The Titan

by

Theodore Dreiser

CONTENTS

 I The New City II A Reconnoiter III A Chicago Evening IV Peter Laughlin & Co. V Concerning A Wife And Family VI The New Queen of the Home VII Chicago Gas VIII Now This is Fighting IX In Search of Victory X A Test XI The Fruits of Daring XII A New Retainer XIII The Die is Cast XIV Undercurrents XV A New Affection XVI A Fateful Interlude XVII An Overture to Conflict XVIII The Clash XIX "Hell Hath No Fury--" XX "Man and Superman" XXI A Matter of Tunnels XXII Street-railways at Last XXIII The Power of the Press XXIV The Coming of Stephanie Platow XXV Airs from the Orient XXVI Love and War XXVII A Financier Bewitched XXVIII The Exposure of Stephanie XXIX A Family Quarrel XXX Obstacles XXXI Untoward Disclosures XXXII A Supper Party XXXIII Mr. Lynde to the Rescue XXXIV Enter Hosmer Hand XXXV A Political Agreement XXXVI An Election Draws Near XXXVII Aileen's Revenge XXXVIII An Hour of Defeat XXXIX The New Administration XL A Trip to Louisville XLI The Daughter of Mrs. Fleming XLII F. A. Cowperwood, Guardian XLIII The Planet Mars XLIV A Franchise Obtained XLV Changing Horizons XLVI Depths and Heights XLVII American Match XLVIII Panic XLIX Mount Olympus L A New York Mansion LI The Revival of Hattie Starr LII Behind the Arras LIII A Declaration of Love LIV Wanted--Fifty-year Franchises LV Cowperwood and the Governor LVI The Ordeal of Berenice LVII Aileen's Last Card LVIII A Marauder Upon the Commonwealth LIX Capital and Public Rights LX The Net LXI The Cataclysm LXII The Recompense

Chapter I

The New City

When Frank Algernon Cowperwood emerged from the Eastern DistrictPenitentiary in Philadelphia he realized that the old life he had livedin that city since boyhood was ended. His youth was gone, and with ithad been lost the great business prospects of his earlier manhood. Hemust begin again. 

It would be useless to repeat how a second panic following upon atremendous failure--that of Jay Cooke & Co. --had placed a secondfortune in his hands. This restored wealth softened him in somedegree. Fate seemed to have his personal welfare in charge. He wassick of the stock-exchange, anyhow, as a means of livelihood, and nowdecided that he would leave it once and for all. He would get insomething else--street-railways, land deals, some of the boundlessopportunities of the far West. Philadelphia was no longer pleasing tohim. Though now free and rich, he was still a scandal to thepretenders, and the financial and social world was not prepared toaccept him. He must go his way alone, unaided, or only secretly so, while his quondam friends watched his career from afar. So, thinkingof this, he took the train one day, his charming mistress, now onlytwenty-six, coming to the station to see him off. He looked at herquite tenderly, for she was the quintessence of a certain type offeminine beauty. 

"By-by, dearie, " he smiled, as the train-bell signaled the approachingdeparture. "You and I will get out of this shortly. Don't grieve. I'll be back in two or three weeks, or I'll send for you. I'd take younow, only I don't know how that country is out there. We'll fix on someplace, and then you watch me settle this fortune question. We'll notlive under a cloud always. I'll get a divorce, and we'll marry, andthings will come right with a bang. Money will do that. "

He looked at her with his large, cool, penetrating eyes, and sheclasped his cheeks between her hands. 

"Oh, Frank, " she exclaimed, "I'll miss you so! You're all I have. "

"In two weeks, " he smiled, as the train began to move, "I'll wire or beback. Be good, sweet. "

She followed him with adoring eyes--a fool of love, a spoiled child, afamily pet, amorous, eager, affectionate, the type so strong a manwould naturally like--she tossed her pretty red gold head and waved hima kiss. Then she walked away with rich, sinuous, healthy strides--thetype that men turn to look after. 

"That's her--that's that Butler girl, " observed one railroad clerk toanother. "Gee! a man wouldn't want anything better than that, wouldhe?"

It was the spontaneous tribute that passion and envy invariably pay tohealth and beauty. On that pivot swings the world. 

Never in all his life until this trip had Cowperwood been farther westthan Pittsburg. His amazing commercial adventures, brilliant as theywere, had been almost exclusively confined to the dull, staid world ofPhiladelphia, with its sweet refinement in sections, its pretensions toAmerican social supremacy, its cool arrogation of traditionalleadership in commercial life, its history, conservative wealth, unctuous respectability, and all the tastes and avocations which theseimply. He had, as he recalled, almost mastered that pretty world andmade its sacred precincts his own when the crash came. Practically hehad been admitted. Now he was an Ishmael, an ex-convict, albeit amillionaire. But wait! The race is to the swift, he said to himselfover and over. Yes, and the battle is to the strong. He would testwhether the world would trample him under foot or no. 

Chicago, when it finally dawned on him, came with a rush on the secondmorning. He had spent two nights in the gaudy Pullman then provided--acar intended to make up for some of the inconveniences of itsarrangements by an over-elaboration of plush and tortured glass--whenthe first lone outposts of the prairie metropolis began to appear. Theside-tracks along the road-bed over which he was speeding became moreand more numerous, the telegraph-poles more and more hung with arms andstrung smoky-thick with wires. In the far distance, cityward, was, here and there, a lone working-man's cottage, the home of someadventurous soul who had planted his bare hut thus far out in order toreap the small but certain advantage which the growth of the city wouldbring. 

The land was flat--as flat as a table--with a waning growth of browngrass left over from the previous year, and stirring faintly in themorning breeze. Underneath were signs of the new green--the New Year'sflag of its disposition. For some reason a crystalline atmosphereenfolded the distant hazy outlines of the city, holding the latter likea fly in amber and giving it an artistic subtlety which touched him. Already a devotee of art, ambitious for connoisseurship, who had hadhis joy, training, and sorrow out of the collection he had made andlost in Philadelphia, he appreciated almost every suggestion of adelightful picture in nature. 

The tracks, side by side, were becoming more and more numerous. Freight-cars were assembled here by thousands from all parts of thecountry--yellow, red, blue, green, white. (Chicago, he recalled, already had thirty railroads terminating here, as though it were theend of the world. ) The little low one and two story houses, quite newas to wood, were frequently unpainted and already smoky--in placesgrimy. At grade-crossings, where ambling street-cars and wagons andmuddy-wheeled buggies waited, he noted how flat the streets were, howunpaved, how sidewalks went up and down rhythmically--here a flight ofsteps, a veritable platform before a house, there a long stretch ofboards laid flat on the mud of the prairie itself. What a city!Presently a branch of the filthy, arrogant, self-sufficient littleChicago River came into view, with its mass of sputtering tugs, itsblack, oily water, its tall, red, brown, and green grain-elevators, itsimmense black coal-pockets and yellowish-brown lumber-yards. 

Here was life; he saw it at a flash. Here was a seething city in themaking. There was something dynamic in the very air which appealed tohis fancy. How different, for some reason, from Philadelphia! That wasa stirring city, too. He had thought it wonderful at one time, quite aworld; but this thing, while obviously infinitely worse, was better. It was more youthful, more hopeful. In a flare of morning sunlightpouring between two coal-pockets, and because the train had stopped tolet a bridge swing and half a dozen great grain and lumber boats goby--a half-dozen in either direction--he saw a group of Irishstevedores idling on the bank of a lumber-yard whose wall skirted thewater. Healthy men they were, in blue or red shirt-sleeves, stoutstraps about their waists, short pipes in their mouths, fine, hardy, nutty-brown specimens of humanity. Why were they so appealing, heasked himself. This raw, dirty town seemed naturally to compose itselfinto stirring artistic pictures. Why, it fairly sang! The world wasyoung here. Life was doing something new. Perhaps he had better not goon to the Northwest at all; he would decide that question later. 

In the mean time he had letters of introduction to distinguishedChicagoans, and these he would present. He wanted to talk to somebankers and grain and commission men. The stock-exchange of Chicagointerested him, for the intricacies of that business he knew backwardand forward, and some great grain transactions had been made here. 

The train finally rolled past the shabby backs of houses into a long, shabbily covered series of platforms--sheds having only roofs--andamidst a clatter of trucks hauling trunks, and engines belching steam, and passengers hurrying to and fro he made his way out into CanalStreet and hailed a waiting cab--one of a long line of vehicles thatbespoke a metropolitan spirit. He had fixed on the Grand Pacific asthe most important hotel--the one with the most socialsignificance--and thither he asked to be driven. On the way he studiedthese streets as in the matter of art he would have studied a picture. The little yellow, blue, green, white, and brown street-cars which hesaw trundling here and there, the tired, bony horses, jingling bells attheir throats, touched him. They were flimsy affairs, these cars, merely highly varnished kindling-wood with bits of polished brass andglass stuck about them, but he realized what fortunes they portended ifthe city grew. Street-cars, he knew, were his natural vocation. Evenmore than stock-brokerage, even more than banking, even more thanstock-organization he loved the thought of street-cars and the vastmanipulative life it suggested. 

Chapter II

A Reconnoiter

The city of Chicago, with whose development the personality of FrankAlgernon Cowperwood was soon to be definitely linked! To whom may thelaurels as laureate of this Florence of the West yet fall? This singingflame of a city, this all America, this poet in chaps and buckskin, this rude, raw Titan, this Burns of a city! By its shimmering lake itlay, a king of shreds and patches, a maundering yokel with an epic inits mouth, a tramp, a hobo among cities, with the grip of Caesar in itsmind, the dramatic force of Euripides in its soul. A very bard of acity this, singing of high deeds and high hopes, its heavy brogansburied deep in the mire of circumstance. Take Athens, oh, Greece!Italy, do you keep Rome! This was the Babylon, the Troy, the Nineveh ofa younger day. Here came the gaping West and the hopeful East to see. Here hungry men, raw from the shops and fields, idyls and romances intheir minds, builded them an empire crying glory in the mud. 

From New York, Vermont, New Hampshire, Maine had come a strangecompany, earnest, patient, determined, unschooled in even the primer ofrefinement, hungry for something the significance of which, when theyhad it, they could not even guess, anxious to be called great, determined so to be without ever knowing how. Here came the dreamygentleman of the South, robbed of his patrimony; the hopeful student ofYale and Harvard and Princeton; the enfranchised miner of Californiaand the Rockies, his bags of gold and silver in his hands. Here wasalready the bewildered foreigner, an alien speech confounding him--theHun, the Pole, the Swede, the German, the Russian--seeking his homelycolonies, fearing his neighbor of another race. 

Here was the negro, the prostitute, the blackleg, the gambler, theromantic adventurer par excellence. A city with but a handful of thenative-born; a city packed to the doors with all the riffraff of athousand towns. Flaring were the lights of the bagnio; tinkling thebanjos, zithers, mandolins of the so-called gin-mill; all the dreamsand the brutality of the day seemed gathered to rejoice (and rejoicethey did) in this new-found wonder of a metropolitan life in the West. 

The first prominent Chicagoan whom Cowperwood sought out was thepresident of the Lake City National Bank, the largest financialorganization in the city, with deposits of over fourteen milliondollars. It was located in Dearborn Street, at Munroe, but a block ortwo from his hotel. 

"Find out who that man is, " ordered Mr. Judah Addison, the president ofthe bank, on seeing him enter the president's private waiting-room. 

Mr. Addison's office was so arranged with glass windows that he could, by craning his neck, see all who entered his reception-room before theysaw him, and he had been struck by Cowperwood's face and force. Longfamiliarity with the banking world and with great affairs generally hadgiven a rich finish to the ease and force which the latter naturallypossessed. He looked strangely replete for a man of thirty-six--suave, steady, incisive, with eyes as fine as those of a Newfoundland or aCollie and as innocent and winsome. They were wonderful eyes, soft andspring-like at times, glowing with a rich, human understanding which onthe instant could harden and flash lightning. Deceptive eyes, unreadable, but alluring alike to men and to women in all walks andconditions of life. 

The secretary addressed came back with Cowperwood's letter ofintroduction, and immediately Cowperwood followed. 

Mr. Addison instinctively arose--a thing he did not always do. "I'mpleased to meet you, Mr. Cowperwood, " he said, politely. "I saw youcome in just now. You see how I keep my windows here, so as to spy outthe country. Sit down. You wouldn't like an apple, would you?" Heopened a left-hand drawer, producing several polished red winesaps, oneof which he held out. "I always eat one about this time in themorning. "

"Thank you, no, " replied Cowperwood, pleasantly, estimating as he didso his host's temperament and mental caliber. "I never eat betweenmeals, but I appreciate your kindness. I am just passing throughChicago, and I thought I would present this letter now rather thanlater. I thought you might tell me a little about the city from aninvestment point of view. "

As Cowperwood talked, Addison, a short, heavy, rubicund man withgrayish-brown sideburns extending to his ear-lobes and hard, bright, twinkling gray eyes--a proud, happy, self-sufficient man--munched hisapple and contemplated Cowperwood. As is so often the case in life, hefrequently liked or disliked people on sight, and he prided himself onhis judgment of men. Almost foolishly, for one so conservative, he wastaken with Cowperwood--a man immensely his superior--not because of theDrexel letter, which spoke of the latter's "undoubted financial genius"and the advantage it would be to Chicago to have him settle there, butbecause of the swimming wonder of his eyes. Cowperwood's personality, while maintaining an unbroken outward reserve, breathed a tremendoushumanness which touched his fellow-banker. Both men were in their waywalking enigmas, the Philadelphian far the subtler of the two. Addisonwas ostensibly a church-member, a model citizen; he represented a pointof view to which Cowperwood would never have stooped. Both men wereruthless after their fashion, avid of a physical life; but Addison wasthe weaker in that he was still afraid--very much afraid--of what lifemight do to him. The man before him had no sense of fear. Addisoncontributed judiciously to charity, subscribed outwardly to a dullsocial routine, pretended to love his wife, of whom he was weary, andtook his human pleasure secretly. The man before him subscribed tonothing, refused to talk save to intimates, whom he controlledspiritually, and did as he pleased. 

"Why, I'll tell you, Mr. Cowperwood, " Addison replied. "We people outhere in Chicago think so well of ourselves that sometimes we're afraidto say all we think for fear of appearing a little extravagant. We'relike the youngest son in the family that knows he can lick all theothers, but doesn't want to do it--not just yet. We're not as handsomeas we might be--did you ever see a growing boy that was?--but we'reabsolutely sure that we're going to be. Our pants and shoes and coatand hat get too small for us every six months, and so we don't lookvery fashionable, but there are big, strong, hard muscles and bonesunderneath, Mr. Cowperwood, as you'll discover when you get to lookingaround. Then you won't mind the clothes so much. "

Mr. Addison's round, frank eyes narrowed and hardened for a moment. Akind of metallic hardness came into his voice. Cowperwood could seethat he was honestly enamoured of his adopted city. Chicago was hismost beloved mistress. A moment later the flesh about his eyescrinkled, his mouth softened, and he smiled. "I'll be glad to tell youanything I can, " he went on. "There are a lot of interesting things totell. "

Cowperwood beamed back on him encouragingly. He inquired after thecondition of one industry and another, one trade or profession andanother. This was somewhat different from the atmosphere whichprevailed in Philadelphia--more breezy and generous. The tendency toexpatiate and make much of local advantages was Western. He liked it, however, as one aspect of life, whether he chose to share in it or not. It was favorable to his own future. He had a prison record to livedown; a wife and two children to get rid of--in the legal sense, atleast (he had no desire to rid himself of financial obligation towardthem). It would take some such loose, enthusiastic Western attitude toforgive in him the strength and freedom with which he ignored andrefused to accept for himself current convention. "I satisfy myself"was his private law, but so to do he must assuage and control theprejudices of other men. He felt that this banker, while not putty inhis hands, was inclined to a strong and useful friendship. 

"My impressions of the city are entirely favorable, Mr. Addison, " hesaid, after a time, though he inwardly admitted to himself that thiswas not entirely true; he was not sure whether he could bring himselfultimately to live in so excavated and scaffolded a world as this ornot. "I only saw a portion of it coming in on the train. I like thesnap of things. I believe Chicago has a future. "

"You came over the Fort Wayne, I presume, " replied Addison, loftily. "You saw the worst section. You must let me show you some of the bestparts. By the way, where are you staying?"

"At the Grand Pacific. "

"How long will you be here?"

"Not more than a day or two. "

"Let me see, " and Mr. Addison drew out his watch. "I suppose youwouldn't mind meeting a few of our leading men--and we have a littleluncheon-room over at the Union League Club where we drop in now andthen. If you'd care to do so, I'd like to have you come along with meat one. We're sure to find a few of them--some of our lawyers, business men, and judges. "

"That will be fine, " said the Philadelphian, simply. "You're more thangenerous. There are one or two other people I want to meet in between, and"--he arose and looked at his own watch--"I'll find the Union Club. Where is the office of Arneel & Co. ?"

At the mention of the great beef-packer, who was one of the bank'sheaviest depositors, Addison stirred slightly with approval. Thisyoung man, at least eight years his junior, looked to him like a futuregrand seigneur of finance. 

At the Union Club, at this noontime luncheon, after talking with theportly, conservative, aggressive Arneel and the shrewd director of thestock-exchange, Cowperwood met a varied company of men ranging in agefrom thirty-five to sixty-five gathered about the board in a privatedining-room of heavily carved black walnut, with pictures of eldercitizens of Chicago on the walls and an attempt at artistry in stainedglass in the windows. There were short and long men, lean and stout, dark and blond men, with eyes and jaws which varied from those of thetiger, lynx, and bear to those of the fox, the tolerant mastiff, andthe surly bulldog. There were no weaklings in this selected company. 

Mr. Arneel and Mr. Addison Cowperwood approved of highly as shrewd, concentrated men. Another who interested him was Anson Merrill, asmall, polite, recherche soul, suggesting mansions and footmen andremote luxury generally, who was pointed out by Addison as the famousdry-goods prince of that name, quite the leading merchant, in theretail and wholesale sense, in Chicago. 

Still another was a Mr. Rambaud, pioneer railroad man, to whom Addison, smiling jocosely, observed: "Mr. Cowperwood is on from Philadelphia, Mr. Rambaud, trying to find out whether he wants to lose any money outhere. Can't you sell him some of that bad land you have up in theNorthwest?"

Rambaud--a spare, pale, black-bearded man of much force and exactness, dressed, as Cowperwood observed, in much better taste than some of theothers--looked at Cowperwood shrewdly but in a gentlemanly, retiringway, with a gracious, enigmatic smile. He caught a glance in returnwhich he could not possibly forget. The eyes of Cowperwood said morethan any words ever could. Instead of jesting faintly Mr. Rambauddecided to explain some things about the Northwest. Perhaps thisPhiladelphian might be interested. 

To a man who has gone through a great life struggle in one metropolisand tested all the phases of human duplicity, decency, sympathy, andchicanery in the controlling group of men that one invariably finds inevery American city at least, the temperament and significance ofanother group in another city is not so much, and yet it is. Longsince Cowperwood had parted company with the idea that humanity at anyangle or under any circumstances, climatic or otherwise, is in any waydifferent. To him the most noteworthy characteristic of the human racewas that it was strangely chemic, being anything or nothing, as thehour and the condition afforded. In his leisure moments--those freefrom practical calculation, which were not many--he often speculated asto what life really was. If he had not been a great financier and, above all, a marvelous organizer he might have become a highlyindividualistic philosopher--a calling which, if he had thoughtanything about it at all at this time, would have seemed rathertrivial. His business as he saw it was with the material facts oflife, or, rather, with those third and fourth degree theorems andsyllogisms which control material things and so represent wealth. Hewas here to deal with the great general needs of the Middle West--toseize upon, if he might, certain well-springs of wealth and power andrise to recognized authority. In his morning talks he had learned ofthe extent and character of the stock-yards' enterprises, of the greatrailroad and ship interests, of the tremendous rising importance ofreal estate, grain speculation, the hotel business, the hardwarebusiness. He had learned of universal manufacturing companies--onethat made cars, another elevators, another binders, another windmills, another engines. Apparently, any new industry seemed to do well inChicago. In his talk with the one director of the Board of Trade towhom he had a letter he had learned that few, if any, local stocks weredealt in on 'change. Wheat, corn, and grains of all kinds wereprincipally speculated in. The big stocks of the East were gambled inby way of leased wires on the New York Stock Exchange--not otherwise. 

