectations. - -My wife has gone abroad with Helen. Poor woman! She has never been the -same since her dream collapsed. However, she no longer irritates or -opposes me. And Natalie is the most satisfactory of daughters-in-law, -and Walter the most docile of sons. As for Aurora, I have been -unexpectedly able to get a hold upon her, and through her upon Kirkby. -She rules him in every matter except one. He keeps her on short, -absurdly short, supplies for the household and her personal expenses. -“When I found that he carried a change purse, I had a foreboding,” -said she to me the other day. “And when I saw how he looked as he -opened it, took a nickel out and closed it, I knew what I had to look -forward to.” I have raised her hopes for a large allowance from me in -the near future, and a fortune under my will. Presently, through my -efforts, combined with hers, I think I shall have Kirkby for a colossal -undertaking I am working out. - -Altogether, my affairs are in a thoroughly satisfactory condition. If -it weren’t for old age, and certain pains at times in the back of my -head--though they may be largely imaginary. Then there is the matter of -sleep. I haven’t had a night’s sleep in seven years, and for the last -year I have had only three hours’, pieced out with a nap in my carriage -on the way up-town. - -“Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.” But--it wears a crown! - - - - -VI - - -When I began to build my palace in New York City, in Fifth Avenue near -Fifty-ninth Street, I intended it to be the seat of my family for -many generations. My architect obeyed my orders and planned the most -imposing residence in the city; but, before it was finished--indeed, -before we had any considerable amount of furniture collected for it--no -less than seven palaces were under way, each excelling mine in every -respect--in extent, in costliness of site and structure, in taste, and -in spaciousness of interior arrangement. This was mortifying, for it -warned me that within a few years my palace would be completely, even -absurdly, in eclipse, for it would stand among towering flat-houses -and hotels--a second-class neighbourhood. - -But, irritating and expensive though the lesson was, it was of -inestimable value to me with my ability to see and to profit. It taught -me my own ignorance and so set me to educating myself in matters most -important to the dignity of my family line. Also it taught me how I -was underestimating New York and its expansive power, and therefore -the expansive power of the whole country. I began to acquire large -amounts of real estate which have already vindicated my judgment; and -I made bolder and more sweeping moves in my industrial and railway -developments--those moves that have frightened many of my associates. -Naturally, to the short-sighted, the far-sighted seem visionary. A man -may stake his soul, or even his life, on something beyond his vision, -and therefore, to him, visionary; but he won’t stake enough of his -money in it seriously to impair his fortune if he loses. That’s why -large success is only for the far-sighted. - -While I was debating the palace problem, along came the craze for -country establishments near New York--palaces set in the midst of -parks. I was suspicious of this apparently serious movement among -the people of my class, for I knew that at bottom we Americans of -all classes are a show-off people--that is, are human. Only the city -can furnish the crowd we want as a background for our prosperity and -as spectators of it; we are not content with the gaping of a few -undiscriminating, dull hayseeds. We like intelligent gaping--the kind -that can come pretty near to putting the price-marks on houses, jewels, -and dresses. We’d put them there ourselves, even the most “refined” -of us, if custom, made, by the way, by the poor people with their -so-called culture, did not forbid it. So, though I was too good a judge -of business matters to have much faith in the country-house movement, I -bought “Ocean Farm” and planned my house there on a vast scale. It is, -as a little study of it will reveal, ingeniously arranged, so that, if -the country-seat fashion shall ever revive, it can be expanded without -upsetting proportions, and splendid improvements can easily be made in -the handsome, five-hundred-acre park which surrounds it. - -But just as I was taking up the problem of an establishment for Walter, -the shrewdness of my doubts about the country began to appear. I -had been investing in real estate in and near upper Fifth Avenue; I -determined to build myself a new palace there that would be monumental. -It will never be possible for a private establishment in New York to -cover more surface than a block, so I fixed on and bought the entire -block between ---- and ---- Streets and Fifth and Madison Avenues. Then -I ordered my architect to drop everything else and spend a year abroad -in careful study of the great houses of Europe, both old and new. This -detailing of a distinguished architect for a year might seem to be an -extravagance; in fact, it was one of those wise economies which are -peculiarly characteristic of me. - -Money spent upon getting the best possible in the best possible way is -never extravagance. People incapable of thinking in large sums do not -see that to lay out five millions economically one must adopt methods -proportionately broader than those one would use in laying out five -thousand or five hundred thousand to the best advantage. It has cost me -hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions, to learn that lesson. - -I sent a man from my office along with my architect to act as an -auditor for his expense accounts, and to see that he did his work -conscientiously and did not use my money and my purchase of his time -in junketing “_au grand prince_.” In addition to planning the palace, -he was to settle upon interior decorations and to buy pictures, -tapestries, carvings, furniture, etc., etc.