As he looked at these men, all pleasantly civil, all general in theirremarks, each safely keeping his vast plans under his vest, Cowperwoodwondered how he would fare in this community. There were suchdifficult things ahead of him to do. No one of these men, all of whomwere in their commercial-social way agreeable, knew that he had onlyrecently been in the penitentiary. How much difference would that makein their attitude? No one of them knew that, although he was marriedand had two children, he was planning to divorce his wife and marry thegirl who had appropriated to herself the role which his wife had onceplayed. 

"Are you seriously contemplating looking into the Northwest?" asked Mr. Rambaud, interestedly, toward the close of the luncheon. 

"That is my present plan after I finish here. I thought I'd take ashort run up there. "

"Let me put you in touch with an interesting party that is going as faras Fargo and Duluth. There is a private car leaving Thursday, most ofthem citizens of Chicago, but some Easterners. I would be glad to haveyou join us. I am going as far as Minneapolis. "

Cowperwood thanked him and accepted. A long conversation followedabout the Northwest, its timber, wheat, land sales, cattle, andpossible manufacturing plants. 

What Fargo, Minneapolis, and Duluth were to be civically andfinancially were the chief topics of conversation. Naturally, Mr. Rambaud, having under his direction vast railroad lines whichpenetrated this region, was confident of the future of it. Cowperwoodgathered it all, almost by instinct. Gas, street-railways, landspeculations, banks, wherever located, were his chief thoughts. 

Finally he left the club to keep his other appointments, but somethingof his personality remained behind him. Mr. Addison and Mr. Rambaud, among others, were sincerely convinced that he was one of the mostinteresting men they had met in years. And he scarcely had saidanything at all--just listened. 

Chapter III

A Chicago Evening

After his first visit to the bank over which Addison presided, and aninformal dinner at the latter's home, Cowperwood had decided that hedid not care to sail under any false colors so far as Addison wasconcerned. He was too influential and well connected. Besides, Cowperwood liked him too much. Seeing that the man's leaning towardhim was strong, in reality a fascination, he made an early morning calla day or two after he had returned from Fargo, whither he had gone atMr. Rambaud's suggestion, on his way back to Philadelphia, determinedto volunteer a smooth presentation of his earlier misfortunes, andtrust to Addison's interest to make him view the matter in a kindlylight. He told him the whole story of how he had been convicted oftechnical embezzlement in Philadelphia and had served out his term inthe Eastern Penitentiary. He also mentioned his divorce and hisintention of marrying again. 

Addison, who was the weaker man of the two and yet forceful in his ownway, admired this courageous stand on Cowperwood's part. It was abraver thing than he himself could or would have achieved. It appealedto his sense of the dramatic. Here was a man who apparently had beendragged down to the very bottom of things, his face forced in the mire, and now he was coming up again strong, hopeful, urgent. The bankerknew many highly respected men in Chicago whose early careers, as hewas well aware, would not bear too close an inspection, but nothing wasthought of that. Some of them were in society, some not, but all ofthem were powerful. Why should not Cowperwood be allowed to begin allover? He looked at him steadily, at his eyes, at his stocky body, athis smooth, handsome, mustached face. Then he held out his hand. 

"Mr. Cowperwood, " he said, finally, trying to shape his wordsappropriately, "I needn't say that I am pleased with this interestingconfession. It appeals to me. I'm glad you have made it to me. Youneedn't say any more at any time. I decided the day I saw you walkinginto that vestibule that you were an exceptional man; now I know it. You needn't apologize to me. I haven't lived in this world fifty yearsand more without having my eye-teeth cut. You're welcome to thecourtesies of this bank and of my house as long as you care to availyourself of them. We'll cut our cloth as circumstances dictate in thefuture. I'd like to see you come to Chicago, solely because I like youpersonally. If you decide to settle here I'm sure I can be of serviceto you and you to me. Don't think anything more about it; I sha'n'tever say anything one way or another. You have your own battle tofight, and I wish you luck. You'll get all the aid from me I canhonestly give you. Just forget that you told me, and when you get yourmatrimonial affairs straightened out bring your wife out to see us. "

With these things completed Cowperwood took the train back toPhiladelphia. 

"Aileen, " he said, when these two met again--she had come to the trainto meet him--"I think the West is the answer for us. I went up toFargo and looked around up there, but I don't believe we want to gothat far. There's nothing but prairie-grass and Indians out in thatcountry. How'd you like to live in a board shanty, Aileen, " he asked, banteringly, "with nothing but fried rattlesnakes and prairie-dogs forbreakfast? Do you think you could stand that?"

"Yes, " she replied, gaily, hugging his arm, for they had entered aclosed carriage; "I could stand it if you could. I'd go anywhere withyou, Frank. I'd get me a nice Indian dress with leather and beads allover it and a feather hat like they wear, and--"

"There you go! Certainly! Pretty clothes first of all in a miner'sshack. That's the way. "

"You wouldn't love me long if I didn't put pretty clothes first, " shereplied, spiritedly. "Oh, I'm so glad to get you back!"

"The trouble is, " he went on, "that that country up there isn't aspromising as Chicago. I think we're destined to live in Chicago. Imade an investment in Fargo, and we'll have to go up there from time totime, but we'll eventually locate in Chicago. I don't want to go outthere alone again. It isn't pleasant for me. " He squeezed her hand. "If we can't arrange this thing at once I'll just have to introduce youas my wife for the present. "

"You haven't heard anything more from Mr. Steger?" she put in. She wasthinking of Steger's efforts to get Mrs. Cowperwood to grant him adivorce. 

"Not a word. "

"Isn't it too bad?" she sighed. 

"Well, don't grieve. Things might be worse. "

He was thinking of his days in the penitentiary, and so was she. Aftercommenting on the character of Chicago he decided with her that so soonas conditions permitted they would remove themselves to the Westerncity. 

It would be pointless to do more than roughly sketch the period ofthree years during which the various changes which saw the completeelimination of Cowperwood from Philadelphia and his introduction intoChicago took place. For a time there were merely journeys to and fro, at first more especially to Chicago, then to Fargo, where histransported secretary, Walter Whelpley, was managing under hisdirection the construction of Fargo business blocks, a short street-carline, and a fair-ground. This interesting venture bore the title ofthe Fargo Construction and Transportation Company, of which Frank A. Cowperwood was president. His Philadelphia lawyer, Mr. Harper Steger, was for the time being general master of contracts. 

For another short period he might have been found living at the Tremontin Chicago, avoiding for the time being, because of Aileen's company, anything more than a nodding contact with the important men he hadfirst met, while he looked quietly into the matter of a Chicagobrokerage arrangement--a partnership with some established broker who, without too much personal ambition, would bring him a knowledge ofChicago Stock Exchange affairs, personages, and Chicago ventures. Onone occasion he took Aileen with him to Fargo, where with a haughty, bored insouciance she surveyed the state of the growing city. 

"Oh, Frank!" she exclaimed, when she saw the plain, wooden, four-storyhotel, the long, unpleasing business street, with its motley collectionof frame and brick stores, the gaping stretches of houses, facing inmost directions unpaved streets. Aileen in her tailoredspick-and-spanness, her self-conscious vigor, vanity, and tendency toover-ornament, was a strange contrast to the rugged self-effacement andindifference to personal charm which characterized most of the men andwomen of this new metropolis. "You didn't seriously think of comingout here to live, did you?"

She was wondering where her chance for social exchange would comein--her opportunity to shine. Suppose her Frank were to be very rich;suppose he did make very much money--much more than he had ever hadeven in the past--what good would it do her here? In Philadelphia, before his failure, before she had been suspected of the secret liaisonwith him, he had been beginning (at least) to entertain in a verypretentious way. If she had been his wife then she might have steppedsmartly into Philadelphia society. Out here, good gracious! She turnedup her pretty nose in disgust. "What an awful place!" was her onecomment at this most stirring of Western boom towns. 

When it came to Chicago, however, and its swirling, increasing life, Aileen was much interested. Between attending to many financialmatters Cowperwood saw to it that she was not left alone. He asked herto shop in the local stores and tell him about them; and this she did, driving around in an open carriage, attractively arrayed, a great brownhat emphasizing her pink-and-white complexion and red-gold hair. Ondifferent afternoons of their stay he took her to drive over theprincipal streets. When Aileen was permitted for the first time to seethe spacious beauty and richness of Prairie Avenue, the North ShoreDrive, Michigan Avenue, and the new mansions on Ashland Boulevard, setin their grassy spaces, the spirit, aspirations, hope, tang of thefuture Chicago began to work in her blood as it had in Cowperwood's. All of these rich homes were so very new. The great people of Chicagowere all newly rich like themselves. She forgot that as yet she wasnot Cowperwood's wife; she felt herself truly to be so. The streets, set in most instances with a pleasing creamish-brown flagging, linedwith young, newly planted trees, the lawns sown to smooth green grass, the windows of the houses trimmed with bright awnings and hung withintricate lace, blowing in a June breeze, the roadways a gray, grittymacadam--all these things touched her fancy. On one drive they skirtedthe lake on the North Shore, and Aileen, contemplating the chalky, bluish-green waters, the distant sails, the gulls, and then the newbright homes, reflected that in all certitude she would some day be themistress of one of these splendid mansions. How haughtily she wouldcarry herself; how she would dress! They would have a splendid house, much finer, no doubt, than Frank's old one in Philadelphia, with agreat ball-room and dining-room where she could give dances anddinners, and where Frank and she would receive as the peers of theseChicago rich people. 

"Do you suppose we will ever have a house as fine as one of these, Frank?" she asked him, longingly. 

"I'll tell you what my plan is, " he said. "If you like this MichiganAvenue section we'll buy a piece of property out here now and hold it. Just as soon as I make the right connections here and see what I amgoing to do we'll build a house--something really nice--don't worry. Iwant to get this divorce matter settled, and then we'll begin. Meanwhile, if we have to come here, we'd better live rather quietly. Don't you think so?"

It was now between five and six, that richest portion of a summer day. It had been very warm, but was now cooling, the shade of the westernbuilding-line shadowing the roadway, a moted, wine-like air filling thestreet. As far as the eye could see were carriages, the one greatsocial diversion of Chicago, because there was otherwise so littleopportunity for many to show that they had means. The social forceswere not as yet clear or harmonious. Jingling harnesses of nickel, silver, and even plated gold were the sign manual of social hope, ifnot of achievement. Here sped homeward from the city--from office andmanufactory--along this one exceptional southern highway, the Via Appiaof the South Side, all the urgent aspirants to notable fortunes. Menof wealth who had met only casually in trade here nodded to each other. Smart daughters, society-bred sons, handsome wives came down-town intraps, Victorias, carriages, and vehicles of the latest design to drivehome their trade-weary fathers or brothers, relatives or friends. Theair was gay with a social hope, a promise of youth and affection, andthat fine flush of material life that recreates itself in delight. Lithe, handsome, well-bred animals, singly and in jingling pairs, pacedeach other down the long, wide, grass-lined street, its fine homesagleam with a rich, complaisant materiality. 

"Oh!" exclaimed Aileen, all at once, seeing the vigorous, forceful men, the handsome matrons, and young women and boys, the nodding and thebowing, feeling a touch of the romance and wonder of it all. "I shouldlike to live in Chicago. I believe it's nicer than Philadelphia. "

Cowperwood, who had fallen so low there, despite his immense capacity, set his teeth in two even rows. His handsome mustache seemed at thismoment to have an especially defiant curl. The pair he was driving wasphysically perfect, lean and nervous, with spoiled, petted faces. Hecould not endure poor horse-flesh. He drove as only a horse-lover can, his body bolt upright, his own energy and temperament animating hisanimals. Aileen sat beside him, very proud, consciously erect. 

"Isn't she beautiful?" some of the women observed, as they passed, going north. "What a stunning young woman!" thought or said the men. 

"Did you see her?" asked a young brother of his sister. "Never mind, Aileen, " commented Cowperwood, with that iron determination that brooksno defeat. "We will be a part of this. Don't fret. You will haveeverything you want in Chicago, and more besides. "

There was tingling over his fingers, into the reins, into the horses, amysterious vibrating current that was his chemical product, theoff-giving of his spirit battery that made his hired horses prance likechildren. They chafed and tossed their heads and snorted. Aileen wasfairly bursting with hope and vanity and longing. Oh, to be Mrs. FrankAlgernon Cowperwood here in Chicago, to have a splendid mansion, tohave her cards of invitation practically commands which might not beignored!

"Oh, dear!" she sighed to herself, mentally. "If only it were alltrue--now. "

It is thus that life at its topmost toss irks and pains. Beyond isever the unattainable, the lure of the infinite with its infinite ache. 

"Oh, life! oh, youth! oh, hope! oh, years! Oh pain-winged fancy, beating forth with fears. "

Chapter IV

Peter Laughlin & Co. 

The partnership which Cowperwood eventually made with an old-time Boardof Trade operator, Peter Laughlin, was eminently to his satisfaction. Laughlin was a tall, gaunt speculator who had spent most of his livingdays in Chicago, having come there as a boy from western Missouri. Hewas a typical Chicago Board of Trade operator of the old school, havingan Andrew Jacksonish countenance, and a Henry Clay--DavyCrockett--"Long John" Wentworth build of body. 

Cowperwood from his youth up had had a curious interest in quaintcharacters, and he was interesting to them; they "took" to him. Hecould, if he chose to take the trouble, fit himself in with the oddpsychology of almost any individual. In his early peregrinations in LaSalle Street he inquired after clever traders on 'change, and then gavethem one small commission after another in order to get acquainted. Thus he stumbled one morning on old Peter Laughlin, wheat and corntrader, who had an office in La Salle Street near Madison, and who dida modest business gambling for himself and others in grain and Easternrailway shares. Laughlin was a shrewd, canny American, originally, perhaps, of Scotch extraction, who had all the traditional Americanblemishes of uncouthness, tobacco-chewing, profanity, and other smallvices. Cowperwood could tell from looking at him that he must have afund of information concerning every current Chicagoan of importance, and this fact alone was certain to be of value. Then the old man wasdirect, plain-spoken, simple-appearing, and whollyunpretentious--qualities which Cowperwood deemed invaluable. 

Once or twice in the last three years Laughlin had lost heavily onprivate "corners" that he had attempted to engineer, and the generalfeeling was that he was now becoming cautious, or, in other words, afraid. "Just the man, " Cowperwood thought. So one morning he calledupon Laughlin, intending to open a small account with him. 

"Henry, " he heard the old man say, as he entered Laughlin's fair-sizedbut rather dusty office, to a young, preternaturally solemn-lookingclerk, a fit assistant for Peter Laughlin, "git me them there Pittsburgand Lake Erie sheers, will you?" Seeing Cowperwood waiting, he added, "What kin I do for ye?"

Cowperwood smiled. "So he calls them 'sheers, ' does he?" he thought. "Good! I think I'll like him. "

He introduced himself as coming from Philadelphia, and went on to saythat he was interested in various Chicago ventures, inclined to investin any good stock which would rise, and particularly desirous to buyinto some corporation--public utility preferred--which would be certainto grow with the expansion of the city. 

Old Laughlin, who was now all of sixty years of age, owned a seat onthe Board, and was worth in the neighborhood of two hundred thousanddollars, looked at Cowperwood quizzically. 

"Well, now, if you'd 'a' come along here ten or fifteen years ago youmight 'a' got in on the ground floor of a lot of things, " he observed. "There was these here gas companies, now, that them Otway and Appersonboys got in on, and then all these here street-railways. Why, I'm thefeller that told Eddie Parkinson what a fine thing he could make out ofit if he would go and organize that North State Street line. Hepromised me a bunch of sheers if he ever worked it out, but he nevergive 'em to me. I didn't expect him to, though, " he added, wisely, andwith a glint. "I'm too old a trader for that. He's out of it now, anyway. That Michaels-Kennelly crowd skinned him. Yep, if you'd 'a'been here ten or fifteen years ago you might 'a' got in on that. 'Tain't no use a-thinkin' about that, though, any more. Them sheers issellin' fer clost onto a hundred and sixty. "

Cowperwood smiled. "Well, Mr. Laughlin, " he observed, "you must havebeen on 'change a long time here. You seem to know a good deal of whathas gone on in the past. "

"Yep, ever since 1852, " replied the old man. He had a thick growth ofupstanding hair looking not unlike a rooster's comb, a long and whatthreatened eventually to become a Punch-and-Judy chin, a slightlyaquiline nose, high cheek-bones, and hollow, brown-skinned cheeks. Hiseyes were as clear and sharp as those of a lynx. 

"To tell you the truth, Mr. Laughlin, " went on Cowperwood, "what I'mreally out here in Chicago for is to find a man with whom I can go intopartnership in the brokerage business. Now I'm in the banking andbrokerage business myself in the East. I have a firm in Philadelphiaand a seat on both the New York and Philadelphia exchanges. I havesome affairs in Fargo also. Any trade agency can tell you about me. You have a Board of Trade seat here, and no doubt you do some New Yorkand Philadelphia exchange business. The new firm, if you would go inwith me, could handle it all direct. I'm a rather strong outside manmyself. I'm thinking of locating permanently in Chicago. What wouldyou say now to going into business with me? Do you think we could getalong in the same office space?"

Cowperwood had a way, when he wanted to be pleasant, of beating thefingers of his two hands together, finger for finger, tip for tip. Healso smiled at the same time--or, rather, beamed--his eyes glowing witha warm, magnetic, seemingly affectionate light. 

As it happened, old Peter Laughlin had arrived at that psychologicalmoment when he was wishing that some such opportunity as this mightappear and be available. He was a lonely man, never having been ableto bring himself to trust his peculiar temperament in the hands of anywoman. As a matter of fact, he had never understood women at all, hisrelations being confined to those sad immoralities of the cheapestcharacter which only money--grudgingly given, at that--could buy. Helived in three small rooms in West Harrison Street, near Throup, wherehe cooked his own meals at times. His one companion was a smallspaniel, simple and affectionate, a she dog, Jennie by name, with whomhe slept. Jennie was a docile, loving companion, waiting for himpatiently by day in his office until he was ready to go home at night. He talked to this spaniel quite as he would to a human being (even moreintimately, perhaps), taking the dog's glances, tail-waggings, andgeneral movements for answer. In the morning when he arose, which wasoften as early as half past four, or even four--he was a briefsleeper--he would begin by pulling on his trousers (he seldom bathedany more except at a down-town barber shop) and talking to Jennie. 

"Git up, now, Jinnie, " he would say. "It's time to git up. We've gotto make our coffee now and git some breakfast. I can see yuh, lyin'there, pertendin' to be asleep. Come on, now! You've had sleep enough. You've been sleepin' as long as I have. "

Jennie would be watching him out of the corner of one loving eye, hertail tap-tapping on the bed, her free ear going up and down. 

When he was fully dressed, his face and hands washed, his old stringtie pulled around into a loose and convenient knot, his hair brushedupward, Jennie would get up and jump demonstratively about, as much asto say, "You see how prompt I am. "

"That's the way, " old Laughlin would comment. "Allers last. Yuh nevergit up first, do yuh, Jinnie? Allers let yer old man do that, don'tyou?"

On bitter days, when the car-wheels squeaked and one's ears and fingersseemed to be in danger of freezing, old Laughlin, arrayed in a heavy, dusty greatcoat of ancient vintage and a square hat, would carry Jenniedown-town in a greenish-black bag along with some of his beloved"sheers" which he was meditating on. Only then could he take Jennie inthe cars. On other days they would walk, for he liked exercise. Hewould get to his office as early as seven-thirty or eight, thoughbusiness did not usually begin until after nine, and remain untilfour-thirty or five, reading the papers or calculating during the hourswhen there were no customers. Then he would take Jennie and go for awalk or to call on some business acquaintance. His home room, thenewspapers, the floor of the exchange, his offices, and the streetswere his only resources. He cared nothing for plays, books, pictures, music--and for women only in his one-angled, mentally impoverished way. His limitations were so marked that to a lover of character likeCowperwood he was fascinating--but Cowperwood only used character. Henever idled over it long artistically. 

As Cowperwood suspected, what old Laughlin did not know about Chicagofinancial conditions, deals, opportunities, and individuals wasscarcely worth knowing. Being only a trader by instinct, neither anorganizer nor an executive, he had never been able to make any greatconstructive use of his knowledge. His gains and his losses he tookwith reasonable equanimity, exclaiming over and over, when he lost:"Shucks! I hadn't orter have done that, " and snapping his fingers. When he won heavily or was winning he munched tobacco with a seraphicsmile and occasionally in the midst of trading would exclaim: "Youfellers better come in. It's a-gonta rain some more. " He was not easyto trap in any small gambling game, and only lost or won when there wasa free, open struggle in the market, or when he was engineering somelittle scheme of his own. 