--of course, making no -important purchases without consulting me by cable. I believe he never -did a harder year’s work in his life--and I’m not easily convinced as -to what I haven’t seen with my own eyes. - -When he came home and submitted the results of his tour, I myself took -them abroad and went over them with the authorities on architecture and -decoration in Paris. It was two years before the final plan was ready -for execution. In those two years I had learned much--so much that -my palace near Fifty-ninth Street, which I had imagined the acme of -art and splendour when I accepted its final plans, had become to me an -intolerable flaunting of ignorance and tawdriness. I had intended still -to retain it as the hereditary residence for the heirs-apparent of my -line, and, when they should succeed to the headship of the family, -the so-to-speak dowager-residence. But my education had made this -impossible. I was impatient for the moment to arrive when I could sell -it, or tear it down, and put in place of it a flat-house for people of -moderate wealth, or a first-class hotel. - -Three years and a half from the sailing of my architect in quest of -ideas I took possession of the completed palace. First and last I had -spent nearly five millions and a half upon it; I was well content with -the result. Nor has the envious chatter of alleged critics in this -country disturbed me. There will be scores of houses as costly, and -many as imposing, before fifty years have passed; but, until there is a -revolution in the art of building, there will be none more dignified, -more conspicuous, or more creditable. I flatter myself that, as money -is spent, I got at least two dollars of value for every dollar I paid -out. I wished to build for the centuries, and I am confident that I -have accomplished my purpose. Only an earthquake or a rain of ruin from -the sky or a flood of riot can overthrow my handiwork. - -But to go back a little. Just as we were about to move, my wife and -Ridley died within a few days of each other. At first these deaths were -a severe shock to me, as, aside from the sad, yet after all inevitable, -parting, there was the prospect of the complete disarrangement of my -domestic plans, and at a highly inconvenient moment. But, thanks to my -unfailing luck, my fears proved groundless. Helen came splendidly to -the rescue and displayed at once an executive ability that more than -filled the gap. My plans for the change of residence, for the expansion -of the establishment, and for my own comfort--everything went forward -smoothly, far more smoothly than I had hoped when my wife and Ridley -were alive and part of my calculation. - -At first blush it may seem rather startling, but I missed poor old -Ridley far more than I missed my wife. A moment’s consideration, -however, will show that this was neither strange nor unnatural. For -twenty years he was my constant companion whenever I was not at work -down-town. During those twenty years I had seen little of my wife -except in the presence of others, usually some of them not members of -my family. Whenever we were alone, it was for the despatch of more or -less disagreeable business. She had her staff of servants, I mine; she -had her interests, I mine. Wherever our interests met, they clashed. - -I think she was a thoroughly unhappy woman--as every woman must be -who does not keep to the privacy and peace of the home. I looked at -her after she had been dead a few hours, and was impressed by the -unusualness of the tranquillity of her face. It vividly recalled her -in the days when we lived in the little house in the side street away -down-town and talked over our business and domestic affairs every night -before going to sleep. After the first few years and until almost the -end she was a great trial to me. But I have no resentment. Indeed, now -that she is gone I feel inclined to concede that she was not so much to -blame as are these absurd social conditions that tempt women to yield -to their natural folly and give them power to harass and hamper men. - -I’m inclined to despair of marriage, at least so far as we of the -upper and dominating, and example-setting, class are concerned. With -us what basis of common interest is there left between husband and -wife? He has his large business affairs which wholly absorb him, which -do not interest her--indeed, which he would on no account permit her -small, uninformed mind to meddle in. With all his energy and all his -intelligence enlisted elsewhere, what time or interest has he for home -and wife? And to her he seems dull, an infliction and a bore. Nor -has she any interest at home--governesses, a housekeeper, an army of -servants do her work for her. So far as I can see, except as a means -whereby a woman may disport herself in mischief-breeding luxury and -laziness, marriage has no rational excuse for persisting. - -It was with genuine regret that I was compelled to deny my wife’s last -request. I say “deny,” but I was, of course, far too generous and -considerate to torment her in her last moments. When she made up her -mind that the doctors and nurses were deceiving her and that she wasn’t -to get well, she asked for me. When we were alone, she said: “James, I -wish to see our son--I wish _you_ to send for him.” - -I did not pretend to misunderstand her. I knew she meant James. As -she was very feeble, and barely conscious, she was in no condition to -decide for herself. It was a time for me to be gentle; but there is -never a time for weakness. “Yes,” I said, humouring her, “I will have -him sent for.” - -“I wish _you_ to send for him, James,” she insisted; “send right away.” - -“Very well,” said I, “I’ll send for him.” And I rose as if to obey. - -“Don’t go just yet,” she went on; “there’s something more.” - -I sat in silence so long that I began to think she was asleep or -unconscious. But finally she spoke: “I got Walter’s permission this -morning. James, if I tell you of a great wrong he has done, a very -great wrong, will you forgive him for my sake?” - -I thought over her request. Finally I said, “Yes.” - -“Look at me,” she went on. Our eyes met. “Say it again.” - -“Yes, I will forgive him,” I said, and I meant it--unless the wrong -should prove to be one of those acts for which forgiveness is -impossible. - -She turned her face away, then said, slowly, each word coming with an -effort: “It wasn’t James who forged your name. It was Walter.” - -I felt enormously relieved, for, while I shouldn’t have hesitated -to break my promise had it been wise to do so, I am a man who holds -his word sacred even to his own hurt, provided it is not also to the -jeopardy of vital affairs. “I’m not surprised,” said I. “It is like -Walter to hide behind any one foolish enough to shield him.” - -“No--he’s not that way any more,” she pleaded, her passion for -shielding her children from my justice as strong as ever. “He told me -long ago--when you caught him in that speculation. And we talked it -over and then we went to see James, and he insisted that we shouldn’t -tell you.” - -“Why?” I asked. “What reason did he give?” - -“He said he had made his life and you yours, and that he knew you -didn’t want to be disturbed any more than he did.” - -“He was right,” said I. - -The forgery has long ceased to be important. James and his wife, -with their wholly different ideas and methods, could not possibly be -remoulded now to my purposes. I have educated Walter and Natalie to -the headship of the family; I’ve neither time nor inclination to take -up a couple of strangers and make an arduous and extremely dubious -experiment. - -“So,” my wife went on, “I ask you to send for James. I wish to see him -restored to what is rightfully his before I die.” - -“I’ll send for him,” said I. “It may take a little time, as he is out -of town. But be patient, and I’ll send for him.” - -I learned that I had spoken more truthfully than I knew. He was camping -with his wife in the depths of the Adirondacks, several days away from -the mails. The next day I told Cress to write him a letter saying I’d -interpose no objection if he should try to see his mother, who was ill. -I ordered Cress to hold the letter until the following day. But that -night she died. She was not fully conscious again after her exhausting -talk with me. - -The evening of the day of the funeral I took Walter into my -sitting-room and repeated to him what his mother had told me. “But,” -said I, “because I promised her, I forgive you. It would have been -more manly had you confessed to me, but I’ve learned not to expect the -impossible.” - -“All I ask, sir,” said he, “is that you never let Natalie know. She’d -despise me--she’d leave me.” - -I could not restrain a smile at this absurd exaggeration--at this -delusion of vanity that he was the important factor with Natalie, and -not I and my property. - -“You can say,” he went on, “that you have changed your mind, and you -needn’t give a reason. And James can take my place, and, believe me, -she’ll not be at all surprised.” - -I had no difficulty in believing him, for Natalie’s experience with her -dowry had no doubt put her in the proper frame of mind for any further -change of plan I might happen to make. I patted him on the shoulder. -“I promised your mother I’d forgive you,” said I, “and I’ll fulfil -my promise to the letter. James is best off where he is, and, if you -continue to try to please, your prospects shall remain as they are.” - -He was overcome with gratitude and relief. But he was presently trying -to look sorry. “I feel ashamed of myself,” he said. - -“You can afford to,” I replied, drily. “It will cost you nothing. But -I venture to suggest that instead of pretending to quarrel with good -fortune, you would better be planning to deserve it.” - -The two deaths--my wife’s and Ridley’s--coming so close together made -a profoundly disagreeable impression upon me. My abhorrence of “the -end,” to which I have referred several times, then definitely became -a monomania with me. The thought of “the end” began to thrust itself -upon me daily--or, rather, nightly. I have never been a happy man. -Added to my natural incessant restlessness, which always characterises -a creative intellect, and which has kept me as well as every one around -me in a state of irritation, there is in me an absolute incapacity -to live in the present; and to be happy, I have long since seen, one -must live in the present. Occasionally, when my fame or my power or -my wealth has been suddenly and vividly revealed to me in moments of -triumph, I have lived in the present for a little while. But soon the -future, its projects, its duties, its possibilities, have stretched me -on the rack again. As for the much-talked-of happiness of anticipation, -that is possible only to children and childish persons. When the battle -is on--and when has the battle not been on with me?--the general is too -busy to indulge in any anticipations of victory. He has hardly time -even for anxieties about defeat. - -I neglected to note, in its proper order, that my wife willed all -her jewels--a value of eight hundred thousand dollars--to James. I -consulted my lawyer and found that through carelessness, or, rather, -through ignorance of the law, I had given her a legal title to -them, a legal right to dispose of them by will. There was nothing -for it but to make the best bargain I could. After some roundabout -negotiations James declined my proposal that he accept a cash valuation -on fair appraisement. He then indulged his passion for theatrical -sentimentality and declined the legacy beyond a few trinkets worth -hardly a thousand dollars, I should say, which had belonged to his -mother in her girlhood and in the first years of her married life. -These Helen persuaded him to divide with her. Aurora at first insisted -on having part of the jewels; but I wished to keep them all for the -direct succession, and so induced her to take two hundred thousand -dollars for her claim--agreeing not to subtract it from her share under -my will. As she is a satisfactory child, I consider the promise binding. - -I sold my old palace for two and a quarter millions to a _parvenu_, -dazzled by an accidental half a dozen millions and impatient to show -them off before they vanished. While effecting the merger of my three -railways, I made quadruple the balance of the cost of my new palace, -by extinguishing one minority interest at forty-seven and creating -another at one hundred and two. Given the capital, it is incomparably -harder to build a palace than to make a score of millions. A very -crude sort of man may get rich, but refinement and culture and taste -and custom of wealth and a sense of the difference between dignity and -ostentation are required to enable a man to demonstrate his fitness to -possess wealth. I cannot expect my envious contemporaries publicly to -admit that I have demonstrated my fitness. But--future generations will -vindicate me in this as in other respects. - -I kept a sharp look-out for a house for Walter--or, rather, for the -hereditary principal heir of my line. Among the minority stockholders -in one of my three railways was Edward Haverford, grandson of that -Haverford who originated the secret freight