The matter of this partnership was not arranged at once, although itdid not take long. Old Peter Laughlin wanted to think it over, although he had immediately developed a personal fancy for Cowperwood. In a way he was the latter's victim and servant from the start. Theymet day after day to discuss various details and terms; finally, trueto his instincts, old Peter demanded a full half interest. 

"Now, you don't want that much, Laughlin, " Cowperwood suggested, quiteblandly. They were sitting in Laughlin's private office between fourand five in the afternoon, and Laughlin was chewing tobacco with thesense of having a fine, interesting problem before him. "I have a seaton the New York Stock Exchange, " he went on, "and that's worth fortythousand dollars. My seat on the Philadelphia exchange is worth morethan yours here. They will naturally figure as the principal assets ofthe firm. It's to be in your name. I'll be liberal with you, though. Instead of a third, which would be fair, I'll make it forty-nine percent. , and we'll call the firm Peter Laughlin & Co. I like you, and Ithink you can be of a lot of use to me. I know you will make moremoney through me than you have alone. I could go in with a lot ofthese silk-stocking fellows around here, but I don't want to. You'dbetter decide right now, and let's get to work. "

Old Laughlin was pleased beyond measure that young Cowperwood shouldwant to go in with him. He had become aware of late that all of theyoung, smug newcomers on 'change considered him an old fogy. Here wasa strong, brave young Easterner, twenty years his junior, evidently asshrewd as himself--more so, he feared--who actually proposed a businessalliance. Besides, Cowperwood, in his young, healthy, aggressive way, was like a breath of spring. 

"I ain't keerin' so much about the name, " rejoined Laughlin. "You canfix it that-a-way if you want to. Givin' you fifty-one per cent. Givesyou charge of this here shebang. All right, though; I ain't a-kickin'. I guess I can manage allus to git what's a-comin' to me. 

"It's a bargain, then, " said Cowperwood. "We'll want new offices, Laughlin, don't you think? This one's a little dark. "

"Fix it up any way you like, Mr. Cowperwood. It's all the same to me. I'll be glad to see how yer do it. "

In a week the details were completed, and two weeks later the sign ofPeter Laughlin & Co. , grain and commission merchants, appeared over thedoor of a handsome suite of rooms on the ground floor of a corner at LaSalle and Madison, in the heart of the Chicago financial district. 

"Get onto old Laughlin, will you?" one broker observed to another, asthey passed the new, pretentious commission-house with its splendidplate-glass windows, and observed the heavy, ornate bronze sign placedon either side of the door, which was located exactly on the corner. "What's struck him? I thought he was almost all through. Who's theCompany?"

"I don't know. Some fellow from the East, I think. "

"Well, he's certainly moving up. Look at the plate glass, will you?"

It was thus that Frank Algernon Cowperwood's Chicago financial careerwas definitely launched. 

Chapter V

Concerning A Wife And Family

If any one fancies for a moment that this commercial move on the partof Cowperwood was either hasty or ill-considered they but littleappreciate the incisive, apprehensive psychology of the man. Histhoughts as to life and control (tempered and hardened by thirteenmonths of reflection in the Eastern District Penitentiary) had givenhim a fixed policy. He could, should, and would rule alone. No manmust ever again have the least claim on him save that of a suppliant. He wanted no more dangerous combinations such as he had had withStener, the man through whom he had lost so much in Philadelphia, andothers. By right of financial intellect and courage he was first, andwould so prove it. Men must swing around him as planets around the sun. 

Moreover, since his fall from grace in Philadelphia he had come tothink that never again, perhaps, could he hope to become sociallyacceptable in the sense in which the so-called best society of a cityinterprets the phrase; and pondering over this at odd moments, herealized that his future allies in all probability would not be amongthe rich and socially important--the clannish, snobbish elements ofsociety--but among the beginners and financially strong men who hadcome or were coming up from the bottom, and who had no social hopeswhatsoever. There were many such. If through luck and effort hebecame sufficiently powerful financially he might then hope to dictateto society. Individualistic and even anarchistic in character, andwithout a shred of true democracy, yet temperamentally he was insympathy with the mass more than he was with the class, and heunderstood the mass better. Perhaps this, in a way, will explain hisdesire to connect himself with a personality so naive and strange asPeter Laughlin. He had annexed him as a surgeon selects a specialknife or instrument for an operation, and, shrewd as old Laughlin was, he was destined to be no more than a tool in Cowperwood's strong hands, a mere hustling messenger, content to take orders from this swiftest ofmoving brains. For the present Cowperwood was satisfied to do businessunder the firm name of Peter Laughlin & Co. --as a matter of fact, hepreferred it; for he could thus keep himself sufficiently inconspicuousto avoid undue attention, and gradually work out one or two coups bywhich he hoped to firmly fix himself in the financial future of Chicago. 

As the most essential preliminary to the social as well as thefinancial establishment of himself and Aileen in Chicago, HarperSteger, Cowperwood's lawyer, was doing his best all this while toingratiate himself in the confidence of Mrs. Cowperwood, who had nofaith in lawyers any more than she had in her recalcitrant husband. She was now a tall, severe, and rather plain woman, but still bearingthe marks of the former passive charm that had once interestedCowperwood. Notable crows'-feet had come about the corners of hernose, mouth, and eyes. She had a remote, censorious, subdued, self-righteous, and even injured air. 

The cat-like Steger, who had all the graceful contemplative air of aprowling Tom, was just the person to deal with her. A more suavelycunning and opportunistic soul never was. His motto might well havebeen, speak softly and step lightly. 

"My dear Mrs. Cowperwood, " he argued, seated in her modest WestPhiladelphia parlor one spring afternoon, "I need not tell you what aremarkable man your husband is, nor how useless it is to combat him. Admitting all his faults--and we can agree, if you please, that theyare many"--Mrs. Cowperwood stirred with irritation--"still it is notworth while to attempt to hold him to a strict account. You know"--andMr. Steger opened his thin, artistic hands in a deprecatory way--"whatsort of a man Mr. Cowperwood is, and whether he can be coerced or not. He is not an ordinary man, Mrs. Cowperwood. No man could have gonethrough what he has and be where he is to-day, and be an average man. If you take my advice you will let him go his way. Grant him adivorce. He is willing, even anxious to make a definite provision foryou and your children. He will, I am sure, look liberally after theirfuture. But he is becoming very irritable over your unwillingness togive him a legal separation, and unless you do I am very much afraidthat the whole matter will be thrown into the courts. If, before itcomes to that, I could effect an arrangement agreeable to you, I wouldbe much pleased. As you know, I have been greatly grieved by thewhole course of your recent affairs. I am intensely sorry that thingsare as they are. "

Mr. Steger lifted his eyes in a very pained, deprecatory way. Heregretted deeply the shifty currents of this troubled world. 

Mrs. Cowperwood for perhaps the fifteenth or twentieth time heard himto the end in patience. Cowperwood would not return. Steger was asmuch her friend as any other lawyer would be. Besides, he was sociallyagreeable to her. Despite his Machiavellian profession, she halfbelieved him. He went over, tactfully, a score of additional points. Finally, on the twenty-first visit, and with seemingly great distress, he told her that her husband had decided to break with her financially, to pay no more bills, and do nothing until his responsibility had beenfixed by the courts, and that he, Steger, was about to retire from thecase. Mrs. Cowperwood felt that she must yield; she named herultimatum. If he would fix two hundred thousand dollars on her and thechildren (this was Cowperwood's own suggestion) and later on dosomething commercially for their only son, Frank, junior, she would lethim go. She disliked to do it. She knew that it meant the triumph ofAileen Butler, such as it was. But, after all, that wretched creaturehad been properly disgraced in Philadelphia. It was not likely shecould ever raise her head socially anywhere any more. She agreed tofile a plea which Steger would draw up for her, and by that oilygentleman's machinations it was finally wormed through the local courtin the most secret manner imaginable. The merest item in three of thePhiladelphia papers some six weeks later reported that a divorce hadbeen granted. When Mrs. Cowperwood read it she wondered greatly thatso little attention had been attracted by it. She had feared a muchmore extended comment. She little knew the cat-like prowlings, legaland journalistic, of her husband's interesting counsel. WhenCowperwood read it on one of his visits to Chicago he heaved a sigh ofrelief. At last it was really true. Now he could make Aileen hiswife. He telegraphed her an enigmatic message of congratulation. WhenAileen read it she thrilled from head to foot. Now, shortly, she wouldbecome the legal bride of Frank Algernon Cowperwood, the newlyenfranchised Chicago financier, and then--

"Oh, " she said, in her Philadelphia home, when she read it, "isn't thatsplendid! Now I'll be Mrs. Cowperwood. Oh, dear!"

Mrs. Frank Algernon Cowperwood number one, thinking over her husband'sliaison, failure, imprisonment, pyrotechnic operations at the time ofthe Jay Cooke failure, and his present financial ascendancy, wonderedat the mystery of life. There must be a God. The Bible said so. Herhusband, evil though he was, could not be utterly bad, for he had madeample provision for her, and the children liked him. Certainly, at thetime of the criminal prosecution he was no worse than some others whohad gone free. Yet he had been convicted, and she was sorry for thatand had always been. He was an able and ruthless man. She hardly knewwhat to think. The one person she really did blame was the wretched, vain, empty-headed, ungodly Aileen Butler, who had been his seductressand was probably now to be his wife. God would punish her, no doubt. He must. So she went to church on Sundays and tried to believe, comewhat might, that all was for the best. 

Chapter VI

The New Queen of the Home

The day Cowperwood and Aileen were married--it was in an obscurevillage called Dalston, near Pittsburg, in western Pennsylvania, wherethey had stopped off to manage this matter--he had said to her: "I wantto tell you, dear, that you and I are really beginning life all over. Now it depends on how well we play this game as to how well we succeed. If you will listen to me we won't try to do anything much socially inChicago for the present. Of course we'll have to meet a few people. That can't be avoided. Mr. And Mrs. Addison are anxious to meet you, and I've delayed too long in that matter as it is. But what I mean isthat I don't believe it's advisable to push this social exchange toofar. People are sure to begin to make inquiries if we do. My plan isto wait a little while and then build a really fine house so that wewon't need to rebuild. We're going to go to Europe next spring, ifthings go right, and we may get some ideas over there. I'm going toput in a good big gallery, " he concluded. "While we're traveling wemight as well see what we can find in the way of pictures and so on. "

Aileen was thrilling with anticipation. "Oh, Frank, " she said to him, quite ecstatically, "you're so wonderful! You do everything you want, don't you?"

"Not quite, " he said, deprecatingly; "but it isn't for not wanting to. Chance has a little to say about some of these chings, Aileen. "

She stood in front of him, as she often did, her plump, ringed hands onhis shoulders, and looked into those steady, lucid pools--his eyes. Another man, less leonine, and with all his shifting thoughts, mighthave had to contend with the handicap of a shifty gaze; he fronted thequeries and suspicions of the world with a seeming candor that was asdisarming as that of a child. The truth was he believed in himself, andhimself only, and thence sprang his courage to think as he pleased. Aileen wondered, but could get no answer. 

"Oh, you big tiger!" she said. "You great, big lion! Boo!"

He pinched her cheek and smiled. "Poor Aileen!" he thought. Shelittle knew the unsolvable mystery that he was even to himself--tohimself most of all. 

Immediately after their marriage Cowperwood and Aileen journeyed toChicago direct, and took the best rooms that the Tremont provided, forthe time being. A little later they heard of a comparatively smallfurnished house at Twenty-third and Michigan Avenue, which, with horsesand carriages thrown in, was to be had for a season or two on lease. They contracted for it at once, installing a butler, servants, and thegeneral service of a well-appointed home. Here, because he thought itwas only courteous, and not because he thought it was essential or wiseat this time to attempt a social onslaught, he invited the Addisons andone or two others whom he felt sure would come--Alexander Rambaud, president of the Chicago & Northwestern, and his wife, and Taylor Lord, an architect whom he had recently called into consultation and whom hefound socially acceptable. Lord, like the Addisons, was in society, but only as a minor figure. 

Trust Cowperwood to do the thing as it should be done. The place theyhad leased was a charming little gray-stone house, with a neat flightof granite, balustraded steps leading up to its wide-arched door, and ajudicious use of stained glass to give its interior an artisticallysubdued atmosphere. Fortunately, it was furnished in good taste. Cowperwood turned over the matter of the dinner to a caterer anddecorator. Aileen had nothing to do but dress, and wait, and look herbest. 

"I needn't tell you, " he said, in the morning, on leaving, "that I wantyou to look nice to-night, pet. I want the Addisons and Mr. Rambaud tolike you. "

A hint was more than sufficient for Aileen, though really it was notneeded. On arriving at Chicago she had sought and discovered a Frenchmaid. Although she had brought plenty of dresses from Philadelphia, she had been having additional winter costumes prepared by the best andmost expensive mistress of the art in Chicago--Theresa Donovan. Onlythe day before she had welcomed home a golden-yellow silk under heavygreen lace, which, with her reddish-gold hair and her white arms andneck, seemed to constitute an unusual harmony. Her boudoir on thenight of the dinner presented a veritable riot of silks, satins, laces, lingerie, hair ornaments, perfumes, jewels--anything and everythingwhich might contribute to the feminine art of being beautiful. Once inthe throes of a toilet composition, Aileen invariably became restlessand energetic, almost fidgety, and her maid, Fadette, was compelled tomove quickly. Fresh from her bath, a smooth, ivory Venus, she workedquickly through silken lingerie, stockings and shoes, to her hair. Fadette had an idea to suggest for the hair. Would Madame let her trya new swirl she had seen? Madame would--yes. So there were movings ofher mass of rich glinting tresses this way and that. Somehow it wouldnot do. A braided effect was then tried, and instantly discarded;finally a double looping, without braids, low over the forehead, caughtback with two dark-green bands, crossing like an X above the center ofher forehead and fastened with a diamond sunburst, served admirably. In her filmy, lacy boudoir costume of pink silk Aileen stood up andsurveyed herself in the full-length mirror. 

"Yes, " she said, turning her head this way and that. 

Then came the dress from Donovan's, rustling and crisping. She slippedinto it wonderingly, critically, while Fadette worked at the back, thearms, about her knees, doing one little essential thing after another. 

"Oh, Madame!" she exclaimed. "Oh, charmant! Ze hair, it go weeth itperfect. It ees so full, so beyutiful here"--she pointed to the hips, where the lace formed a clinging basque. "Oh, tees varee, varee nize. "

Aileen glowed, but with scarcely a smile. She was concerned. Itwasn't so much her toilet, which must be everything that it shouldbe--but this Mr. Addison, who was so rich and in society, and Mr. Rambaud, who was very powerful, Frank said, must like her. It was thenecessity to put her best foot forward now that was really troublingher. She must interest these men mentally, perhaps, as well asphysically, and with social graces, and that was not so easy. For allher money and comfort in Philadelphia she had never been in society inits best aspects, had never done social entertaining of any realimportance. Frank was the most important man who had ever crossed herpath. No doubt Mr. Rambaud had a severe, old-fashioned wife. Howwould she talk to her? And Mrs. Addison! She would know and seeeverything. Aileen almost talked out loud to herself in a consolingway as she dressed, so strenuous were her thoughts; but she went on, adding the last touches to her physical graces. 

When she finally went down-stairs to see how the dining and receptionrooms looked, and Fadette began putting away the welter of discardedgarments--she was a radiant vision--a splendid greenish-gold figure, with gorgeous hair, smooth, soft, shapely ivory arms, a splendid neckand bust, and a swelling form. She felt beautiful, and yet she was alittle nervous--truly. Frank himself would be critical. She went aboutlooking into the dining-room, which, by the caterer's art, had beentransformed into a kind of jewel-box glowing with flowers, silver, gold, tinted glass, and the snowy whiteness of linen. It reminded herof an opal flashing all its soft fires. She went into the generalreception-room, where was a grand piano finished in pink and gold, uponwhich, with due thought to her one accomplishment--her playing--she hadarranged the songs and instrumental pieces she did best. Aileen wasreally not a brilliant musician. For the first time in her life shefelt matronly--as if now she were not a girl any more, but a womangrown, with some serious responsibilities, and yet she was not reallysuited to the role. As a matter of fact, her thoughts were alwaysfixed on the artistic, social, and dramatic aspects of life, withunfortunately a kind of nebulosity of conception which permitted nocondensation into anything definite or concrete. She could only bewildly and feverishly interested. Just then the door clicked toFrank's key--it was nearing six--and in he came, smiling, confident, aperfect atmosphere of assurance. 

"Well!" he observed, surveying her in the soft glow of thereception-room lighted by wall candles judiciously arranged. "Who's thevision floating around here? I'm almost afraid to touch you. Muchpowder on those arms?"

He drew her into his arms, and she put up her mouth with a sense ofrelief. Obviously, he must think that she looked charming. 

"I am chalky, I guess. You'll just have to stand it, though. You'regoing to dress, anyhow. "

She put her smooth, plump arms about his neck, and he felt pleased. This was the kind of a woman to have--a beauty. Her neck wasresplendent with a string of turquoise, her fingers too heavilyjeweled, but still beautiful. She was faintly redolent of hyacinth orlavender. Her hair appealed to him, and, above all, the rich yellowsilk of her dress, flashing fulgurously through the closely nettedgreen. 

"Charming, girlie. You've outdone yourself. I haven't seen this dressbefore. Where did you get it?"

"Here in Chicago. "

He lifted her warm fingers, surveying her train, and turned her about. 

"You don't need any advice. You ought to start a school. "

"Am I all right?" she queried, smartly, but with a sense ofself-distrust for the moment, and all because of him. 

"You're perfect. Couldn't be nicer. Splendid!"

She took heart. 

"I wish your friends would think so. You'd better hurry. "

He went up-stairs, and she followed, looking first into the dining-roomagain. At least that was right. Surely Frank was a master. 

At seven the plop of the feet of carriage-horses was heard, and amoment later Louis, the butler, was opening the door. Aileen wentdown, a little nervous, a little frigid, trying to think of manypleasant things, and wondering whether she would really succeed inbeing entertaining. Cowperwood accompanied her, a very differentperson in so far as mood and self-poise were concerned. To himself hisown future was always secure, and that of Aileen's if he wished to makeit so. The arduous, upward-ascending rungs of the social ladder thatwere troubling her had no such significance to him. 

The dinner, as such simple things go, was a success from what might becalled a managerial and pictorial point of view. Cowperwood, becauseof his varied tastes and interests, could discuss railroading with Mr. Rambaud in a very definite and illuminating way; could talkarchitecture with Mr. Lord as a student, for instance, of rare promisewould talk with a master; and with a woman like Mrs. Addison or Mrs. Rambaud he could suggest or follow appropriate leads. Aileen, unfortunately, was not so much at home, for her natural state and moodwere remote not so much from a serious as from an accurate conceptionof life. So many things, except in a very nebulous and suggestive way, were sealed books to Aileen--merely faint, distant tinklings. She knewnothing of literature except certain authors who to the truly culturedmight seem banal. As for art, it was merely a jingle of names gatheredfrom Cowperwood's private comments. Her one redeeming feature was thatshe was truly beautiful herself--a radiant, vibrating objet d'art. Aman like Rambaud, remote, conservative, constructive, saw the place ofa woman like Aileen in the life of a man like Cowperwood on theinstant. She was such a woman as he would have prized himself in acertain capacity. 

Sex interest in all strong men usually endures unto the end, governedsometimes by a stoic resignation. The experiment of such attractioncan, as they well know, be made over and over, but to what end? Formany it becomes too troublesome. Yet the presence of so glittering aspectacle as Aileen on this night touched Mr. Rambaud with an ancientambition. He looked at her almost sadly. Once he was much younger. But alas, he had never attracted the flaming interest of any suchwoman. As he studied her now he wished that he might have enjoyed suchgood fortune. 

In contrast with Aileen's orchid glow and tinted richness Mrs. Rambaud's simple gray silk, the collar of which came almost to herears, was disturbing--almost reproving--but Mrs. Rambaud's ladylikecourtesy and generosity made everything all right. She came out ofintellectual New England--the Emerson-Thoreau-Channing Phillips schoolof philosophy--and was broadly tolerant. As a matter of fact, sheliked Aileen and all the Orient richness she represented. "Such a sweetlittle house this is, " she said, smilingly. "We've noticed it often. We're not so far removed from you but what we might be calledneighbors. "

Aileen's eyes spoke appreciation. Although she could not fully graspMrs. Rambaud, she understood her, in a way, and liked her. She wasprobably something like her own mother would have been if the latterhad been highly educated. While they were moving into thereception-room Taylor Lord was announced. Cowperwood took his hand andbrought him forward to the others. 

"Mrs. Cowperwood, " said Lord, admiringly--a tall, rugged, thoughtfulperson--"let me be one of many to welcome you to Chicago. AfterPhiladelphia you will find some things to desire at first, but we allcome to like it eventually. "

"Oh, I'm sure I shall, " smiled Aileen. 

"I lived in Philadelphia years ago, but only for a little while, " addedLord. "I left there to come here. "

The observation gave Aileen the least pause, but she passed it overlightly. This sort of accidental reference she must learn to expect;there might be much worse bridges to cross. 

"I find Chicago all right, " she replied, briskly. "There's nothing thematter with it. It has more snap than Philadelphia ever had. "

"I'm glad to hear you say that. I like it so much. Perhaps it'sbecause I find such interesting things to do here. "

He was admiring the splendor of her arms and hair. What need hadbeautiful woman to be intellectual, anyhow, he was saying to himself, sensing that Aileen might be deficient in ultimate refinement. 

Once more an announcement from the butler, and now Mr. And Mrs. Addisonentered. Addison was not at all concerned over coming here--liked theidea of it; his own position and that of his wife in Chicago wassecure. "How are you, Cowperwood?" he beamed, laying one hand on thelatter's shoulder. "This is fine of you to have us in to-night. Mrs. Cowperwood, I've been telling your husband for nearly a year now thathe should bring you out here. Did he tell you?" (Addison had not as yetconfided to his wife the true history of Cowperwood and Aileen. )

"Yes, indeed, " replied Aileen, gaily, feeling that Addison was charmedby her beauty. "I've been wanting to come, too. It's his fault that Iwasn't here sooner. "

Addison, looking circumspectly at Aileen, said to himself that she wascertainly a stunning-looking woman. So she was the cause of the firstwife's suit. No wonder. What a splendid creature! He contrasted herwith Mrs. Addison, and to his wife's disadvantage. She had never beenas striking, as stand-upish as Aileen, though possibly she might havemore sense. Jove! if he could find a woman like Aileen to-day. Lifewould take on a new luster. And yet he had women--very carefully, verysubterraneously. But he had them. 

"It's such a pleasure to meet you, " Mrs. Addison, a corpulent, bejeweled lady, was saying to Aileen. "My husband and yours havebecome the best of friends, apparently. We must see more of eachother. "

She babbled on in a puffy social way, and Aileen felt as though shewere getting along swiftly. The butler brought in a great tray ofappetizers and cordials, and put them softly on a remote table. Dinnerwas served, and the talk flowed on; they discussed the growth of thecity, a new church that Lord was building ten blocks farther out;Rambaud told about some humorous land swindles. It was quite gay. Meanwhile Aileen did her best to become interested in Mrs. Rambaud andMrs. Addison. She liked the latter somewhat better, solely because itwas a little easier to talk to her. Mrs. Rambaud Aileen knew to be thewiser and more charitable woman, but she frightened her a little;presently she had to fall back on Mr. Lord's help. He came to herrescue gallantly, talking of everything that came into his mind. Allthe men outside of Cowperwood were thinking how splendid Aileen wasphysically, how white were her arms, how rounded her neck andshoulders, how rich her hair. 

Chapter VII

Chicago Gas

Old Peter Laughlin, rejuvenated by Cowperwood's electric ideas, wasmaking money for the house. He brought many bits of interesting gossipfrom the floor, and such shrewd guesses as to what certain groups andindividuals were up to, that Cowperwood was able to make some verybrilliant deductions. 

"By Gosh! Frank, I think I know exactly what them fellers are trying todo, " Laughlin would frequently remark of a morning, after he had lainin his lonely Harrison Street bed meditating the major portion of thenight. "That there Stock Yards gang" (and by gang he meant most of thegreat manipulators, like Arneel, Hand, Schryhart and others) "are aftercorn again. We want to git long o' that now, or I miss my guess. Whatdo you think, huh?"

Cowperwood, schooled by now in many Western subtleties which he had notpreviously known, and daily becoming wiser, would as a rule give aninstantaneous decision. 

"You're right. Risk a hundred thousand bushels. I think New YorkCentral is going to drop a point or two in a few days. We'd better goshort a point. "

Laughlin could never figure out quite how it was that Cowperwood alwaysseemed to know and was ready to act quite as quickly in local mattersas he was himself. He understood his wisdom concerning Eastern sharesand things dealt in on the Eastern exchange, but these Chicago matters?

"Whut makes you think that?" he asked Cowperwood, one day, quitecuriously. 

"Why, Peter, " Cowperwood replied, quite simply, "Anton Videra" (one ofthe directors of the Wheat and Corn Bank) "was in here yesterday whileyou were on 'change, and he was telling me. " He described a situationwhich Videra had outlined. 

Laughlin knew Videra as a strong, wealthy Pole who had come up in thelast few years. It was strange how Cowperwood naturally got in withthese wealthy men and won their confidence so quickly. Videra wouldnever have become so confidential with him. 

"Huh!" he exclaimed. "Well, if he says it it's more'n likely so. "

So Laughlin bought, and Peter Laughlin & Co. Won. 

But this grain and commission business, while it was yielding a profitwhich would average about twenty thousand a year to each partner, wasnothing more to Cowperwood than a source of information. 

He wanted to "get in" on something that was sure to bring very greatreturns within a reasonable time and that would not leave him in anysuch desperate situation as he was at the time of the Chicagofire--spread out very thin, as he put it. He had interested in hisventures a small group of Chicago men who were watching him--JudahAddison, Alexander Rambaud, Millard Bailey, Anton Videra--men who, although not supreme figures by any means, had free capital. He knewthat he could go to them with any truly sound proposition. The onething that most attracted his attention was the Chicago gas situation, because there was a chance to step in almost unheralded in an as yetunoccupied territory; with franchises once secured--the reader canquite imagine how--he could present himself, like a Hamilcar Barca inthe heart of Spain or a Hannibal at the gates of Rome, with a demandfor surrender and a division of spoils. 

There were at this time three gas companies operating in the threedifferent divisions of the city--the three sections, or "sides, " asthey were called--South, West, and North, and of these the Chicago Gas, Light, and Coke Company, organized in 1848 to do business on the SouthSide, was the most flourishing and important. The People's Gas, Light, and Coke Company, doing business on the West Side, was a few yearsyounger than the South Chicago company, and had been allowed to springinto existence through the foolish self-confidence of the organizer anddirectors of the South Side company, who had fancied that neither theWest Side nor the North Side was going to develop very rapidly for anumber of years to come, and had counted on the city council's allowingthem to extend their mains at any time to these other portions of thecity. A third company, the North Chicago Gas Illuminating Company, hadbeen organized almost simultaneously with the West Side company by thesame process through which the other companies had been brought intolife--their avowed intention, like that of the West Side company, beingto confine their activities to the sections from which the organizerspresumably came. 

Cowperwood's first project was to buy out and combine the three oldcity companies. With this in view he looked up the holders in allthree corporations--their financial and social status. It was his ideathat by offering them three for one, or even four for one, for everydollar represented by the market value of their stock he might buy inand capitalize the three companies as one. Then, by issuing sufficientstock to cover all his obligations, he would reap a rich harvest and atthe same time leave himself in charge. He approached Judah Addisonfirst as the most available man to help float a scheme of this kind. He did not want him as a partner so much as he wanted him as aninvestor. 

"Well, I'll tell you how I feel about this, " said Addison, finally. "You've hit on a great idea here. It's a wonder it hasn't occurred tosome one else before. And you'll want to keep rather quiet about it, or some one else will rush in and do it. We have a lot of venturesomemen out here. But I like you, and I'm with you. Now it wouldn't beadvisable for me to go in on this personally--not openly, anyhow--butI'll promise to see that you get some of the money you want. I likeyour idea of a central holding company, or pool, with you in charge astrustee, and I'm perfectly willing that you should manage it, for Ithink you can do it. Anyhow, that leaves me out, apparently, except asan Investor. But you will have to get two or three others to help carrythis guarantee with me. Have you any one in mind?"

"Oh yes, " replied Cowperwood. "Certainly. I merely came to youfirst. " He mentioned Rambaud, Videra, Bailey, and others. 

"They're all right, " said Addison, "if you can get them. But I'm notsure, even then, that you can induce these other fellows to sell out. They're not investors in the ordinary sense. They're people who lookon this gas business as their private business. They started it. Theylike it. They built the gas-tanks and laid the mains. It won't beeasy. "

Cowperwood found, as Addison predicted, that it was not such an easymatter to induce the various stock-holders and directors in the oldcompanies to come in on any such scheme of reorganization. A closer, more unresponsive set of men he was satisfied he had never met. Hisoffer to buy outright at three or four for one they refused absolutely. The stock in each case was selling from one hundred and seventy to twohundred and ten, and intrinsically was worth more every year, as thecity was growing larger and its need of gas greater. At the same timethey were suspicious--one and all--of any combination scheme by anoutsider. Who was he? Whom did he represent? He could make it clearthat he had ample capital, but not who his backers were. The oldofficers and directors fancied that it was a scheme on the part of someof the officers and directors of one of the other companies to getcontrol and oust them. Why should they sell? Why be tempted by greaterprofits from their stock when they were doing very well as it was?Because of his newness to Chicago and his lack of connection as yetwith large affairs Cowperwood was eventually compelled to turn toanother scheme--that of organizing new companies in the suburbs as anentering-wedge of attack upon the city proper. Suburbs such as LakeView and Hyde Park, having town or village councils of their own, werepermitted to grant franchises to water, gas, and street-railwaycompanies duly incorporated under the laws of the state. Cowperwoodcalculated that if he could form separate and seemingly distinctcompanies for each of the villages and towns, and one general companyfor the city later, he would be in a position to dictate terms to theolder organizations. It was simply a question of obtaining hischarters and franchises before his rivals had awakened to the situation. 

The one difficulty was that he knew absolutely nothing of the businessof gas--its practical manufacture and distribution--and had never beenparticularly interested init. Street-railroading, his favorite form ofmunicipal profit-seeking, and one upon which he had acquired an almostendless fund of specialized information, offered no present practicalopportunity for him here in Chicago. He meditated on the situation, didsome reading on the manufacture of gas, and then suddenly, as was hisluck, found an implement ready to his hand. 

It appeared that in the course of the life and growth of the South Sidecompany there had once been a smaller organization founded by a man bythe name of Sippens--Henry De Soto Sippens--who had entered andactually secured, by some hocus-pocus, a franchise to manufacture andsell gas in the down-town districts, but who had been annoyed by allsorts of legal processes until he had finally been driven out orpersuaded to get out. He was now in the real-estate business in LakeView. Old Peter Laughlin knew him. 

"He's a smart little cuss, " Laughlin told Cowperwood. "I thort oncthe'd make a go of it, but they ketched him where his hair was short, and he had to let go. There was an explosion in his tank over herenear the river onct, an I think he thort them fellers blew him up. Anyhow, he got out. I ain't seen ner heard sight of him fer years. "

Cowperwood sent old Peter to look up Mr. Sippens and find out what hewas really doing, and whether he would be interested to get back in thegas business. Enter, then, a few days later into the office of PeterLaughlin & Co. Henry De Soto Sippens. He was a very little man, aboutfifty years of age; he wore a high, four-cornered, stiff felt hat, witha short brown business coat (which in summer became seersucker) andsquare-toed shoes; he looked for all the world like a country drug orbook store owner, with perhaps the air of a country doctor or lawyersuperadded. His cuffs protruded too far from his coat-sleeves, hisnecktie bulged too far out of his vest, and his high hat was set alittle too far back on his forehead; otherwise he was acceptable, pleasant, and interesting. He had short side-burns--reddishbrown--which stuck out quite defiantly, and his eyebrows were heavy. 

"Mr. Sippens, " said Cowperwood, blandly, "you were once in the gasmanufacturing and distributing business here in Chicago, weren't you?"

"I think I know as much about the manufacture of gas as any one, "replied Sippens, almost contentiously. "I worked at it for a number ofyears. "

"Well, now, Mr. Sippens, I was thinking that it might be interesting tostart a little gas company in one of these outlying villages that aregrowing so fast and see if we couldn't make some money out of it. I'mnot a practical gas man myself, but I thought I might interest some onewho was. " He looked at Sippens in a friendly, estimating way. "I haveheard of you as some one who has had considerable experience in thisfield here in Chicago. If I should get up a company of this kind, withconsiderable backing, do you think you might be willing to take themanagement of it?"

"Oh, I know all about this gas field, " Mr. Sippens was about to say. "It can't be done. " But he changed his mind before opening his lips. "If I were paid enough, " he said, cautiously. "I suppose you know whatyou have to contend with?"

"Oh yes, " Cowperwood replied, smiling. "What would you consider 'paidenough' to mean?"

"Oh, if I were given six thousand a year and a sufficient interest inthe company--say, a half, or something like that--I might consider it, "replied Sippens, determined, as he thought, to frighten Cowperwood offby his exorbitant demands. He was making almost six thousand dollars ayear out of his present business. 

"You wouldn't think that four thousand in several companies--say up tofifteen thousand dollars--and an interest of about a tenth in eachwould be better?"

Mr. Sippens meditated carefully on this. Plainly, the man before himwas no trifling beginner. He looked at Cowperwood shrewdly and saw atonce, without any additional explanation of any kind, that the latterwas preparing a big fight of some sort. Ten years before Sippens hadsensed the immense possibilities of the gas business. He had tried to"get in on it, " but had been sued, waylaid, enjoined, financiallyblockaded, and finally blown up. He had always resented the treatmenthe had received, and he had bitterly regretted his inability toretaliate. He had thought his days of financial effort were over, buthere was a man who was subtly suggesting a stirring fight, and who wascalling him, like a hunter with horn, to the chase. 

"Well, Mr. Cowperwood, " he replied, with less defiance and morecamaraderie, "if you could show me that you have a legitimateproposition in hand I am a practical gas man. I know all about mains, franchise contracts, and gas-machinery. I organized and installed theplant at Dayton, Ohio, and Rochester, New York. I would have been richif I had got here a little earlier. " The echo of regret was in hisvoice. 

"Well, now, here's your chance, Mr. Sippens, " urged Cowperwood, subtly. "Between you and me there's going to be a big new gas company in thefield. We'll make these old fellows step up and see us quickly. Doesn't that interest you? There'll be plenty of money. It isn't thatthat's wanting--it's an organizer, a fighter, a practical gas man tobuild the plant, lay the mains, and so on. " Cowperwood rose suddenly, straight and determined--a trick with him when he wanted to reallyimpress any one. He seemed to radiate force, conquest, victory. "Doyou want to come in?"

"Yes, I do, Mr. Cowperwood!" exclaimed Sippens, jumping to his feet, putting on his hat and shoving it far back on his head. He looked likea chest-swollen bantam rooster. 

Cowperwood took his extended hand. 

"Get your real-estate affairs in order. I'll want you to get me afranchise in Lake View shortly and build me a plant. I'll give you allthe help you need. I'll arrange everything to your satisfaction withina week or so. We will want a good lawyer or two. "

Sippens smiled ecstatically as he left the office. Oh, the wonder ofthis, and after ten years! Now he would show those crooks. Now he hada real fighter behind him--a man like himself. Now, by George, the furwould begin to fly! Who was this man, anyhow? What a wonder! He wouldlook him up. He knew that from now on he would do almost anythingCowperwood wanted him to do. 

Chapter VIII

Now This is Fighting

When Cowperwood, after failing in his overtures to the three city gascompanies, confided to Addison his plan of organizing rival companiesin the suburbs, the banker glared at him appreciatively. "You're asmart one!" he finally exclaimed. "You'll do! I back you to win!" Hewent on to advise Cowperwood that he would need the assistance of someof the strong men on the various village councils. "They're all ascrooked as eels' teeth, " he went on. "But there are one or two that aremore crooked than others and safer--bell-wethers. Have you got yourlawyer?"

"I haven't picked one yet, but I will. I'm looking around for theright man now. 

"Well, of course, I needn't tell you how important that is. There isone man, old General Van Sickle, who has had considerable training inthese matters. He's fairly reliable. "

The entrance of Gen. Judson P. Van Sickle threw at the very outset asuggestive light on the whole situation. The old soldier, over fifty, had been a general of division during the Civil War, and had got hisreal start in life by filing false titles to property in southernIllinois, and then bringing suits to substantiate his fraudulent claimsbefore friendly associates. He was now a prosperous go-between, requiring heavy retainers, and yet not over-prosperous. There was onlyone kind of business that came to the General--this kind; and oneinstinctively compared him to that decoy sheep at the stock-yards thathad been trained to go forth into nervous, frightened flocks of itsfellow-sheep, balking at being driven into the slaughtering-pens, andlead them peacefully into the shambles, knowing enough always to makehis own way quietly to the rear during the onward progress and thusescape. A dusty old lawyer, this, with Heaven knows what welter ofaltered wills, broken promises, suborned juries, influenced judges, bribed councilmen and legislators, double-intentioned agreements andcontracts, and a whole world of shifty legal calculations and falsepretenses floating around in his brain. Among the politicians, judges, and lawyers generally, by reason of past useful services, he wassupposed to have some powerful connections. He liked to be called intoany case largely because it meant something to do and kept him frombeing bored. When compelled to keep an appointment in winter, he wouldslip on an old greatcoat of gray twill that he had worn until it wasshabby, then, taking down a soft felt hat, twisted and pulled out ofshape by use, he would pull it low over his dull gray eyes and ambleforth. In summer his clothes looked as crinkled as though he had sleptin them for weeks. He smoked. In cast of countenance he was not whollyunlike General Grant, with a short gray beard and mustache which alwaysseemed more or less unkempt and hair that hung down over his foreheadin a gray mass. The poor General! He was neither very happy nor veryunhappy--a doubting Thomas without faith or hope in humanity andwithout any particular affection for anybody. 

"I'll tell you how it is with these small councils, Mr. Cowperwood, "observed Van Sickle, sagely, after the preliminaries of the firstinterview had been dispensed with. 

"They're worse than the city council almost, and that's about as bad asit can be. You can't do anything without money where these littlefellows are concerned. I don't like to be too hard on men, but thesefellows--" He shook his head. 

"I understand, " commented Cowperwood. "They're not very pleasing, evenafter you make all allowances. "

"Most of them, " went on the General, "won't stay put when you think youhave them. They sell out. They're just as apt as not to run to thisNorth Side Gas Company and tell them all about the whole thing beforeyou get well under way. Then you have to pay them more money, rivalbills will be introduced, and all that. " The old General pulled a longface. "Still, there are one or two of them that are all right, " headded, "if you can once get them interested--Mr. Duniway and Mr. Gerecht. "

"I'm not so much concerned with how it has to be done, General, "suggested Cowperwood, amiably, "but I want to be sure that it will bedone quickly and quietly. I don't want to be bothered with details. Can it be done without too much publicity, and about what do you thinkit is going to cost?"

"Well, that's pretty hard to say until I look into the matter, " saidthe General, thoughtfully. "It might cost only four and it might costall of forty thousand dollars--even more. I can't tell. I'd like totake a little time and look into it. " The old gentleman was wonderinghow much Cowperwood was prepared to spend. 

"Well, we won't bother about that now. I'm willing to be as liberal asnecessary. I've sent for Mr. Sippens, the president of the Lake ViewGas and Fuel Company, and he'll be here in a little while. You willwant to work with him as closely as you can. " The energetic Sippenscame after a few moments, and he and Van Sickle, after being instructedto be mutually helpful and to keep Cowperwood's name out of all mattersrelating to this work, departed together. They were an odd pair--thedusty old General phlegmatic, disillusioned, useful, but not inclinedto feel so; and the smart, chipper Sippens, determined to wreak a kindof poetic vengeance on his old-time enemy, the South Side Gas Company, via this seemingly remote Northside conspiracy. In ten minutes theywere hand in glove, the General describing to Sippens the penurious andunscrupulous brand of Councilman Duniway's politics and the friendlybut expensive character of Jacob Gerecht. Such is life. 