rebate. By the very -timid use of it natural in a beginner, and at a time when railway -transportation was in its infancy, he had accumulated several millions. -I doubt if he had any great amount of brains. I know that his grandson -is as stupid as he is stingy. But he had a beautiful little palace -in East Seventieth Street, near Fifth Avenue--an ideal home for a -gentleman with expectations, the scion of a great family. In the -“squeeze” incident to my extinguishing the minority existing before the -merger, Haverford lost his fortune and was glad to dispose of his house -to me for a million in cash. I established Walter and Natalie there -and fixed their allowance from me at eight thousand a month. This is -enough to enable them to live in easy circumstances with an occasional -grant from me--a happy compromise between an independence that would -be dangerous and a dependence that would, in an heir-apparent, seem -undignified. - -I have decided not to take them in to live with me when Helen is -married. I could not endure the daily espionage of those who are to -succeed me. They could not conceal from _my_ eyes their impatience for -me to be gone. I shall keep them waiting many a year--seventy is not -old for any man. For a man of my natural strength it is merely that -advanced period of middle life when one must make his health his prime -concern. - -No, Helen shall stay on with me. - -Her case is another instance of the folly of anticipating trouble. From -the day she came to me with her confession that she had defied me by -going to James at the crisis of his illness, I had been looking forward -to a sharp collision with her. Naturally, I assumed that the trouble -would come over her marriage. I pictured her falling in love with some -nobody with nothing and giving me great anxiety if not humiliation; -and, while my wife had a certain amount of capacity in social matters, -especially in the last two or three years of her life, I appreciated -that she had many serious shortcomings. Intellectually, she was so far -inferior to Helen that I could not but fear the worst. I had been, -therefore, impatient for her to find a suitable husband for Helen, and -so put an end to the peril of a severe blow to my pride and plans. As I -had a peculiar affection for Helen, it would have cut me to the quick -had she married beneath her. - -I was luckier than I hoped. My wife disappointed me by rising to the -occasion. Old Mrs. Kirkby, having accepted the alliance with my family, -proceeded to make the best of it. She took up my wife and Helen and -put them in her own set--it seems to me the dullest in New York, if -not in the world, but the most envied, and is beyond question composed -of gentlefolk of the true patrician type. As my wife was careful that -Helen should meet no one outside that set, and should go nowhere -without herself or Mrs. Kirkby in watchful attendance, Helen was -completely safeguarded against acquaintance, however slight, with any -man of the wrong kind. So assiduous and careful was my wife--thanks, -no doubt, to sagacious Mrs. Kirkby’s teaching and example!--that she -even never permitted Helen to go either to Walter’s or to Aurora’s when -there were to be guests, without first making a study of the list. This -was a highly necessary precaution, for both Natalie and Aurora, being -safely married, admitted to their houses many persons who were all very -well for purposes of amusement, but not their social equals in the -sense of eligibility to admission into an upper-class family with a -position to maintain. - -As everybody knows, the Kuypers are one of the best families in New -York. When the original Kirkby was clerk in a Whitehall grocery -before the Revolutionary War, a Kuyper kept the grocery--an eminently -respectable business in those simple days. He had inherited it from his -grandfather, and also a farm near where the Tombs prison now stands. -The Kuypers have been people of means and of social and political and -military and naval distinction for a century. About a year before my -wife died she and Mrs. Kirkby fixed upon Delamotte Kuyper for Helen; -and, although he was not rich, I approved their selection. With his -comfortable income and what he will inherit and what I intend to -leave Helen, they will be well established. In addition to family -and position and rank as the eldest son in the direct line, he has -the advantages of being a handsome fellow, a graduate of Groton, a -student at Harvard and at Oxford, and one of those men who do all sorts -of gentlemen’s pastimes surpassingly well. My wife was discreet in -concealing her purpose from Helen--so discreet that, when the climax -came, the poor child expected us to oppose the marriage. She had heard -me and her mother comment often on Delamotte’s comparatively small -fortune and expectations--large for an old New York family, but a mere -nothing among the fortunes of us newer and more splendid aristocrats. A -yachting trip in the Mediterranean, and the business was done. - -The yachting trip was my suggestion. - -I don’t recall ever having had a more agreeable sensation than when -she came to me just after her return--poor Ridley was in the room, I -remember. She threw her arms round my neck and said: “You dear splendid -old father! How happy you have made me. There never was a luckier girl -than I!” - -That added half a million to what I’m leaving her in my will. - -What a pity, what a shame that she’s a woman! She has my brains. She -has my courage. She has a noble character--yes, I admire even her -enthusiasms and sentimentalities. She has all the qualifications for -the succession except one. There fate cheated me. - -I have a sick feeling every time I think what might have happened had -James remained in my family and been my principal heir. There’s not -the slightest doubt that he would have upset all my plans as soon as -I was gone. He would have done his best to recreate for my family the -conditions of the old America which made “three generations from shirt -sleeves to shirt sleeves” proverbial. How fortunate that he shouldered -the blame for Walter’s boyish folly! How fortunate that I did not learn -it at a time when I might have been tempted to take him back! I was -indeed born under a lucky star. - -A lucky star! And yet what have I ever got out of it?