In the organization of the Hyde Park company Cowperwood, because henever cared to put all his eggs in one basket, decided to secure asecond lawyer and a second dummy president, although he proposed tokeep De Soto Sippens as general practical adviser for all three or fourcompanies. He was thinking this matter over when there appeared on thescene a very much younger man than the old General, one Kent BarrowsMcKibben, the only son of ex-Judge Marshall Scammon McKibben, of theState Supreme Court. Kent McKibben was thirty-three years old, tall, athletic, and, after a fashion, handsome. He was not at all vagueintellectually--that is, in the matter of the conduct of hisbusiness--but dandified and at times remote. He had an office in oneof the best blocks in Dearborn Street, which he reached in a reserved, speculative mood every morning at nine, unless something importantcalled him down-town earlier. It so happened that he had drawn up thedeeds and agreements for the real-estate company that sold Cowperwoodhis lots at Thirty-seventh Street and Michigan Avenue, and when theywere ready he journeyed to the latter's office to ask if there were anyadditional details which Cowperwood might want to have taken intoconsideration. When he was ushered in, Cowperwood turned to him hiskeen, analytical eyes and saw at once a personality he liked. McKibbenwas just remote and artistic enough to suit him. He liked his clothes, his agnostic unreadableness, his social air. McKibben, on his part, caught the significance of the superior financial atmosphere at once. He noted Cowperwood's light-brown suit picked out with strands of red, his maroon tie, and small cameo cuff-links. His desk, glass-covered, looked clean and official. The woodwork of the rooms was all cherry, hand-rubbed and oiled, the pictures interesting steel-engravings ofAmerican life, appropriately framed. The typewriter--at that time justintroduced--was in evidence, and the stock-ticker--also new--wasticking volubly the prices current. The secretary who waited onCowperwood was a young Polish girl named Antoinette Nowak, reserved, seemingly astute, dark, and very attractive. 

"What sort of business is it you handle, Mr. McKibben?" askedCowperwood, quite casually, in the course of the conversation. Andafter listening to McKibben's explanation he added, idly: "You mightcome and see me some time next week. It is just possible that I mayhave something in your line. "

In another man McKibben would have resented this remote suggestion offuture aid. Now, instead, he was intensely pleased. The man beforehim gripped his imagination. His remote intellectuality relaxed. Whenhe came again and Cowperwood indicated the nature of the work he mightwish to have done McKibben rose to the bait like a fish to a fly. 

"I wish you would let me undertake that, Mr. Cowperwood, " he said, quite eagerly. "It's something I've never done, but I'm satisfied Ican do it. I live out in Hyde Park and know most of the councilmen. Ican bring considerable influence to bear for you. "

Cowperwood smiled pleasantly. 

So a second company, officered by dummies of McKibben's selection, wasorganized. De Soto Sippens, without old General Van Sickle'sknowledge, was taken in as practical adviser. An application for afranchise was drawn up, and Kent Barrows McKibben began silent, politework on the South Side, coming into the confidence, by degrees, of thevarious councilmen. 

There was still a third lawyer, Burton Stimson, the youngest butassuredly not the least able of the three, a pale, dark-haired Romeoishyouth with burning eyes, whom Cowperwood had encountered doing somelittle work for Laughlin, and who was engaged to work on the West Sidewith old Laughlin as ostensible organizer and the sprightly De SotoSippens as practical adviser. Stimson was no mooning Romeo, however, but an eager, incisive soul, born very poor, eager to advance himself. Cowperwood detected that pliability of intellect which, while it mightspell disaster to some, spelled success for him. He wanted theintellectual servants. He was willing to pay them handsomely, to keepthem busy, to treat them with almost princely courtesy, but he musthave the utmost loyalty. Stimson, while maintaining his calm andreserve, could have kissed the arch-episcopal hand. Such is thesubtlety of contact. 

Behold then at once on the North Side, the South Side, the WestSide--dark goings to and fro and walkings up and down in the earth. InLake View old General Van Sickle and De Soto Sippens, conferring withshrewd Councilman Duniway, druggist, and with Jacob Gerecht, ward bossand wholesale butcher, both of whom were agreeable but exacting, holding pleasant back-room and drug-store confabs with almost tabulateddetails of rewards and benefits. In Hyde Park, Mr. Kent BarrowsMcKibben, smug and well dressed, a Chesterfield among lawyers, and withhim one J. J. Bergdoll, a noble hireling, long-haired and dusty, ostensibly president of the Hyde Park Gas and Fuel Company, conferringwith Councilman Alfred B. Davis, manufacturer of willow and rattanware, and Mr. Patrick Gilgan, saloon-keeper, arranging a prospectivedistribution of shares, offering certain cash consideration, lots, favors, and the like. Observe also in the village of Douglas and WestPark on the West Side, just over the city line, the angular, humorousPeter Laughlin and Burton Stimson arranging a similar deal or deals. 

The enemy, the city gas companies, being divided into three factions, were in no way prepared for what was now coming. When the news finallyleaked out that applications for franchises had been made to theseveral corporate village bodies each old company suspected the otherof invasion, treachery, robbery. Pettifogging lawyers were sent, oneby each company, to the village council in each particular territoryinvolved, but no one of the companies had as yet the slightest idea whowas back of it all or of the general plan of operations. Before anyone of them could reasonably protest, before it could decide that itwas willing to pay a very great deal to have the suburb adjacent to itsparticular territory left free, before it could organize a legal fight, councilmanic ordinances were introduced giving the applying companywhat it sought; and after a single reading in each case and one openhearing, as the law compelled, they were almost unanimously passed. There were loud cries of dismay from minor suburban papers which hadalmost been forgotten in the arrangement of rewards. The large citynewspapers cared little at first, seeing these were outlying districts;they merely made the comment that the villages were beginning well, following in the steps of the city council in its distinguished careerof crime. 

Cowperwood smiled as he saw in the morning papers the announcement ofthe passage of each ordinance granting him a franchise. He listenedwith comfort thereafter on many a day to accounts by Laughlin, Sippens, McKibben, and Van Sickle of overtures made to buy them out, or to takeover their franchises. He worked on plans with Sippens looking to theactual introduction of gas-plants. There were bond issues now to float, stock to be marketed, contracts for supplies to be awarded, actualreservoirs and tanks to be built, and pipes to be laid. A pumped-uppublic opposition had to be smoothed over. In all this De Soto Sippensproved a trump. With Van Sickle, McKibben, and Stimson as his advisersin different sections of the city he would present tabloid propositionsto Cowperwood, to which the latter had merely to bow his head in assentor say no. Then De Soto would buy, build, and excavate. Cowperwoodwas so pleased that he was determined to keep De Soto with himpermanently. De Soto was pleased to think that he was being given achance to pay up old scores and to do large things; he was reallygrateful. 

"We're not through with those sharpers, " he declared to Cowperwood, triumphantly, one day. "They'll fight us with suits. They may joinhands later. They blew up my gas-plant. They may blow up ours. "

"Let them blow, " said Cowperwood. "We can blow, too, and sue also. Ilike lawsuits. We'll tie them up so that they'll beg for quarter. " Hiseyes twinkled cheerfully. 

Chapter IX

In Search of Victory

In the mean time the social affairs of Aileen had been prospering in asmall way, for while it was plain that they were not to be taken up atonce--that was not to be expected--it was also plain that they were notto be ignored entirely. One thing that helped in providing a niceharmonious working atmosphere was the obvious warm affection ofCowperwood for his wife. While many might consider Aileen a littlebrash or crude, still in the hands of so strong and capable a man asCowperwood she might prove available. So thought Mrs. Addison, forinstance, and Mrs. Rambaud. McKibben and Lord felt the same way. IfCowperwood loved her, as he seemed to do, he would probably "put herthrough" successfully. And he really did love her, after his fashion. He could never forget how splendid she had been to him in those olddays when, knowing full well the circumstances of his home, his wife, his children, the probable opposition of her own family, she had thrownover convention and sought his love. How freely she had given of hers!No petty, squeamish bickering and dickering here. He had been "herFrank" from the start, and he still felt keenly that longing in her tobe with him, to be his, which had produced those first wonderful, almost terrible days. She might quarrel, fret, fuss, argue, suspect, and accuse him of flirtation with other women; but slight variationsfrom the norm in his case did not trouble her--at least she argued thatthey wouldn't. She had never had any evidence. She was ready toforgive him anything, she said, and she was, too, if only he would loveher. 

"You devil, " she used to say to him, playfully. "I know you. I cansee you looking around. That's a nice stenographer you have in theoffice. I suppose it's her. "

"Don't be silly, Aileen, " he would reply. "Don't be coarse. You knowI wouldn't take up with a stenographer. An office isn't the place forthat sort of thing. "

"Oh, isn't it? Don't silly me. I know you. Any old place is goodenough for you. "

He laughed, and so did she. She could not help it. She loved him so. There was no particular bitterness in her assaults. She loved him, andvery often he would take her in his arms, kiss her tenderly, and coo:"Are you my fine big baby? Are you my red-headed doll? Do you reallylove me so much? Kiss me, then. " Frankly, pagan passion in these tworan high. So long as they were not alienated by extraneous things hecould never hope for more delicious human contact. There was noreaction either, to speak of, no gloomy disgust. She was physicallyacceptable to him. He could always talk to her in a genial, teasingway, even tender, for she did not offend his intellectuality withprudish or conventional notions. Loving and foolish as she was in someways, she would stand blunt reproof or correction. She could suggestin a nebulous, blundering way things that would be good for them to do. Most of all at present their thoughts centered upon Chicago society, the new house, which by now had been contracted for, and what it woulddo to facilitate their introduction and standing. Never did a woman'slife look more rosy, Aileen thought. It was almost too good to betrue. Her Frank was so handsome, so loving, so generous. There wasnot a small idea about him. What if he did stray from her at times? Heremained faithful to her spiritually, and she knew as yet of no singleinstance in which he had failed her. She little knew, as much as sheknew, how blandly he could lie and protest in these matters. But hewas fond of her just the same, and he really had not strayed to anyextent. 

By now also, Cowperwood had invested about one hundred thousand dollarsin his gas-company speculations, and he was jubilant over hisprospects; the franchises were good for twenty years. By that time hewould be nearly sixty, and he would probably have bought, combinedwith, or sold out to the older companies at a great profit. The futureof Chicago was all in his favor. He decided to invest as much asthirty thousand dollars in pictures, if he could find the right ones, and to have Aileen's portrait painted while she was still so beautiful. This matter of art was again beginning to interest him immensely. Addison had four or five good pictures--a Rousseau, a Greuze, aWouverman, and one Lawrence--picked up Heaven knows where. A hotel-manby the name of Collard, a dry-goods and real-estate merchant, was saidto have a very striking collection. Addison had told him of one DavisTrask, a hardware prince, who was now collecting. There were manyhomes, he knew where art was beginning to be assembled. He must begin, too. 

Cowperwood, once the franchises had been secured, had installed Sippensin his own office, giving him charge for the time being. Small rentedoffices and clerks were maintained in the region where practicalplant-building was going on. All sorts of suits to enjoin, annul, andrestrain had been begun by the various old companies, but McKibben, Stimson, and old General Van Sickle were fighting these with Trojanvigor and complacency. It was a pleasant scene. Still no one knewvery much of Cowperwood's entrance into Chicago as yet. He was a veryminor figure. His name had not even appeared in connection with thiswork. Other men were being celebrated daily, a little to his envy. When would he begin to shine? Soon, now, surely. So off they went inJune, comfortable, rich, gay, in the best of health and spirits, intentupon enjoying to the full their first holiday abroad. 

It was a wonderful trip. Addison was good enough to telegraph flowersto New York for Mrs. Cowperwood to be delivered on shipboard. McKibbensent books of travel. Cowperwood, uncertain whether anybody would sendflowers, ordered them himself--two amazing baskets, which withAddison's made three--and these, with attached cards, awaited them inthe lobby of the main deck. Several at the captain's table took painsto seek out the Cowperwoods. They were invited to join severalcard-parties and to attend informal concerts. It was a rough passage, however, and Aileen was sick. It was hard to make herself look justnice enough, and so she kept to her room. She was very haughty, distantto all but a few, and to these careful of her conversation. She feltherself coming to be a very important person. 

Before leaving she had almost exhausted the resources of the Donovanestablishment in Chicago. Lingerie, boudoir costumes, walking-costumes, riding-costumes, evening-costumes she possessed inplenty. She had a jewel-bag hidden away about her person containingall of thirty thousand dollars' worth of jewels. Her shoes, stockings, hats, and accessories in general were innumerable. Because of all thisCowperwood was rather proud of her. She had such a capacity for life. His first wife had been pale and rather anemic, while Aileen was fairlybursting with sheer physical vitality. She hummed and jested andprimped and posed. There are some souls that just are, withoutprevious revision or introspection. The earth with all its long pastwas a mere suggestion to Aileen, dimly visualized if at all. She mayhave heard that there were once dinosaurs and flying reptiles, but ifso it made no deep impression on her. Somebody had said, or was saying, that we were descended from monkeys, which was quite absurd, though itmight be true enough. On the sea the thrashing hills of green watersuggested a kind of immensity and terror, but not the immensity of thepoet's heart. The ship was safe, the captain at table in brass buttonsand blue uniform, eager to be nice to her--told her so. Her faithreally, was in the captain. And there with her, always, wasCowperwood, looking at this whole, moving spectacle of life with asuspicious, not apprehensive, but wary eye, and saying nothing about it. 

In London letters given them by Addison brought several invitations tothe opera, to dinner, to Goodwood for a weekend, and so on. Carriages, tallyhoes, cabs for riding were invoked. A week-end invitation to ahouseboat on the Thames was secured. Their English hosts, looking onall this as a financial adventure, good financial wisdom, werecourteous and civil, nothing more. Aileen was intensely curious. Shenoted servants, manners, forms. Immediately she began to think thatAmerica was not good enough, perhaps; it wanted so many things. 

"Now, Aileen, you and I have to live in Chicago for years and years, "commented Cowperwood. "Don't get wild. These people don't care forAmericans, can't you see that? They wouldn't accept us if we were overhere--not yet, anyhow. We're merely passing strangers, beingcourteously entertained. " Cowperwood saw it all. 

Aileen was being spoiled in a way, but there was no help. She dressedand dressed. The Englishmen used to look at her in Hyde Park, whereshe rode and drove; at Claridges' where they stayed; in Bond Street, where she shopped. The Englishwomen, the majority of them remote, ultra-conservative, simple in their tastes, lifted their eyes. Cowperwood sensed the situation, but said nothing. He loved Aileen, andshe was satisfactory to him, at least for the present, anyhow, beautiful. If he could adjust her station in Chicago, that would besufficient for a beginning. After three weeks of very active life, during which Aileen patronized the ancient and honorable glories ofEngland, they went on to Paris. 

Here she was quickened to a child-like enthusiasm. "You know, " shesaid to Cowperwood, quite solemnly, the second morning, "the Englishdon't know how to dress. I thought they did, but the smartest of themcopy the French. Take those men we saw last night in the Cafed'Anglais. There wasn't an Englishman I saw that compared with them. "

"My dear, your tastes are exotic, " replied Cowperwood, who was watchingher with pleased interest while he adjusted his tie. "The French smartcrowd are almost too smart, dandified. I think some of those youngfellows had on corsets. "

"What of it?" replied Aileen. "I like it. If you're going to besmart, why not be very smart?"

"I know that's your theory, my dear, " he said, "but it can be overdone. There is such a thing as going too far. You have to compromise even ifyou don't look as well as you might. You can't be too veryconspicuously different from your neighbors, even in the rightdirection. "

"You know, " she said, stopping and looking at him, "I believe you'regoing to get very conservative some day--like my brothers. "

She came over and touched his tie and smoothed his hair. 

"Well, one of us ought to be, for the good of the family, " hecommented, half smiling. 

"I'm not so sure, though, that it will be you, either. "

"It's a charming day. See how nice those white-marble statues look. Shall we go to the Cluny or Versailles or Fontainbleau? To-night weought to see Bernhardt at the Francaise. "

Aileen was so gay. It was so splendid to be traveling with her truehusband at last. 

It was on this trip that Cowperwood's taste for art and life and hisdetermination to possess them revived to the fullest. He made theacquaintance in London, Paris, and Brussels of the important artdealers. His conception of great masters and the older schools of artshaped themselves. By one of the dealers in London, who at oncerecognized in him a possible future patron, he was invited with Aileento view certain private collections, and here and there was an artist, such as Lord Leighton, Dante Gabriel Rossetti, or Whistler, to whom hewas introduced casually, an interested stranger. These men only saw astrong, polite, remote, conservative man. He realized the emotional, egotistic, and artistic soul. He felt on the instant that there couldbe little in common between such men and himself in so far as personalcontact was concerned, yet there was mutual ground on which they couldmeet. He could not be a slavish admirer of anything, only a princelypatron. So he walked and saw, wondering how soon his dreams ofgrandeur were to be realized. 

In London he bought a portrait by Raeburn; in Paris a plowing scene byMillet, a small Jan Steen, a battle piece by Meissonier, and a romanticcourtyard scene by Isabey. Thus began the revival of his formerinterest in art; the nucleus of that future collection which was tomean so much to him in later years. 

On their return, the building of the new Chicago mansion created thenext interesting diversion in the lives of Aileen and Cowperwood. Because of some chateaux they saw in France that form, or rather amodification of it as suggested by Taylor Lord, was adopted. Mr. Lordfigured that it would take all of a year, perhaps a year and a half, todeliver it in perfect order, but time was of no great importance inthis connection. In the mean while they could strengthen their socialconnections and prepare for that interesting day when they should be ofthe Chicago elite. 

There were, at this time, several elements in Chicago--those who, having grown suddenly rich from dull poverty, could not so easilyforget the village church and the village social standards; those who, having inherited wealth, or migrated from the East where wealth wasold, understood more of the savoir faire of the game; and those who, being newly born into wealth and seeing the drift toward a smarterAmerican life, were beginning to wish they might shine in it--theselast the very young people. The latter were just beginning to dream ofdances at Kinsley's, a stated Kirmess, and summer diversions of theEuropean kind, but they had not arrived as yet. The first class, although by far the dullest and most bovine, was still the mostpowerful because they were the richest, money as yet providing thehighest standard. The functions which these people provided werestupid to the verge of distraction; really they were only the week-dayreceptions and Sunday-afternoon calls of Squeedunk and Hohokus raisedto the Nth power. The purpose of the whole matter was to see and beseen. Novelty in either thought or action was decidedly eschewed. Itwas, as a matter of fact, customariness of thought and action and thequintessence of convention that was desired. The idea of introducing a"play actress, " for instance, as was done occasionally in the East orin London--never; even a singer or an artist was eyed askance. Onecould easily go too far! But if a European prince should have strayedto Chicago (which he never did) or if an Eastern social magnate chancedto stay over a train or two, then the topmost circle of local wealthwas prepared to strain itself to the breaking-point. Cowperwood hadsensed all this on his arrival, but he fancied that if he became richand powerful enough he and Aileen, with their fine house to help them, might well be the leaven which would lighten the whole lump. Unfortunately, Aileen was too obviously on the qui vive for thoseopportunities which might lead to social recognition and equality, ifnot supremacy. Like the savage, unorganized for protection and at themercy of the horrific caprice of nature, she was almost tremulous attimes with thoughts of possible failure. Almost at once she hadrecognized herself as unsuited temperamentally for association withcertain types of society women. The wife of Anson Merrill, the greatdry-goods prince, whom she saw in one of the down-town stores one day, impressed her as much too cold and remote. Mrs. Merrill was a woman ofsuperior mood and education who found herself, in her own estimation, hard put to it for suitable companionship in Chicago. She wasEastern-bred-Boston--and familiar in an offhand way with the superiorworld of London, which she had visited several times. Chicago at itsbest was to her a sordid commercial mess. She preferred New York orWashington, but she had to live here. Thus she patronized nearly all ofthose with whom she condescended to associate, using an upward tilt ofthe head, a tired droop of the eyelids, and a fine upward arching ofthe brows to indicate how trite it all was. 

It was a Mrs. Henry Huddlestone who had pointed out Mrs. Merrill toAileen. Mrs. Huddlestone was the wife of a soap manufacturer livingvery close to the Cowperwoods' temporary home, and she and her husbandwere on the outer fringe of society. She had heard that theCowperwoods were people of wealth, that they were friendly with theAddisons, and that they were going to build atwo-hundred-thousand-dollar mansion. (The value of houses always growsin the telling. ) That was enough. She had called, being three doorsaway, to leave her card; and Aileen, willing to curry favor here andthere, had responded. Mrs. Huddlestone was a little woman, not veryattractive in appearance, clever in a social way, and eminentlypractical. 

"Speaking of Mrs. Merrill, " commented Mrs. Huddlestone, on thisparticular day, "there she is--near the dress-goods counter. Shealways carries that lorgnette in just that way. "

Aileen turned and examined critically a tall, dark, slender woman ofthe high world of the West, very remote, disdainful, superior. 

"You don't know her?" questioned Aileen, curiously, surveying her atleisure. 

"No, " replied Mrs. Huddlestone, defensively. "They live on the NorthSide, and the different sets don't mingle so much. "

As a matter of fact, it was just the glory of the principal familiesthat they were above this arbitrary division of "sides, " and could picktheir associates from all three divisions. 

"Oh!" observed Aileen, nonchalantly. She was secretly irritated tothink that Mrs. Huddlestone should find it necessary to point out Mrs. Merrill to her as a superior person. 

"You know, she darkens her eyebrows a little, I think, " suggested Mrs. Huddlestone, studying her enviously. "Her husband, they say, isn't themost faithful person in the world. There's another woman, a Mrs. Gladdens, that lives very close to them that he's very much interestedin. "

"Oh!" said Aileen, cautiously. After her own Philadelphia experienceshe had decided to be on her guard and not indulge in too much gossip. Arrows of this particular kind could so readily fly in her direction. 

"But her set is really much the smartest, " complimented Aileen'scompanion. 

Thereafter it was Aileen's ambition to associate with Mrs. AnsonMerrill, to be fully and freely accepted by her. She did not know, although she might have feared, that that ambition was never to berealized. 

But there were others who had called at the first Cowperwood home, orwith whom the Cowperwoods managed to form an acquaintance. There werethe Sunderland Sledds, Mr. Sledd being general traffic manager of oneof the southwestern railways entering the city, and a gentleman oftaste and culture and some wealth; his wife an ambitious nobody. Therewere the Walter Rysam Cottons, Cotton being a wholesale coffee-broker, but more especially a local social litterateur; his wife a graduate ofVassar. There were the Norrie Simmses, Simms being secretary andtreasurer of the Douglas Trust and Savings Company, and a power inanother group of financial people, a group entirely distinct from thatrepresented by Addison and Rambaud. 

Others included the Stanislau Hoecksemas, wealthy furriers; the DuaneKingslands, wholesale flour; the Webster Israelses, packers; theBradford Candas, jewelers. All these people amounted to somethingsocially. They all had substantial homes and substantial incomes, sothat they were worthy of consideration. The difference between Aileenand most of the women involved a difference between naturalism andillusion. But this calls for some explanation. 

To really know the state of the feminine mind at this time, one wouldhave to go back to that period in the Middle Ages when the Churchflourished and the industrious poet, half schooled in the facts oflife, surrounded women with a mystical halo. Since that day the maidenand the matron as well has been schooled to believe that she is of afiner clay than man, that she was born to uplift him, and that herfavors are priceless. This rose-tinted mist of romance, having nothingto do with personal morality, has brought about, nevertheless, aholier-than-thou attitude of women toward men, and even of women towardwomen. Now the Chicago atmosphere in which Aileen found herself wascomposed in part of this very illusion. The ladies to whom she hadbeen introduced were of this high world of fancy. They conceivedthemselves to be perfect, even as they were represented in religiousart and in fiction. Their husbands must be models, worthy of their highideals, and other women must have no blemish of any kind. Aileen, urgent, elemental, would have laughed at all this if she could haveunderstood. Not understanding, she felt diffident and uncertain ofherself in certain presences. 

Instance in this connection Mrs. Norrie Simms, who was a satellite ofMrs. Anson Merrill. To be invited to the Anson Merrills' for tea, dinner, luncheon, or to be driven down-town by Mrs. Merrill, wasparadise to Mrs. Simms. She loved to recite the bon mots of her idol, to discourse upon her astonishing degree of culture, to narrate howpeople refused on occasion to believe that she was the wife of AnsonMerrill, even though she herself declared it--those old chestnuts ofthe social world which must have had their origin in Egypt and Chaldea. Mrs. Simms herself was of a nondescript type, not a real personage, clever, good-looking, tasteful, a social climber. The two Simmschildren (little girls) had been taught all the social graces of theday--to pose, smirk, genuflect, and the like, to the immense delight oftheir elders. The nurse in charge was in uniform, the governess was amuch put-upon person. Mrs. Simms had a high manner, eyes for thoseabove her only, a serene contempt for the commonplace world in whichshe had to dwell. 

During the first dinner at which she entertained the Cowperwoods Mrs. Simms attempted to dig into Aileen's Philadelphia history, asking ifshe knew the Arthur Leighs, the Trevor Drakes, Roberta Willing, or theMartyn Walkers. Mrs. Simms did not know them herself, but she hadheard Mrs. Merrill speak of them, and that was enough of a handlewhereby to swing them. Aileen, quick on the defense, ready to liemanfully on her own behalf, assured her that she had known them, asindeed she had--very casually--and before the rumor which connected herwith Cowperwood had been voiced abroad. This pleased Mrs. Simms. 

"I must tell Nellie, " she said, referring thus familiarly to Mrs. Merrill. 

Aileen feared that if this sort of thing continued it would soon be allover town that she had been a mistress before she had been a wife, thatshe had been the unmentioned corespondent in the divorce suit, and thatCowperwood had been in prison. Only his wealth and her beauty couldsave her; and would they?

One night they had been to dinner at the Duane Kingslands', and Mrs. Bradford Canda had asked her, in what seemed a very significant way, whether she had ever met her friend Mrs. Schuyler Evans, ofPhiladelphia. This frightened Aileen. 

"Don't you suppose they must know, some of them, about us?" she askedCowperwood, on the way home. 

"I suppose so, " he replied, thoughtfully. "I'm sure I don't know. Iwouldn't worry about that if I were you. If you worry about it you'llsuggest it to them. I haven't made any secret of my term in prison inPhiladelphia, and I don't intend to. It wasn't a square deal, and theyhad no right to put me there. "

"I know, dear, " replied Aileen, "it might not make so much differenceif they did know. I don't see why it should. We are not the only onesthat have had marriage troubles, I'm sure. 

"There's just one thing about this; either they accept us or theydon't. If they don't, well and good; we can't help it. We'll go onand finish the house, and give them a chance to be decent. If theywon't be, there are other cities. Money will arrange matters in NewYork--that I know. We can build a real place there, and go in on equalterms if we have money enough--and I will have money enough, " he added, after a moment's pondering. "Never fear. I'll make millions here, whether they want me to or not, and after that--well, after that, we'llsee what we'll see. Don't worry. I haven't seen many troubles in thisworld that money wouldn't cure. "

His teeth had that even set that they always assumed when he wasdangerously in earnest. He took Aileen's hand, however, and pressed itgently. 

"Don't worry, " he repeated. "Chicago isn't the only city, and we won'tbe the poorest people in America, either, in ten years. Just keep upyour courage. It will all come out right. It's certain to. "

Aileen looked out on the lamp-lit length of Michigan Avenue, down whichthey were rolling past many silent mansions. The tops of all the lampswere white, and gleamed through the shadows, receding to a thin point. It was dark, but fresh and pleasant. Oh, if only Frank's money couldbuy them position and friendship in this interesting world; if it onlywould! She did not quite realize how much on her own personality, orthe lack of it, this struggle depended. 

Chapter X

A Test

The opening of the house in Michigan Avenue occurred late in Novemberin the fall of eighteen seventy-eight. When Aileen and Cowperwood hadbeen in Chicago about two years. Altogether, between people whom theyhad met at the races, at various dinners and teas, and at receptions ofthe Union and Calumet Clubs (to which Cowperwood, through Addison'sbacking, had been admitted) and those whom McKibben and Lordinfluenced, they were able to send invitations to about three hundred, of whom some two hundred and fifty responded. Up to this time, owing toCowperwood's quiet manipulation of his affairs, there had been nocomment on his past--no particular interest in it. He had money, affable ways, a magnetic personality. The business men of thecity--those whom he met socially--were inclined to consider himfascinating and very clever. Aileen being beautiful and graceful forattention, was accepted at more or less her own value, though thekingly high world knew them not. 

It is amazing what a showing the socially unplaced can make on occasionwhere tact and discrimination are used. There was a weekly socialpaper published in Chicago at this time, a rather able publication assuch things go, which Cowperwood, with McKibben's assistance, hadpressed into service. Not much can be done under any circumstanceswhere the cause is not essentially strong; but where, as in this case, there is a semblance of respectability, considerable wealth, and greatforce and magnetism, all things are possible. Kent McKibben knewHorton Biggers, the editor, who was a rather desolate and disillusionedperson of forty-five, gray, and depressed-looking--a sort of humansponge or barnacle who was only galvanized into seeming interest andcheerfulness by sheer necessity. Those were the days when the societyeditor was accepted as a member of society--de facto--and treated moreas a guest than a reporter, though even then the tendency was towardelimination. Working for Cowperwood, and liking him, McKibben said toBiggers one evening:

"You know the Cowperwoods, don't you, Biggers?"

"No, " replied the latter, who devoted himself barnacle-wise to the moreexclusive circles. "Who are they?"

"Why, he's a banker over here in La Salle Street. They're fromPhiladelphia. Mrs. Cowperwood's a beautiful woman--young and all that. They're building a house out here on Michigan Avenue. You ought toknow them. They're going to get in, I think. The Addisons like them. If you were to be nice to them now I think they'd appreciate it later. He's rather liberal, and a good fellow. "

Biggers pricked up his ears. This social journalism was thin pickingat best, and he had very few ways of turning an honest penny. Thewould be's and half-in's who expected nice things said of them had tosubscribe, and rather liberally, to his paper. Not long after thisbrief talk Cowperwood received a subscription blank from the businessoffice of the Saturday Review, and immediately sent a check for onehundred dollars to Mr. Horton Biggers direct. Subsequently certain notvery significant personages noticed that when the Cowperwoods dined attheir boards the function received comment by the Saturday Review, nototherwise. It looked as though the Cowperwoods must be favored; butwho were they, anyhow?

The danger of publicity, and even moderate social success, is thatscandal loves a shining mark. When you begin to stand out the leastway in life, as separate from the mass, the cognoscenti wish to knowwho, what, and why. The enthusiasm of Aileen, combined with the geniusof Cowperwood, was for making their opening entertainment a veryexceptional affair, which, under the circumstances, and all thingsconsidered, was a dangerous thing to do. As yet Chicago wasexceedingly slow socially. Its movements were, as has been said, moreor less bovine and phlegmatic. To rush in with something utterlybrilliant and pyrotechnic was to take notable chances. The morecautious members of Chicago society, even if they did not attend, wouldhear, and then would come ultimate comment and decision. 

The function began with a reception at four, which lasted untilsix-thirty, and this was followed by a dance at nine, with music by afamous stringed orchestra of Chicago, a musical programme by artists ofconsiderable importance, and a gorgeous supper from eleven until one ina Chinese fairyland of lights, at small tables filling three of theground-floor rooms. As an added fillip to the occasion Cowperwood hadhung, not only the important pictures which he had purchased abroad, but a new one--a particularly brilliant Gerome, then in the heyday ofhis exotic popularity--a picture of nude odalisques of the harem, idling beside the highly colored stone marquetry of an oriental bath. It was more or less "loose" art for Chicago, shocking to theuninitiated, though harmless enough to the illuminati; but it gave atouch of color to the art-gallery which the latter needed. There wasalso, newly arrived and newly hung, a portrait of Aileen by a Dutchartist, Jan van Beers, whom they had encountered the previous summer atBrussels. He had painted Aileen in nine sittings, a rather brilliantcanvas, high in key, with a summery, out-of-door world behind her--alow stone-curbed pool, the red corner of a Dutch brick palace, atulip-bed, and a blue sky with fleecy clouds. Aileen was seated on thecurved arm of a stone bench, green grass at her feet, a pink-and-whiteparasol with a lacy edge held idly to one side; her rounded, vigorousfigure clad in the latest mode of Paris, a white and blue striped-silkwalking-suit, with a blue-and-white-banded straw hat, wide-brimmed, airy, shading her lusty, animal eyes. The artist had caught her spiritquite accurately, the dash, the assumption, the bravado based on thecourage of inexperience, or lack of true subtlety. A refreshing thingin its way, a little showy, as everything that related to her was, andinclined to arouse jealousy in those not so liberally endowed by life, but fine as a character piece. In the warm glow of the gutteredgas-jets she looked particularly brilliant here, pampered, idle, jaunty--the well-kept, stall-fed pet of the world. Many stopped to see, and many were the comments, private and otherwise. 

This day began with a flurry of uncertainty and worried anticipation onthe part of Aileen. At Cowperwood's suggestion she had employed asocial secretary, a poor hack of a girl, who had sent out all theletters, tabulated the replies, run errands, and advised on one detailand another. Fadette, her French maid, was in the throes of preparingfor two toilets which would have to be made this day, one by twoo'clock at least, another between six and eight. Her "mon dieus" and"par bleus" could be heard continuously as she hunted for some articleof dress or polished an ornament, buckle, or pin. The struggle ofAileen to be perfect was, as usual, severe. Her meditations, as to themost becoming gown to wear were trying. Her portrait was on the eastwall in the art-gallery, a spur to emulation; she felt as though allsociety were about to judge her. Theresa Donovan, the localdressmaker, had given some advice; but Aileen decided on a heavy brownvelvet constructed by Worth, of Paris--a thing of varying aspects, showing her neck and arms to perfection, and composing charmingly withher flesh and hair. She tried amethyst ear-rings and changed to topaz;she stockinged her legs in brown silk, and her feet were shod in brownslippers with red enamel buttons. 

The trouble with Aileen was that she never did these things with thatease which is a sure sign of the socially efficient. She never quiteso much dominated a situation as she permitted it to dominate her. Only the superior ease and graciousness of Cowperwood carried herthrough at times; but that always did. When he was near she felt quitethe great lady, suited to any realm. When she was alone her courage, great as it was, often trembled in the balance. Her dangerous past wasnever quite out of her mind. 

At four Kent McKibben, smug in his afternoon frock, his quick, receptive eyes approving only partially of all this show and effort, took his place in the general reception-room, talking to Taylor Lord, who had completed his last observation and was leaving to return laterin the evening. If these two had been closer friends, quite intimate, they would have discussed the Cowperwoods' social prospects; but as itwas, they confined themselves to dull conventionalities. At thismoment Aileen came down-stairs for a moment, radiant. Kent McKibbenthought he had never seen her look more beautiful. After all, contrasted with some of the stuffy creatures who moved about insociety, shrewd, hard, bony, calculating, trading on their assuredposition, she was admirable. It was a pity she did not have morepoise; she ought to be a little harder--not quite so genial. Still, with Cowperwood at her side, she might go far. 

"Really, Mrs. Cowperwood, " he said, "it is all most charming. I wasjust telling Mr. Lord here that I consider the house a triumph. "

From McKibben, who was in society, and with Lord, another "in" standingby, this was like wine to Aileen. She beamed joyously. 

Among the first arrivals were Mrs. Webster Israels, Mrs. BradfordCanda, and Mrs. Walter Rysam Cotton, who were to assist in receiving. These ladies did not know that they were taking their futurereputations for sagacity and discrimination in their hands; they hadbeen carried away by the show of luxury of Aileen, the growingfinancial repute of Cowperwood, and the artistic qualities of the newhouse. Mrs. Webster Israels's mouth was of such a peculiar shape thatAileen was always reminded of a fish; but she was not utterly homely, and to-day she looked brisk and attractive. Mrs. Bradford Canda, whoseold rose and silver-gray dress made up in part for an amazingangularity, but who was charming withal, was the soul of interest, forshe believed this to be a very significant affair. Mrs. Walter RysamCotton, a younger woman than either of the others, had the polish ofVassar life about her, and was "above" many things. Somehow she halfsuspected the Cowperwoods might not do, but they were making strides, and might possibly surpass all other aspirants. It behooved her to bepleasant. 

Life passes from individuality and separateness at times to a sort ofMonticelliesque mood of color, where individuality is nothing, theglittering totality all. The new house, with its charming Frenchwindows on the ground floor, its heavy bands of stone flowers anddeep-sunk florated door, was soon crowded with a moving, colorful flowof people. 

Many whom Aileen and Cowperwood did not know at all had been invited byMcKibben and Lord; they came, and were now introduced. The adjacentside streets and the open space in front of the house were crowded withchamping horses and smartly veneered carriages. All with whom theCowperwoods had been the least intimate came early, and, finding thescene colorful and interesting, they remained for some time. Thecaterer, Kinsley, had supplied a small army of trained servants whowere posted like soldiers, and carefully supervised by the Cowperwoodbutler. The new dining-room, rich with a Pompeian scheme of color, wasaglow with a wealth of glass and an artistic arrangement of delicacies. The afternoon costumes of the women, ranging through autumnal grays, purples, browns, and greens, blended effectively with the brown-tintedwalls of the entry-hall, the deep gray and gold of the generalliving-room, the old-Roman red of the dining-room, the white-and-goldof the music-room, and the neutral sepia of the art-gallery. 

Aileen, backed by the courageous presence of Cowperwood, who, in thedining-room, the library, and the art-gallery, was holding a privatelevee of men, stood up in her vain beauty, a thing to see--almost toweep over, embodying the vanity of all seeming things, the mockery ofhaving and yet not having. This parading throng that was more curiousthan interested, more jealous than sympathetic, more critical thankind, was coming almost solely to observe. 

"Do you know, Mrs. Cowperwood, " Mrs. Simms remarked, lightly, "yourhouse reminds me of an art exhibit to-day. I hardly know why. "

Aileen, who caught the implied slur, had no clever words wherewith toreply. She was not gifted in that way, but she flared with resentment. 

"Do you think so?" she replied, caustically. 

Mrs. Simms, not all dissatisfied with the effect she had produced, passed on with a gay air, attended by a young artist who followedamorously in her train. 

Aileen saw from this and other things like it how little she was really"in. " The exclusive set did not take either her or Cowperwood seriouslyas yet. She almost hated the comparatively dull Mrs. Israels, who hadbeen standing beside her at the time, and who had heard the remark; andyet Mrs. Israels was much better than nothing. Mrs. Simms hadcondescended a mild "how'd do" to the latter. 

It was in vain that the Addisons, Sledds, Kingslands, Hoecksemas, andothers made their appearance; Aileen was not reassured. However, afterdinner the younger set, influenced by McKibben, came to dance, andAileen was at her best in spite of her doubts. She was gay, bold, attractive. Kent McKibben, a past master in the mazes and mysteries ofthe grand march, had the pleasure of leading her in that airy, fairyprocession, followed by Cowperwood, who gave his arm to Mrs. Simms. Aileen, in white satin with a touch of silver here and there andnecklet, bracelet, ear-rings, and hair-ornament of diamonds, glitteredin almost an exotic way. She was positively radiant. McKibben, almostsmitten, was most attentive. 

"This is such a pleasure, " he whispered, intimately. "You are verybeautiful--a dream!"

"You would find me a very substantial one, " returned Aileen. "Wouldthat I might find, " he laughed, gaily; and Aileen, gathering the hiddensignificance, showed her teeth teasingly. Mrs. Simms, engrossed byCowperwood, could not hear as she would have liked. 

After the march Aileen, surrounded by a half-dozen of gay, rudelythoughtless young bloods, escorted them all to see her portrait. Theconservative commented on the flow of wine, the intensely nude Geromeat one end of the gallery, and the sparkling portrait of Aileen at theother, the enthusiasm of some of the young men for her company. Mrs. Rambaud, pleasant and kindly, remarked to her husband that Aileen was"very eager for life, " she thought. Mrs. Addison, astonished at thematerial flare of the Cowperwoods, quite transcending in glitter if notin size and solidity anything she and Addison had ever achieved, remarked to her husband that "he must be making money very fast. "

"The man's a born financier, Ella, " Addison explained, sententiously. "He's a manipulator, and he's sure to make money. Whether they can getinto society I don't know. He could if he were alone, that's sure. She's beautiful, but he needs another kind of woman, I'm afraid. She'salmost too good-looking. "

"That's what I think, too. I like her, but I'm afraid she's not goingto play her cards right. It's too bad, too. "

Just then Aileen came by, a smiling youth on either side, her own faceglowing with a warmth of joy engendered by much flattery. Theball-room, which was composed of the music and drawing rooms throwninto one, was now the objective. It glittered before her with a movingthrong; the air was full of the odor of flowers, and the sound of musicand voices. 

"Mrs. Cowperwood, " observed Bradford Canda to Horton Biggers, thesociety editor, "is one of the prettiest women I have seen in a longtime. She's almost too pretty. "

"How do you think she's taking?" queried the cautious Biggers. "Charming, but she's hardly cold enough, I'm afraid; hardly cleverenough. It takes a more serious type. She's a little toohigh-spirited. These old women would never want to get near her; shemakes them look too old. She'd do better if she were not so young andso pretty. "

"That's what I think exactly, " said Biggers. As a matter of fact, hedid not think so at all; he had no power of drawing any such accurateconclusions. But he believed it now, because Bradford Canda had saidit. 