--I, who have -spent my life in toil and sweat without a moment’s rest or happiness, -sacrificing myself to my future generations. Sometimes I look at all -these great prizes which I have drawn and hold, and I wonder whether -they are of any value, after all. But, valuable or worthless, it was -they or nothing, for what else is there beside wealth and power and -position? - -Nothing! - - * * * * * - -It is curious how the human mind works--curious and terrible. Seven -months after my wife’s death, when we had put aside the mourning and -had resumed our ordinary course of life, I suddenly began to think of -her as I was shaving. “I wonder what brought _her_ into my mind?” said -I to myself, and I decided that my face with the white stubble on its -ridges had suggested my familiar black devil--“the end.” But one day -several months later, as I was driving from my office to lunch at a -directors’ meeting, I happened to notice the lower part of my face in -the small mirror in the brougham. - -My attention became riveted upon the line of my mouth, thin and firm -and straight--with a queer sudden downward dip at the left corner. - -“Strange!” said I to myself; “I never noticed _that_ before.” - -Then I remembered I _had_ noticed it before, _once_ before and only -once--the morning when I was shaving and thought of my wife and “the -end.” I had noticed it then and--had I noticed it no morning since -because it had disappeared? Or had it been there all along, and had my -mind seen it and hidden the fact from me? When one has a well-trained, -obedient mind, it can and will hide from him almost anything he would -find disagreeable or inconvenient to know. - -I tried to straighten that line, but, no matter how I twisted my mouth, -the drop at the left corner remained. I caught sight of my eyes in the -mirror and found myself staring into the depth of a Something which -had thus trapped me into letting it mock me. When my carriage stopped -at the Postal Telegraph Building, I was so weak that I could hardly -drag myself across the sidewalk and into the elevator. As I was shaving -the next morning I dared not look myself in the eyes. But there was -the droop, and--yes--a droop of the left eyelid! I gave an involuntary -cry--the razor cut me, and dropped to the floor. My valet rushed in. -“I--I only cut myself,” I stammered, apologetically. For the first time -in my life I was afraid of a human being, from pure terror of what he -might see and think. - -How I have suffered in the three weeks that have passed since then! -Day and night, moment by moment, almost second by second, I find -myself listening for a footstep. Now I fancy I hear it, and the icy -sweat bursts from every pore; now I realise that I only imagined those -stealthy, shuffling, hideously creeping sounds coming along the floor -toward me from behind, and I give a gasp of relief. - -What a mockery it all is! What a fool’s life I have led! When I am -not listening, I am fiercely hating these people round me. They are -listening, too--listening eagerly--yes, even my own children. I can -see from their furtive glances into my face that they, too, have seen -the droop in the line that was straight, the growing weakness in the -eye that never quailed. It is frightful, this being gently waited on -and soothingly spoken to and patiently borne with--as his gaolers treat -a man who is to be shot or hanged next sunrise. - -Yet I dare not resent it. I can only cower and suffer. - -My crown is slipping from me. No, worse--it is I that am slipping from -it. It remains; I, its master, must go. I--its master? How it has -tricked me! I have been its slave; it is weary of me; it is about to -cast me off. - -It has been years since any one has said “must” to me. I had forgotten -what a hideous word it is. And if one cannot resent it, cannot resist -it! All to whom I have said “must” are revenged. - -Every night for a week I have cried like a child. I put my handkerchief -under my head to prevent the tears from wilting my pillow and revealing -my secret to them as they keep the death-watch on me. Last night I -groaned so loudly that my valet rushed in, turned on the electric -lights, and drew back the curtains of my bed. When he saw me blazing at -him in fury, he shrank and stammered: “Oh, sir, I thought----” - -“Get out!” I shrieked. - -I knew only too well what he thought. - - * * * * * - -On the following day--or was it the second day?--Gunderson Kuyper -came to see me. Deaths in my family and in his, and other matters, -chiefly--at least so I had imagined--my unwillingness to have Helen -go away for a wedding trip, had delayed the marriage of my daughter -and his son. Then, too, there had been some attempt on the part of -his lawyer to find out my intentions in the matter of an allowance for -Helen. But, feeling that this was a true love match which ought not to -be spoiled by any intrusion of the material and the business-like, I -had waved the lawyer off with some vague politeness. - -I was completely taken by surprise when, with an exceedingly small -amount of hemming and hawing for so aristocratic a despiser of -commercialism as Gunderson Kuyper, he flatly demanded a joint -settlement of five millions on his son and Helen! - -It was particularly important that I should not be excited. The doctors -had warned me that rage would probably be fatal. But in spite of this -I could not wholly conceal my agitation. “You will have to excuse me, -Mr. Kuyper,” said I. “You see what a nervous state I am in. Discussion -about business would be highly dangerous. I can only assure you that, -as Helen is my favourite child, she and, of course, her husband will be -amply provided for. I must beg you not to continue the subject.” - -“I understand. I am sincerely sorry.” The oily scoundrel spoke in tones -of the most delicate sympathy. “We will postpone the marriage until -your health is such that you are able to discuss it.” He rose and came -toward me to take leave. - -“Instead of quieting my agitation, you have aggravated it,” I said. -“These young people have their hearts set on each other--at least I -have been led to believe that your son----” - -“And you are right, my dear Galloway,” he said--he patronises me, drops -the “Mr.” in addressing me, and makes me feel too distant with him to -drop it in return. “But as my son has less than fifteen thousand a -year, he could not think of marriage with a woman brought up as your -daughter has been--unless there were assurance of some further