Chapter XI

The Fruits of Daring

Next morning, over the breakfast cups at the Norrie Simmses' andelsewhere, the import of the Cowperwoods' social efforts was discussedand the problem of their eventual acceptance or non-acceptancecarefully weighed. 

"The trouble with Mrs. Cowperwood, " observed Mrs. Simms, "is that sheis too gauche. The whole thing was much too showy. The idea of herportrait at one end of the gallery and that Gerome at the other! Andthen this item in the Press this morning! Why, you'd really think theywere in society. " Mrs. Simms was already a little angry at having letherself be used, as she now fancied she had been, by Taylor Lord andKent McKibben, both friends of hers. 

"What did you think of the crowd?" asked Norrie, buttering a roll. 

"Why, it wasn't representative at all, of course. We were the mostimportant people they had there, and I'm sorry now that we went. Whoare the Israelses and the Hoecksemas, anyhow? That dreadful woman!"(She was referring to Mrs. Hoecksema. ) "I never listened to dullerremarks in my life. "

"I was talking to Haguenin of the Press in the afternoon, " observedNorrie. "He says that Cowperwood failed in Philadelphia before he camehere, and that there were a lot of lawsuits. Did you ever hear that?"

"No. But she says she knows the Drakes and the Walkers there. I'vebeen intending to ask Nellie about that. I have often wondered why heshould leave Philadelphia if he was getting along so well. People don'tusually do that. "

Simms was envious already of the financial showing Cowperwood wasmaking in Chicago. Besides, Cowperwood's manner bespoke supremeintelligence and courage, and that is always resented by all save thesuppliants or the triumphant masters of other walks in life. Simms wasreally interested at last to know something more about Cowperwood, something definite. 

Before this social situation had time to adjust itself one way or theother, however, a matter arose which in its way was far more vital, though Aileen might not have thought so. The feeling between the newand old gas companies was becoming strained; the stockholders of theolder organization were getting uneasy. They were eager to find outwho was back of these new gas companies which were threatening to poachon their exclusive preserves. Finally one of the lawyers who had beenemployed by the North Chicago Gas Illuminating Company to fight themachinations of De Soto Sippens and old General Van Sickle, findingthat the Lake View Council had finally granted the franchise to the newcompany and that the Appellate Court was about to sustain it, hit uponthe idea of charging conspiracy and wholesale bribery of councilmen. Considerable evidence had accumulated that Duniway, Jacob Gerecht, andothers on the North Side had been influenced by cash, and to bringlegal action would delay final approval of the franchises and give theold company time to think what else to do. This North Side companylawyer, a man by the name of Parsons, had been following up themovements of Sippens and old General Van Sickle, and had finallyconcluded that they were mere dummies and pawns, and that the realinstigator in all this excitement was Cowperwood, or, if not he, thenmen whom he represented. Parsons visited Cowperwood's office one dayin order to see him; getting no satisfaction, he proceeded to look uphis record and connections. These various investigations andcounter-schemings came to a head in a court proceeding filed in theUnited States Circuit Court late in November, charging Frank AlgernonCowperwood, Henry De Soto Sippens, Judson P. Van Sickle, and otherswith conspiracy; this again was followed almost immediately by suitsbegun by the West and South Side companies charging the same thing. Ineach case Cowperwood's name was mentioned as the secret power behindthe new companies, conspiring to force the old companies to buy himout. His Philadelphia history was published, but only in part--ahighly modified account he had furnished the newspapers some timebefore. Though conspiracy and bribery are ugly words, still lawyers'charges prove nothing. But a penitentiary record, for whatever reasonserved, coupled with previous failure, divorce, and scandal (though thenewspapers made only the most guarded reference to all this), served towhet public interest and to fix Cowperwood and his wife in the publiceye. 

Cowperwood himself was solicited for an interview, but his answer wasthat he was merely a financial agent for the three new companies, notan investor; and that the charges, in so far as he was concerned, wereuntrue, mere legal fol-de-rol trumped up to make the situation asannoying as possible. He threatened to sue for libel. Nevertheless, although these suits eventually did come to nothing (for he had fixedit so that he could not be traced save as a financial agent in eachcase), yet the charges had been made, and he was now revealed as ashrewd, manipulative factor, with a record that was certainlyspectacular. 

"I see, " said Anson Merrill to his wife, one morning at breakfast, "that this man Cowperwood is beginning to get his name in the papers. "He had the Times on the table before him, and was looking at a headlinewhich, after the old-fashioned pyramids then in vogue, read:"Conspiracy charged against various Chicago citizens. Frank AlgernonCowperwood, Judson P. Van Sickle, Henry De Soto Sippens, and othersnamed in Circuit Court complaint. " It went on to specify other facts. "I supposed he was just a broker. "

"I don't know much about them, " replied his wife, "except what BellaSimms tells me. What does it say?"

He handed her the paper. 

"I have always thought they were merely climbers, " continued Mrs. Merrill. "From what I hear she is impossible. I never saw her. "

"He begins well for a Philadelphian, " smiled Merrill. "I've seen himat the Calumet. He looks like a very shrewd man to me. He's goingabout his work in a brisk spirit, anyhow. "

Similarly Mr. Norman Schryhart, a man who up to this time had taken nothought of Cowperwood, although he had noted his appearance about thehalls of the Calumet and Union League Clubs, began to ask seriously whohe was. Schryhart, a man of great physical and mental vigor, six feettall, hale and stolid as an ox, a very different type of man from AnsonMerrill, met Addison one day at the Calumet Club shortly after thenewspaper talk began. Sinking into a great leather divan beside him, he observed:

"Who is this man Cowperwood whose name is in the papers these days, Addison? You know: all these people. Didn't you introduce him to meonce?"

"I surely did, " replied Addison, cheerfully, who, in spite of theattacks on Cowperwood, was rather pleased than otherwise. It was quiteplain from the concurrent excitement that attended all this struggle, that Cowperwood must be managing things rather adroitly, and, best ofall, he was keeping his backers' names from view. "He's a Philadelphianby birth. He came out here several years ago, and went into the grainand commission business. He's a banker now. A rather shrewd man, Ishould say. He has a lot of money. "

"Is it true, as the papers say, that he failed for a million inPhiladelphia in 1871?"

"In so far as I know, it is. "

"Well, was he in the penitentiary down there?"

"I think so--yes. I believe it was for nothing really criminal, though. There appears to have been some political-financial mix-up, from all I can learn. "

"And is he only forty, as the papers say?"

"About that, I should judge. Why?"

"Oh, this scheme of his looks rather pretentious to me--holding up theold gas companies here. Do you suppose he'll manage to do it?"

"I don't know that. All I know is what I have read in the papers, "replied Addison, cautiously. As a matter of fact, he did not care totalk about this business at all. Cowperwood was busy at this verytime, through an agent, attempting to effect a compromise and union ofall interests concerned. It was not going very well. 

"Humph!" commented Schryhart. He was wondering why men like himself, Merrill, Arneel, and others had not worked into this field long ago orbought out the old companies. He went away interested, and a day ortwo later--even the next morning--had formulated a scheme. Not unlikeCowperwood, he was a shrewd, hard, cold man. He believed in Chicagoimplicitly and in all that related to its future. This gas situation, now that Cowperwood had seen the point, was very clear to him. Evenyet it might not be impossible for a third party to step in and byintricate manipulation secure the much coveted rewards. PerhapsCowperwood himself could be taken over--who could tell?

Mr. Schryhart, being a very dominating type of person, did not believein minor partnerships or investments. If he went into a thing of thiskind it was his preference to rule. He decided to invite Cowperwood tovisit the Schryhart office and talk matters over. Accordingly, he hadhis secretary pen a note, which in rather lofty phrases invitedCowperwood to call "on a matter of importance. "

Now just at this time, it so chanced, Cowperwood was feeling rathersecure as to his place in the Chicago financial world, although he wasstill smarting from the bitterness of the aspersions recently cast uponhim from various quarters. Under such circumstances it was histemperament to evince a rugged contempt for humanity, rich and pooralike. He was well aware that Schryhart, although introduced, hadnever previously troubled to notice him. 

"Mr. Cowperwood begs me to say, " wrote Miss Antoinette Nowak, at hisdictation, "that he finds himself very much pressed for time atpresent, but he would be glad to see Mr. Schryhart at his office at anytime. "

This irritated the dominating, self-sufficient Schryhart a little, butnevertheless he was satisfied that a conference could do no harm inthis instance--was advisable, in fact. So one Wednesday afternoon hejourneyed to the office of Cowperwood, and was most hospitably received. 

"How do you do, Mr. Schryhart, " observed Cowperwood, cordially, extending his hand. "I'm glad to see you again. I believe we met oncebefore several years ago. "

"I think so myself, " replied Mr. Schryhart, who was broad-shouldered, square-headed, black-eyed, and with a short black mustache gracing afirm upper lip. He had hard, dark, piercing eyes. "I see by thepapers, if they can be trusted, " he said, coming direct to the point, "that you are interesting yourself in local gas. Is that true?"

"I'm afraid the papers cannot be generally relied on, " repliedCowperwood, quite blandly. "Would you mind telling me what makes youinterested to know whether I am or not?"

"Well, to tell the truth, " replied Schryhart, staring at the financier, "I am interested in this local gas situation myself. It offers a ratherprofitable field for investment, and several members of the oldcompanies have come to me recently to ask me to help them combine. "(This was not true at all. ) "I have been wondering what chance youthought you had of winning along the lines you are now taking. "

Cowperwood smiled. "I hardly care to discuss that, " he said, "unless Iknow much more of your motives and connections than I do at present. Do I understand that you have really been appealed to by stockholdersof the old companies to come in and help adjust this matter?"

"Exactly, " said Schryhart. 

"And you think you can get them to combine? On what basis?"

"Oh, I should say it would be a simple matter to give each of them twoor three shares of a new company for one in each of the old. We couldthen elect one set of officers, have one set of offices, stop all thesesuits, and leave everybody happy. "

He said this in an easy, patronizing way, as though Cowperwood had notreally thought it all out years before. It amazed the latter no littleto see his own scheme patronizingly brought back to him, and that, too, by a very powerful man locally--one who thus far had chosen to overlookhim utterly. 

"On what basis, " asked Cowperwood, cautiously, "would you expect thesenew companies to come in?"

"On the same basis as the others, if they are not too heavilycapitalized. I haven't thought out all the details. Two or three forone, according to investment. Of course, the prejudices of these oldcompanies have to be considered. "

Cowperwood meditated. Should or should he not entertain this offer?Here was a chance to realize quickly by selling out to the oldcompanies. Only Schryhart, not himself, would be taking the big end inthis manipulative deal. Whereas if he waited--even if Schryhartmanaged to combine the three old companies into one--he might be ableto force better terms. He was not sure. Finally he asked, "How muchstock of the new company would be left in your hands--or in the handsof the organizing group--after each of the old and new companies hadbeen provided for on this basis?"

"Oh, possibly thirty-five or forty per cent. Of the whole, " repliedSchryhart, ingratiatingly. "The laborer is worthy of his hire. "

"Quite so, " replied Cowperwood, smiling, "but, seeing that I am the manwho has been cutting the pole to knock this persimmon it seems to methat a pretty good share of that should come to me; don't you think so?"

"Just what do you mean?"

"Just what I have said. I personally have organized the new companieswhich have made this proposed combination possible. The plan youpropose is nothing more than what I have been proposing for some time. The officers and directors of the old companies are angry at me merelybecause I am supposed to have invaded the fields that belong to them. Now, if on account of that they are willing to operate through yourather than through me, it seems to me that I should have a much largershare in the surplus. My personal interest in these new companies isnot very large. I am really more of a fiscal agent than anythingelse. " (This was not true, but Cowperwood preferred to have his guestthink so. )

Schryhart smiled. "But, my dear sir, " he explained, "you forget that Iwill be supplying nearly all the capital to do this. "

"You forget, " retorted Cowperwood, "that I am not a novice. I willguarantee to supply all the capital myself, and give you a good bonusfor your services, if you want that. The plants and franchises of theold and new companies are worth something. You must remember thatChicago is growing. "

"I know that, " replied Schryhart, evasively, "but I also know that youhave a long, expensive fight ahead of you. As things are now youcannot, of yourself, expect to bring these old companies to terms. They won't work with you, as I understand it. It will require anoutsider like myself--some one of influence, or perhaps, I had bettersay, of old standing in Chicago, some one who knows these people--tobring about this combination. Have you any one, do you think, who cando it better than I?"

"It is not at all impossible that I will find some one, " repliedCowperwood, quite easily. 

"I hardly think so; certainly not as things are now. The old companiesare not disposed to work through you, and they are through me. Don'tyou think you had better accept my terms and allow me to go ahead andclose this matter up?"

"Not at all on that basis, " replied Cowperwood, quite simply. "We haveinvaded the enemies' country too far and done too much. Three for oneor four for one--whatever terms are given the stockholders of the oldcompanies--is the best I will do about the new shares, and I must haveone-half of whatever is left for myself. At that I will have to dividewith others. " (This was not true either. )

"No, " replied Schryhart, evasively and opposingly, shaking his squarehead. "It can't be done. The risks are too great. I might allow youone-fourth, possibly--I can't tell yet. "

"One-half or nothing, " said Cowperwood, definitely. 

Schryhart got up. "That's the best you will do, is it?" he inquired. 

"The very best. "

"I'm afraid then, " he said, "we can't come to terms. I'm sorry. Youmay find this a rather long and expensive fight. "

"I have fully anticipated that, " replied the financier. 

Chapter XII

A New Retainer

Cowperwood, who had rebuffed Schryhart so courteously but firmly, wasto learn that he who takes the sword may well perish by the sword. Hisown watchful attorney, on guard at the state capitol, wherecertificates of incorporation were issued in the city and villagecouncils, in the courts and so forth, was not long in learning that acounter-movement of significance was under way. Old General Van Sicklewas the first to report that something was in the wind in connectionwith the North Side company. He came in late one afternoon, his dustygreatcoat thrown loosely about his shoulders, his small, soft hat lowover his shaggy eyes, and in response to Cowperwood's "Evening, General, what can I do for you?" seated himself portentously. 

"I think you'll have to prepare for real rough weather in the future, Captain, " he remarked, addressing the financier with a courtesy titlethat he had fallen in the habit of using. 

"What's the trouble now?" asked Cowperwood. 

"No real trouble as yet, but there may be. Some one--I don't knowwho--is getting these three old companies together in one. There's acertificate of incorporation been applied for at Springfield for theUnited Gas and Fuel Company of Chicago, and there are some directors'meetings now going on at the Douglas Trust Company. I got this fromDuniway, who seems to have friends somewhere that know. "

Cowperwood put the ends of his fingers together in his customary wayand began to tap them lightly and rhythmically. 

"Let me see--the Douglas Trust Company. Mr. Simms is president ofthat. He isn't shrewd enough to organize a thing of that kind. Who arethe incorporators?"

The General produced a list of four names, none of them officers ordirectors of the old companies. 

"Dummies, every one, " said Cowperwood, succinctly. "I think I know, "he said, after a few moments' reflection, "who is behind it, General;but don't let that worry you. They can't harm us if they do unite. They're bound to sell out to us or buy us out eventually. "

Still it irritated him to think that Schryhart had succeeded inpersuading the old companies to combine on any basis; he had meant tohave Addison go shortly, posing as an outside party, and propose thisvery thing. Schryhart, he was sure, had acted swiftly following theirinterview. He hurried to Addison's office in the Lake National. 

"Have you heard the news?" exclaimed that individual, the momentCowperwood appeared. "They're planning to combine. It's Schryhart. Iwas afraid of that. Simms of the Douglas Trust is going to act as thefiscal agent. I had the information not ten minutes ago. "

"So did I, " replied Cowperwood, calmly. "We should have acted a littlesooner. Still, it isn't our fault exactly. Do you know the terms ofagreement?"

"They're going to pool their stock on a basis of three to one, withabout thirty per cent. Of the holding company left for Schryhart tosell or keep, as he wants to. He guarantees the interest. We did thatfor him--drove the game right into his bag. "

"Nevertheless, " replied Cowperwood, "he still has us to deal with. Ipropose now that we go into the city council and ask for a blanketfranchise. It can be had. If we should get it, it will bring them totheir knees. We will really be in a better position than they are withthese smaller companies as feeders. We can unite with ourselves. "

"That will take considerable money, won't it?"

"Not so much. We may never need to lay a pipe or build a plant. Theywill offer to sell out, buy, or combine before that. We can fix theterms. Leave it to me. You don't happen to know by any chance thisMr. McKenty, who has so much say in local affairs here--John J. McKenty?"

Cowperwood was referring to a man who was at once gambler, rumoredowner or controller of a series of houses of prostitution, rumoredmaker of mayors and aldermen, rumored financial backer of many saloonsand contracting companies--in short, the patron saint of the politicaland social underworld of Chicago, and who was naturally to be reckonedwith in matters which related to the city and state legislativeprogramme. 

"I don't, " said Addison; "but I can get you a letter. Why?"

"Don't trouble to ask me that now. Get me as strong an introduction asyou can. "

"I'll have one for you to-day some time, " replied Addison, efficiently. "I'll send it over to you. "

Cowperwood went out while Addison speculated as to this newest move. Trust Cowperwood to dig a pit into which the enemy might fall. Hemarveled sometimes at the man's resourcefulness. He never quarreledwith the directness and incisiveness of Cowperwood's action. 

The man, McKenty, whom Cowperwood had in mind in this rather disturbinghour, was as interesting and forceful an individual as one would careto meet anywhere, a typical figure of Chicago and the West at the time. He was a pleasant, smiling, bland, affable person, not unlikeCowperwood in magnetism and subtlety, but different by a degree ofanimal coarseness (not visible on the surface) which Cowperwood wouldscarcely have understood, and in a kind of temperamental pull drawingto him that vast pathetic life of the underworld in which his soulfound its solution. There is a kind of nature, not artistic, notspiritual, in no way emotional, nor yet unduly philosophical, that isnevertheless a sphered content of life; not crystalline, perhaps, andyet not utterly dark--an agate temperament, cloudy and strange. As athree-year-old child McKenty had been brought from Ireland by hisemigrant parents during a period of famine. He had been raised on thefar South Side in a shanty which stood near a maze of railroad-tracks, and as a naked baby he had crawled on its earthen floor. His fatherhad been promoted to a section boss after working for years as aday-laborer on the adjoining railroad, and John, junior, one of eightother children, had been sent out early to do many things--to be anerrand-boy in a store, a messenger-boy for a telegraph company, anemergency sweep about a saloon, and finally a bartender. This last washis true beginning, for he was discovered by a keen-minded politicianand encouraged to run for the state legislature and to study law. Evenas a stripling what things had he not learned--robbery, ballot-boxstuffing, the sale of votes, the appointive power of leaders, graft, nepotism, vice exploitation--all the things that go to make up (or did)the American world of politics and financial and social strife. Thereis a strong assumption in the upper walks of life that there is nothingto be learned at the bottom. If you could have looked into thecapacious but balanced temperament of John J. McKenty you would haveseen a strange wisdom there and stranger memories--whole worlds ofbrutalities, tendernesses, errors, immoralities suffered, endured, evenrejoiced in--the hardy, eager life of the animal that has nothing butits perceptions, instincts, appetites to guide it. Yet the man had theair and the poise of a gentleman. 

To-day, at forty-eight, McKenty was an exceedingly important personage. His roomy house on the West Side, at Harrison Street and AshlandAvenue, was visited at sundry times by financiers, business men, office-holders, priests, saloon-keepers--in short, the whole range andgamut of active, subtle, political life. From McKenty they couldobtain that counsel, wisdom, surety, solution which all of them onoccasion were anxious to have, and which in one deft way andanother--often by no more than gratitude and an acknowledgment of hisleadership--they were willing to pay for. To police captains andofficers whose places he occasionally saved, when they should justlyhave been discharged; to mothers whose erring boys or girls he took outof prison and sent home again; to keepers of bawdy houses whom heprotected from a too harsh invasion of the grafting propensities of thelocal police; to politicians and saloon-keepers who were in danger ofbeing destroyed by public upheavals of one kind and another, he seemed, in hours of stress, when his smooth, genial, almost artistic facebeamed on them, like a heaven-sent son of light, a kind of Western god, all-powerful, all-merciful, perfect. On the other hand, there wereingrates, uncompromising or pharasaical religionists and reformers, plotting, scheming rivals, who found him deadly to contend with. Therewere many henchmen--runners from an almost imperial throne--to do hisbidding. He was simple in dress and taste, married and (apparently)very happy, a professing though virtually non-practising Catholic, asuave, genial Buddha-like man, powerful and enigmatic. 