income. -I am not in a position to make him an adequate allowance--I can only -double his present income. He will, of course, inherit a considerable -fortune at my death. But I feel it is only just that you should do your -share toward properly establishing the new family.” - -“I shall, I shall,” I said, feebly, trying to make him see how unfit -I was for such a discussion. “Let them marry. Everything shall be -looked after. Only leave me in peace. Do not disturb me with these -mercenary----” - -That word must have angered him, for his face whitened, and he said, -with suppressed fury: “It is perfectly well known, Mr. Galloway, that -you made no provision whatever for your other children, and that you -keep your son on a beggarly allowance, considering your fortune and -the social station which you are struggling to maintain. You have -given your elder daughter nothing. I speak plainly, sir, because -your dealings with your children and with Mr. Bradish’s daughter are -matters of common gossip. I will permit no evasion, no screening behind -illness. I must speak the only language you understand. It is a matter -of indifference to us----” - -“I had no idea the Kuypers were so--so thrifty,” said I, myself in a -fury at this vulgar and insulting tirade. - -“As I was saying,” he went on, “it is a matter of indifference to us -whether my son marries your daughter or not. His mother and I consented -only after he had made it plain to us that his happiness was involved. -My consent was conditioned on your acting the part of an honourable -and considerate father.” - -“Our conceptions of a parent are evidently as wide apart as our -conceptions of the feeling a young man should entertain toward a young -woman he purposes to marry,” said I. “Your demand for five millions -is preposterous. The honour of marrying my daughter should be--shall -be--sufficient for your son--if I permit the marriage to go on.” - -“Very well, sir. You may keep your daughter and your ill-got millions.” - -“Strange that ill-got wealth should have such a fascination for you!” - -“Everything is purified by passing to innocent hands,” he replied. -“But--enough! I am ashamed that my temper should have degraded me to -such a controversy with such a man. The longer we have had this matter -under advisement the more nauseating it has become. I might have known -that nothing but humiliation would result from even considering an -alliance with a family whose head is notorious throughout the length -and breadth of this land for chicanery, for impudent dishonesty, for -theft----” - -I heard no more. I was now dimly conscious that his purpose throughout -had been, after a perfunctory attempt to arrange a settlement, to -provoke a quarrel that would make the marriage impossible. At his last -words I felt a pain shoot from my brain throughout my body--a pain so -frightful that I straightway lost consciousness. - -At last my stealthy, shuffling, creeping enemy had stolen up behind me -and had struck me down. - -When I came to myself on the third day, Helen was there. “Poor child!” -I said, “your dream is over, but----” - -“No! No!” she protested. - -“Yes--I know your heart was set on that young fellow.” - -“Everything is all right now that you are getting well,” she replied, -and would not let me say anything more. - -In two weeks I was well enough to go about again as before. I found -that Delamotte had defied his father and was only waiting for me to -consent. For Helen’s sake, I yielded. Why blame the boy? Why make my -child wretched? Let them have the chance I never had. Or, did I have -it and throw it away? No matter. To sacrifice them to revenge would be -petty. - -Petty! What is not petty to me, seated in front of The Great Fact? - -I must rearrange my will properly to provide for Helen. - -How small and repulsive it all is to me!--all that has seemed so -stupendous these forty years. I am worn out. If I have not the courage -to die, still less have I the courage to go on--or the interest. I want -rest. - -They tell me--what they always tell a man in my straits. But they know -better--and so do I! - -Nor do I care. - - * * * * * - -Too late! Too late! For now, not the poorest, greediest pedlar that -cheats in rags for rags at the area-gate would change places with me. - -Oh, vanity, how you have swindled me! - -No doubt they think my mind is stunned. I have seen other men of my -class stricken as I am. I have watched them in this frightful wait for -the shaft they knew death had aimed and would not long delay. I know -now why their eyes were dull, why their ears seemed not to hear. I -know what they were thinking about. For, hour after hour, I too---- - -(_Here the manuscript ends_) - - - - -POSTSCRIPT - - -On the second day after James Galloway’s death, his eldest and outcast -son called at the Galloway palace and asked for his brother Walter. -Presently Walter, in dress and manner an ideal chief mourner and chief -beneficiary, came down to him in the library. The dead man lay in a -magnificent casket in the adjoining ball-room, which was half full of -funeral flowers. They were scenting the whole house with stifling, -suffocating perfume, sweet yet sickening. - -“You came to see--father?” said Walter. - -“No,” replied James. “I do not wish to be reminded. I am trying to -forgive him.” Then he looked into his brother’s eyes with the keen, -frank glance that is one of his many charms. “I’ve come to see you, to -ask you what you intend to do about the will.” - -Walter’s eyes shifted. “I don’t understand you,” he answered. - -“I mean--do you intend to break it?” - -There was a long silence. Walter’s upper lip, in spite of his efforts -to control it, was twitching nervously. At length he said: “He is gone. -It is his will. It contains his--life ambition. I think it would be -wrong not to respect it.” He looked at his brother appealingly. - -“Then I must warn you that, unless you break it and divide everything -equally among his heirs, I shall make a contest.” - -“But you consented, Jim!” pleaded Walter, recovering from his stupor. - -“Consented--to what?” - -“To--to my staying--where I was.” - -“While he lived. I said nothing about afterward. If you won’t break -the will, I shall. It will be easy enough. I can prove he made it in -the belief that I had forged his name. I can prove--that--I didn’t.” - -“But you know, Jim, he heard the truth years before he died.” - -James smiled cynically. “_How_ do I know it?” - -“I told you that mother told him on her death-bed.” - -“Would any jury believe you, or believe that I believed you?” - -Walter flushed and looked indignantly at his brother. “You offered -to shield me for what I did when I was a boy. I was younger than -you--hardly more than a child. Now you want to punish me after making -me accept your offer. It ain’t like you, Jim!” - -“More like father, ain’t it?” said James, sadly. “But--I can’t do -otherwise, Walt. I’m only helping you to do what’s just--what’s merely -decent.” - -“You are trying to destroy our father’s life-work!” - -“No--not his _life_-work. I can’t do that. I wish I could. I wish -I could destroy it even in myself. No, all I can hope to do is to -paralyse his dead hand--that awful hand he has plotted to keep on -ruling and ruining with for generations. And I _will_!” - -“You sha’n’t do it, Jim Galloway!” exclaimed Walter, in a burst of -fury. He stood and waved his arms in a gesture as weak as it was wild. -“I won’t let you. I won’t be cheated. I won’t! I _won’t_!” - -“Let’s send for your wife and see what she thinks,” said James. - -Walter gasped and sank into his chair. “No!” he muttered. “This is -between you and me.” Then, with tears in his eyes, he added: “You -ought to be ashamed to take advantage of me. And after letting me alone -and letting me get used to the idea! I didn’t think you were mean and a -coward.” - -“I admit I’m doing right in the wrong way--but it’s the only way -open to me. The will must be broken.” James rose to go. “Don’t let’s -quarrel, Walter. You know what’s honest and right; I’ve told you what I -shall do. Think it over. Talk it over with your wife. Either keep your -equal share, and devote the rest to a memorial to mother--colleges, -hospitals--anything--or else divide all equally among us four. Be -sensible, Walt--think what a hell his money and his ideas made for -himself and for the rest of us. If you get only your equal share, -you’ll have hard enough work keeping from not being like--him. Be -sensible, Walt--and be decent!” - -And he left the room and the house; and a huge wave of that -suffocating-sweet perfume of funeral flowers poured out through the -opened street-door after him as if to overwhelm him--like subtle hate -on stealthy murder bent. - -That same afternoon the will was opened. There were legacies of ten -millions to Walter and to Aurora, and of two millions to James’s -children. The rest of the estate, seventy millions, was left -unconditionally--to Helen. The will was just one month old. - -Walter was beaten in a long contest to have it set aside, and have the -estate equally divided among the heirs. The lawyers got five millions. -When Helen was finally victorious, she devoted all, except eight -millions for James and ten millions for Delamotte and herself, to the -magnificent endowment of her father’s various public enterprises. The -huge palace she made over into the “James Galloway Memorial Museum of -Art.” - -“I only carried out his real will,” she said, “for he was one of the -noblest men that ever lived--and nobody understood him but me.” - - -THE END - - - - - RECENT - PUBLICATIONS - - _of_ - - McClure, Phillips - & Co. - - [Illustration] - - _New York_ - 1903 - - -By Henry Seton Merriman - -Author of “The Sowers,” etc. - -BARLASCH OF THE GUARD - -[Illustration] - -The story is set in those desperate days when the ebbing tide of -Napoleon’s fortunes swept Europe with desolation. Barlasch--“Papa -Barlasch of the Guard, Italy, Egypt, the Danube”--a veteran in the -Little Corporal’s service--is the dominant figure of the story. -Quartered on a distinguished family in the historic town of Dantzig, he -gives his life to the romance of Desirée, the daughter of the family, -and Louis d’Arragon, whose cousin she has married and parted with at -the church door. Louis’s search with Barlasch for the missing Charles -gives an unforgettable picture of the terrible retreat from Russia; -and as a companion picture there is the heroic defence of Dantzig by -Rapp and his little army of sick and starving. At the last Barlasch, -learning of the death of Charles, plans and executes the escape of -Desirée from the beleaguered town to join Louis. - -Illustrated by the Kinneys. - -$1.50 - - -By Gelett Burgess and Will Irwin - -Authors of “The Picaroons” - -THE REIGN OF QUEEN ISYL - -[Illustration] - -In “The Reign of Queen Isyl” the authors have hit upon a new scheme in -fiction. The book is both a novel and a collection of short stories. -The main story deals with a carnival of flowers in a California city. -Just before the coronation the Queen of the Fiesta disappears, and her -Maid of Honor is crowned in her stead--Queen Isyl. There are plots and -counterplots--half-mockery, half-earnest--beneath which the reader is -tantalized by glimpses of the genuine mystery surrounding the real -queen’s disappearance. - -Thus far the story differs from other novels only in the quaintly -romantic atmosphere of modern chivalry. Its distinctive feature lies -in the fact that in every chapter one of the characters relates an -anecdote. Each anecdote is a short story of the liveliest and most -amusing kind--complete in itself--yet each bears a vital relation to -the main romance and its characters. The short stories are as unusual -and striking as the novel of which they form a part. - -$1.50 - - -By Stanley J. Weyman - -Author of “A Gentleman of France” - -THE LONG NIGHT - -[Illustration] - -Geneva in the early days of the 17th century; a ruffling young -theologue new to the city; a beautiful and innocent girl, suspected -of witchcraft; a crafty scholar and metaphysician seeking to give -over the city into the hands of the Savoyards; a stern and powerful -syndic whom the scholar beguiles to betray his office by promises of an -elixir which shall save him from his fatal illness; a brutal soldier of -fortune; these are the elements of which Weyman has composed the most -brilliant and thrilling of his romances. Claude Mercier, the student, -seeing the plot in which the girl he loves is involved, yet helpless to -divulge it, finds at last his opportunity when the treacherous men of -Savoy are admitted within Geneva’s walls, and in a night of whirlwind -fighting saves the city by his courage and address. For fire and -spirit there are few chapters in modern literature such as those which -picture the splendid defence of Geneva, by the staid, churchly, heroic -burghers, fighting in their own blood under the divided leadership of -the fat Syndic, Baudichon, and the bandy-legged sailor, Jehan Brosse, -winning the battle against the armed and armored forces of the invaders. - -Illustrated by Solomon J. Solomon. - -$1.50 - - -By A. Conan Doyle - -Author of “The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes” - -THE ADVENTURES OF GERARD - -[Illustration] - -Stories of the remarkable adventures of a Brigadier in Napoleon’s army. -In Etienne Gerard, Conan Doyle has added to his already famous gallery -of characters one worthy to stand beside the notable Sherlock Holmes. -Many and thrilling are Gerard’s adventures, as related by himself, for -he takes part in nearly every one of Napoleon’s campaigns. In Venice -he has an interesting romantic escapade which causes him the loss of -an ear. With the utmost bravery and cunning he captures the Spanish -city of Saragossa; in Portugal he saves the army; in Russia he feeds -the starving soldiers by supplies obtained at Minsk, after a wonderful -ride. Everywhere else he is just as marvelous, and at Waterloo he is -the center of the whole battle. - -For all his lumbering vanity he is a genial old soul and a remarkably -vivid story-teller. - -Illustrated by W. B. Wollen. - -$1.50 - - -By Joseph Conrad - -Author of “Lord Jim,” “Youth,” etc. - -FALK - -[Illustration] - -All that magic of word-painting which has made Conrad’s stories of the -sea the wonder of the literary world is here turned to the showing -forth of the hearts of men and women. “Falk,” the first story, is the -romance of a port-tyrant in the far East, who, in his love for a young -girl, confesses that he has once been driven to cannibalism. A more -extraordinary study of human passions has never been put into print. -“Amy Foster” tells of a strange and beautiful foreigner who, lost by -shipwreck on an English countryside, marries a girl there; and of his -tragic efforts to make himself a real member of the brutally clannish -little community. “To-morrow” is the simple, pathetic, and touching -story of an old man who waits for his runaway son to return to him, -and is supported in his hopeless expectation by a brave and loving -girl-neighbor. - -$1.50 - - -By Henry Harland - -Author of “The Cardinal’s Snuff Box” - -MY FRIEND PROSPERO - -[Illustration] - -A novel which will fascinate by the grace and charm with which it is -written, by the delightful characters that take part in it, and by -the interest of the plot. The scene is laid in a magnificent Austrian -castle in North Italy, and that serves as a background for the working -out of a sparkling love-story between a heroine who is brilliant and -beautiful and a hero who is quite her match in cleverness and wit. It -is a book with all the daintiness and polish of Mr. Harland’s former -novels, and other virtues all its own. - -Frontispiece in colors by Louis Loeb. - -$1.50 - - -By Mary Findlater - -THE ROSE OF JOY - -[Illustration] - -The story of a very charming girl who, in order to escape the rather -dreary and sordid surroundings of her youth, marries a man who -fascinates her by his difference from the people whom she already -knows. He, however, is a shallow and selfish man, who has very little -appreciation of his wife’s need for self-expression; it turns out that -he is even worse than this, however, and that he has been married -before to a woman considerably below him, who, when he had believed -her dead, turns up and drives him from England. The heroine, then a -wife, yet not a wife, turns to her art as a painter for that “Rose of -Joy” which had been denied her as a child or as a married woman. Miss -Findlater has many of the qualities of a Jane Austen, in that she can -find matters of the deepest interest, and make them seem interesting, -too, in all the affairs of a country neighborhood. - -$1.50 - - -By Lloyd Osbourne - -LOVE THE FIDDLER - -[Illustration] - -Love fiddles both merrily and sadly in the stories that make up this -book, but however he fiddles he makes the music for a sparkling, -charmingly told love-episode. “All the world loves a lover,” and all -the world has here choice from among a very wide and varied assortment -of them--every one a human and real person--involved in an event which -the author makes you feel is critically interesting. - -$1.50 - - -By Nina Rhoades - -Author of “The Little Girl Next Door” - -SILVER LININGS - -[Illustration] - -This story of a blind girl has a wholesome charm like that of Miss -Yonge’s works. The heroine is a little girl when we first meet her, -but she is a young woman and has been through many varied experiences -when we leave her at last in a happy home, and full of the joy of life. -Blindness seems here to be a thing that is inconvenient and sometimes -dangerous, and makes life exciting now and again, but its tragedy is so -little emphasized that the reader’s sympathies are drawn out without -ever any depression weighing upon him. - -Illustrations by Margaret Eckerson. - -$1.25 - - -By George Ade - -Author of “Fables in Slang” - -IN BABEL - -[Illustration] - -These are short stories, brief little hammer-stroke stories, just long -enough to hit the nail upon the head. Mr. Ade’s “Babel” is Chicago, and -the scenes of the stories are laid in familiar and unfamiliar quarters -of that rushing Western metropolis. It is a book about the real joys -and sorrows of real people, written in pure English by the great master -of American slang, whose quaint philosophy and humor have ranked him -among America’s most characteristic writers. - -The stories deal with the upper, the middle, and the under classes, -and show in both pathetic and humorous light the happenings in the -fashionable circles upon the Lake front, as well as among the Irish and -Italian emigrants in the squalid quarters of the city. - -$1.50 - - -By S. R. Crockett - -Author of “The Banner of Blue,” “The Firebrand” - -FLOWER O’ THE CORN - -[Illustration] - -Mr. Crockett has made an interesting novel of romance and intrigue. -He has chosen a little town in the south of France, high up in the -mountains, as the scene for his drama. The plot deals with a group of -Calvinists who have been driven from Belgium into southern France, -where they are besieged in their mountain fastness by the French -troops. 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