When Cowperwood and McKenty first met, it was on a spring evening atthe latter's home. The windows of the large house were pleasantlyopen, though screened, and the curtains were blowing faintly in a lightair. Along with a sense of the new green life everywhere came a breathof stock-yards. 

On the presentation of Addison's letter and of another, secured throughVan Sickle from a well-known political judge, Cowperwood had beeninvited to call. On his arrival he was offered a drink, a cigar, introduced to Mrs. McKenty--who, lacking an organized social life ofany kind, was always pleased to meet these celebrities of the upperworld, if only for a moment--and shown eventually into the library. Mrs. McKenty, as he might have observed if he had had the eye for it, was plump and fifty, a sort of superannuated Aileen, but still showingtraces of a former hardy beauty, and concealing pretty well theevidences that she had once been a prostitute. It so happened that onthis particular evening McKenty was in a most genial frame of mind. There were no immediate political troubles bothering him just now. Itwas early in May. Outside the trees were budding, the sparrows androbins were voicing their several moods. A delicious haze was in theair, and some early mosquitoes were reconnoitering the screens whichprotected the windows and doors. Cowperwood, in spite of his varioustroubles, was in a complacent state of mind himself. He likedlife--even its very difficult complications--perhaps its complicationsbest of all. Nature was beautiful, tender at times, but difficulties, plans, plots, schemes to unravel and make smooth--these things werewhat made existence worth while. 

"Well now, Mr. Cowperwood, " McKenty began, when they finally enteredthe cool, pleasant library, "what can I do for you?"

"Well, Mr. McKenty, " said Cowperwood, choosing his words and bringingthe finest resources of his temperament into play, "it isn't so much, and yet it is. I want a franchise from the Chicago city council, and Iwant you to help me get it if you will. I know you may say to me whynot go to the councilmen direct. I would do that, except that thereare certain other elements--individuals--who might come to you. Itwon't offend you, I know, when I say that I have always understood thatyou are a sort of clearing-house for political troubles in Chicago. "

Mr. McKenty smiled. "That's flattering, " he replied, dryly. 

"Now, I am rather new myself to Chicago, " went on Cowperwood, softly. "I have been here only a year or two. I come from Philadelphia. Ihave been interested as a fiscal agent and an investor in several gascompanies that have been organized in Lake View, Hyde Park, andelsewhere outside the city limits, as you may possibly have seen by thepapers lately. I am not their owner, in the sense that I have providedall or even a good part of the money invested in them. I am not eventheir manager, except in a very general way. I might better be calledtheir promoter and guardian; but I am that for other people and myself. "

Mr. McKenty nodded. 

"Now, Mr. McKenty, it was not very long after I started out to getfranchises to do business in Lake View and Hyde Park before I foundmyself confronted by the interests which control the three old city gascompanies. They were very much opposed to our entering the field inCook County anywhere, as you may imagine, although we were not reallycrowding in on their field. Since then they have fought me withlawsuits, injunctions, and charges of bribery and conspiracy. "

"I know, " put in Mr. McKenty. "I have heard something of it. "

"Quite so, " replied Cowperwood. "Because of their opposition I madethem an offer to combine these three companies and the three new onesinto one, take out a new charter, and give the city a uniform gasservice. They would not do that--largely because I was an outsider, Ithink. Since then another person, Mr. Schryhart"--McKenty nodded--"whohas never had anything to do with the gas business here, has stepped inand offered to combine them. His plan is to do exactly what I wanted todo; only his further proposition is, once he has the three oldcompanies united, to invade this new gas field of ours and hold us up, or force us to sell by obtaining rival franchises in these outlyingplaces. There is talk of combining these suburbs with Chicago, as youknow, which would allow these three down-town franchises to becomemutually operative with our own. This makes it essential for us to doone of several things, as you may see--either to sell out on the bestterms we can now, or to continue the fight at a rather heavy expensewithout making any attempt to strike back, or to get into the citycouncil and ask for a franchise to do business in the down-townsection--a general blanket franchise to sell gas in Chicago alongsideof the old companies--with the sole intention of protecting ourselves, as one of my officers is fond of saying, " added Cowperwood, humorously. 

McKenty smiled again. "I see, " he said. "Isn't that a rather largeorder, though, Mr. Cowperwood, seeking a new franchise? Do you supposethe general public would agree that the city needs an extra gascompany? It's true the old companies haven't been any too generous. Myown gas isn't of the best. " He smiled vaguely, prepared to listenfurther. 

"Now, Mr. McKenty, I know that you are a practical man, " went onCowperwood, ignoring this interruption, "and so am I. I am not comingto you with any vague story concerning my troubles and expecting you tobe interested as a matter of sympathy. I realize that to go into thecity council of Chicago with a legitimate proposition is one thing. Toget it passed and approved by the city authorities is another. I needadvice and assistance, and I am not begging it. If I could get ageneral franchise, such as I have described, it would be worth a verygreat deal of money to me. It would help me to close up and realize onthese new companies which are entirely sound and needed. It would helpme to prevent the old companies from eating me up. As a matter offact, I must have such a franchise to protect my interests and give mea running fighting chance. Now, I know that none of us are in politicsor finance for our health. If I could get such a franchise it would beworth from one-fourth to one-half of all I personally would make out ofit, providing my plan of combining these new companies with the oldones should go through--say, from three to four hundred thousanddollars. " (Here again Cowperwood was not quite frank, but safe. ) "It isneedless to say to you that I can command ample capital. Thisfranchise would do that. Briefly, I want to know if you won't give meyour political support in this matter and join in with me on the basisthat I propose? I will make it perfectly clear to you beforehand who myassociates are. I will put all the data and details on the tablebefore you so that you can see for yourself how things are. If youshould find at any time that I have misrepresented anything you are atfull liberty, of course, to withdraw. As I said before, " he concluded, "I am not a beggar. I am not coming here to conceal any facts or tohide anything which might deceive you as to the worth of all this tous. I want you to know the facts. I want you to give me your aid onsuch terms as you think are fair and equitable. Really the onlytrouble with me in this situation is that I am not a silk stocking. IfI were this gas war would have been adjusted long ago. These gentlemenwho are so willing to reorganize through Mr. Schryhart are largelyopposed to me because I am--comparatively--a stranger in Chicago andnot in their set. If I were"--he moved his hand slightly--"I don'tsuppose I would be here this evening asking for your favor, althoughthat does not say that I am not glad to be here, or that I would not beglad to work with you in any way that I might. Circumstances simplyhave not thrown me across your path before. "

As he talked his eye fixed McKenty steadily, almost innocently; and thelatter, following him clearly, felt all the while that he was listeningto a strange, able, dark, and very forceful man. There was no beatingabout the bush here, no squeamishness of spirit, and yet there wassubtlety--the kind McKenty liked. While he was amused by Cowperwood'scasual reference to the silk stockings who were keeping him out, itappealed to him. He caught the point of view as well as the intentionof it. Cowperwood represented a new and rather pleasing type offinancier to him. Evidently, he was traveling in able company if onecould believe the men who had introduced him so warmly. McKenty, asCowperwood was well aware, had personally no interest in the oldcompanies and also--though this he did not say--no particular sympathywith them. They were just remote financial corporations to him, payingpolitical tribute on demand, expecting political favors in return. Every few weeks now they were in council, asking for one gas-mainfranchise after another (special privileges in certain streets), askingfor better (more profitable) light-contracts, asking for dockprivileges in the river, a lower tax rate, and so forth and so on. McKenty did not pay much attention to these things personally. He hada subordinate in council, a very powerful henchman by the name ofPatrick Dowling, a meaty, vigorous Irishman and a true watch-dog ofgraft for the machine, who worked with the mayor, the city treasurer, the city tax receiver--in fact, all the officers of the currentadministration--and saw that such minor matters were properlyequalized. Mr. McKenty had only met two or three of the officers ofthe South Side Gas Company, and that quite casually. He did not likethem very well. The truth was that the old companies were officered bymen who considered politicians of the McKenty and Dowling stripe asvery evil men; if they paid them and did other such wicked things itwas because they were forced to do so. 

"Well, " McKenty replied, lingering his thin gold watch-chain in athoughtful manner, "that's an interesting scheme you have. Of coursethe old companies wouldn't like your asking for a rival franchise, butonce you had it they couldn't object very well, could they?" He smiled. Mr. McKenty spoke with no suggestion of a brogue. "From one point ofview it might be looked upon as bad business, but not entirely. Theywould be sure to make a great cry, though they haven't been any tookind to the public themselves. But if you offered to combine with themI see no objection. It's certain to be as good for them in the longrun as it is for you. This merely permits you to make a better bargain. "

"Exactly, " said Cowperwood. 

"And you have the means, you tell me, to lay mains in every part of thecity, and fight with them for business if they won't give in?"

"I have the means, " said Cowperwood, "or if I haven't I can get them. "

Mr. McKenty looked at Mr. Cowperwood very solemnly. There was a kindof mutual sympathy, understanding, and admiration between the two men, but it was still heavily veiled by self-interest. To Mr. McKentyCowperwood was interesting because he was one of the few business menhe had met who were not ponderous, pharasaical, even hypocritical whenthey were dealing with him. 

"Well, I'll tell you what I'll do, Mr. Cowperwood, " he said, finally. "I'll take it all under consideration. Let me think it over untilMonday, anyhow. There is more of an excuse now for the introduction ofa general gas ordinance than there would be a little later--I can seethat. Why don't you draw up your proposed franchise and let me see it?Then we might find out what some of the other gentlemen of the citycouncil think. "

Cowperwood almost smiled at the word "gentlemen. "

"I have already done that, " he said. "Here it is. "

McKenty took it, surprised and yet pleased at this evidence of businessproficiency. He liked a strong manipulator of this kind--the moresince he was not one himself, and most of those that he did know werethin-blooded and squeamish. 

"Let me take this, " he said. "I'll see you next Monday again if youwish. Come Monday. "

Cowperwood got up. "I thought I'd come and talk to you direct, Mr. McKenty, " he said, "and now I'm glad that I did. You will find, if youwill take the trouble to look into this matter, that it is just as Irepresent it. There is a very great deal of money here in one way andanother, though it will take some little time to work it out. "

Mr. McKenty saw the point. "Yes, " he said, sweetly, "to be sure. "

They looked into each other's eyes as they shook hands. 

"I'm not sure but you haven't hit upon a very good idea here, "concluded McKenty, sympathetically. "A very good idea, indeed. Comeand see me again next Monday, or about that time, and I'll let you knowwhat I think. Come any time you have anything else you want of me. I'll always be glad to see you. It's a fine night, isn't it?" headded, looking out as they neared the door. "A nice moon that!" headded. A sickle moon was in the sky. "Good night. "

Chapter XIII

The Die is Cast

The significance of this visit was not long in manifesting itself. Atthe top, in large affairs, life goes off into almost inexplicabletangles of personalities. Mr. McKenty, now that the matter had beencalled to his attention, was interested to learn about this gassituation from all sides--whether it might not be more profitable todeal with the Schryhart end of the argument, and so on. But hiseventual conclusion was that Cowperwood's plan, as he had outlined it, was the most feasible for political purposes, largely because theSchryhart faction, not being in a position where they needed to ask thecity council for anything at present, were so obtuse as to forget tomake overtures of any kind to the bucaneering forces at the City Hall. 

When Cowperwood next came to McKenty's house the latter was in areceptive frame of mind. "Well, " he said, after a few genialpreliminary remarks, "I've been learning what's going on. Yourproposition is fair enough. Organize your company, and arrange yourplan conditionally. Then introduce your ordinance, and we'll see whatcan be done. " They went into a long, intimate discussion as to how theforthcoming stock should be divided, how it was to be held in escrow bya favorite bank of Mr. McKenty's until the terms of the agreement underthe eventual affiliation with the old companies or the new unioncompany should be fulfilled, and details of that sort. It was rather acomplicated arrangement, not as satisfactory to Cowperwood as it mighthave been, but satisfactory in that it permitted him to win. Itrequired the undivided services of General Van Sickle, Henry De SotoSippens, Kent Barrows McKibben, and Alderman Dowling for some littletime. But finally all was in readiness for the coup. 

On a certain Monday night, therefore, following the Thursday on which, according to the rules of the city council, an ordinance of thischaracter would have to be introduced, the plan, after being publiclybroached but this very little while, was quickly considered by the citycouncil and passed. There had been really no time for publicdiscussion. This was just the thing, of course, that Cowperwood andMcKenty were trying to avoid. On the day following the particularThursday on which the ordinance had been broached in council as certainto be brought up for passage, Schryhart, through his lawyers and theofficers of the old individual gas companies, had run to the newspapersand denounced the whole thing as plain robbery; but what were they todo? There was so little time for agitation. True the newspapers, obedient to this larger financial influence, began to talk of "fairplay to the old companies, " and the uselessness of two large rivalcompanies in the field when one would serve as well. Still the public, instructed or urged by the McKenty agents to the contrary, were notprepared to believe it. They had not been so well treated by the oldcompanies as to make any outcry on their behalf. 

Standing outside the city council door, on the Monday evening when thebill was finally passed, Mr. Samuel Blackman, president of the SouthSide Gas Company, a little, wispy man with shoe-brush whiskers, declared emphatically:

"This is a scoundrelly piece of business. If the mayor signs that heshould be impeached. There is not a vote in there to-night that hasnot been purchased--not one. This is a fine element of brigandage tointroduce into Chicago; why, people who have worked years and years tobuild up a business are not safe!"

"It's true, every word of it, " complained Mr. Jordan Jules, presidentof the North Side company, a short, stout man with a head like an egglying lengthwise, a mere fringe of hair, and hard, blue eyes. He waswith Mr. Hudson Baker, tall and ambling, who was president of the WestChicago company. All of these had come to protest. 

"It's that scoundrel from Philadelphia. He's the cause of all ourtroubles. It's high time the respectable business element of Chicagorealized just what sort of a man they have to deal with in him. Heought to be driven out of here. Look at his Philadelphia record. Theysent him to the penitentiary down there, and they ought to do it here. "

Mr. Baker, very recently the guest of Schryhart, and his henchman, too, was also properly chagrined. "The man is a charlatan, " he protested toBlackman. "He doesn't play fair. It is plain that he doesn't belongin respectable society. "

Nevertheless, and in spite of this, the ordinance was passed. It was abitter lesson for Mr. Norman Schryhart, Mr. Norrie Simms, and all thosewho had unfortunately become involved. A committee composed of allthree of the old companies visited the mayor; but the latter, a tool ofMcKenty, giving his future into the hands of the enemy, signed it justthe same. Cowperwood had his franchise, and, groan as they might, itwas now necessary, in the language of a later day, "to step up and seethe captain. " Only Schryhart felt personally that his score withCowperwood was not settled. He would meet him on some other groundlater. The next time he would try to fight fire with fire. But forthe present, shrewd man that he was, he was prepared to compromise. 

Thereafter, dissembling his chagrin as best he could, he kept on thelookout for Cowperwood at both of the clubs of which he was a member;but Cowperwood had avoided them during this period of excitement, andMahomet would have to go to the mountain. So one drowsy June afternoonMr. Schryhart called at Cowperwood's office. He had on a bright, new, steel-gray suit and a straw hat. From his pocket, according to thefashion of the time, protruded a neat, blue-bordered silk handkerchief, and his feet were immaculate in new, shining Oxford ties. 

"I'm sailing for Europe in a few days, Mr. Cowperwood, " he remarked, genially, "and I thought I'd drop round to see if you and I could reachsome agreement in regard to this gas situation. The officers of theold companies naturally feel that they do not care to have a rival inthe field, and I'm sure that you are not interested in carrying on auseless rate war that won't leave anybody any profit. I recall that youwere willing to compromise on a half-and-half basis with me before, andI was wondering whether you were still of that mind. "

"Sit down, sit down, Mr. Schryhart, " remarked Cowperwood, cheerfully, waving the new-comer to a chair. "I'm pleased to see you again. No, I'm no more anxious for a rate war than you are. As a matter of fact, I hope to avoid it; but, as you see, things have changed somewhat sinceI saw you. The gentlemen who have organized and invested their moneyin this new city gas company are perfectly willing--rather anxious, infact--to go on and establish a legitimate business. They feel all theconfidence in the world that they can do this, and I agree with them. A compromise might be effected between the old and the new companies, but not on the basis on which I was willing to settle some time ago. Anew company has been organized since then, stock issued, and a greatdeal of money expended. " (This was not true. ) "That stock will have tofigure in any new agreement. I think a general union of all thecompanies is desirable, but it will have to be on a basis of one, two, three, or four shares--whatever is decided--at par for all stockinvolved. "

Mr. Schryhart pulled a long face. "Don't you think that's rathersteep?" he said, solemnly. 

"Not at all, not at all!" replied Cowperwood. "You know these newexpenditures were not undertaken voluntarily. " (The irony of this didnot escape Mr. Schryhart, but he said nothing. )

"I admit all that, but don't you think, since your shares are worthpractically nothing at present, that you ought to be satisfied if theywere accepted at par?"

"I can't see why, " replied Cowperwood. "Our future prospects aresplendid. There must be an even adjustment here or nothing. What Iwant to know is how much treasury stock you would expect to have in thesafe for the promotion of this new organization after all the oldstockholders have been satisfied?"

"Well, as I thought before, from thirty to forty per cent. Of the totalissue, " replied Schryhart, still hopeful of a profitable adjustment. "I should think it could be worked on that basis. "

"And who gets that?"

"Why, the organizer, " said Schryhart, evasively. "Yourself, perhaps, and myself. "

"And how would you divide it? Half and half, as before?"

"I should think that would be fair. "

"It isn't enough, " returned Cowperwood, incisively. "Since I talked toyou last I have been compelled to shoulder obligations and makeagreements which I did not anticipate then. The best I can do now isto accept three-fourths. "

Schryhart straightened up determinedly and offensively. This wasoutrageous, he thought, impossible! The effrontery of it!

"It can never be done, Mr. Cowperwood, " he replied, forcefully. "Youare trying to unload too much worthless stock on the company as it is. The old companies' stock is selling right now, as you know, for fromone-fifty to two-ten. Your stock is worth nothing. If you are to begiven two or three for one for that, and three-fourths of the remainderin the treasury, I for one want nothing to do with the deal. You wouldbe in control of the company, and it will be water-logged, at that. Talk about getting something for nothing! The best I would suggest tothe stockholders of the old companies would be half and half. And Imay say to you frankly, although you may not believe it, that the oldcompanies will not join in with you in any scheme that gives youcontrol. They are too much incensed. Feeling is running too high. Itwill mean a long, expensive fight, and they will never compromise. Now, if you have anything really reasonable to offer I would be glad to hearit. Otherwise I am afraid these negotiations are not going to come toanything. "

"Share and share alike, and three-fourths of the remainder, " repeatedCowperwood, grimly. "I do not want to control. If they want to raisethe money and buy me out on that basis I am willing to sell. I want adecent return for investments I have made, and I am going to have it. I cannot speak for the others behind me, but as long as they dealthrough me that is what they will expect. "

Mr. Schryhart went angrily away. He was exceedingly wroth. Thisproposition as Cowperwood now outlined it was bucaneering at its best. He proposed for himself to withdraw from the old companies ifnecessary, to close out his holdings and let the old companies dealwith Cowperwood as best they could. So long as he had anything to dowith it, Cowperwood should never gain control of the gas situation. Better to take him at his suggestion, raise the money and buy him out, even at an exorbitant figure. Then the old gas companies could goalong and do business in their old-fashioned way without beingdisturbed. This bucaneer! This upstart! What a shrewd, quick, forcefulmove he had made! It irritated Mr. Schryhart greatly. 

The end of all this was a compromise in which Cowperwood acceptedone-half of the surplus stock of the new general issue, and two for oneof every share of stock for which his new companies had been organized, at the same time selling out to the old companies--clearing outcompletely. It was a most profitable deal, and he was enabled toprovide handsomely not only for Mr. McKenty and Addison, but for allthe others connected with him. It was a splendid coup, as McKenty andAddison assured him. Having now done so much, he began to turn hiseyes elsewhere for other fields to conquer. 

But this victory in one direction brought with it correspondingreverses in another: the social future of Cowperwood and Aileen was nowin great jeopardy. Schryhart, who was a force socially, having metwith defeat at the hands of Cowperwood, was now bitterly opposed tohim. Norrie Simms naturally sided with his old associates. But theworst blow came through Mrs. Anson Merrill. Shortly after thehousewarming, and when the gas argument and the conspiracy charges wererising to their heights, she had been to New York and had there chancedto encounter an old acquaintance of hers, Mrs. Martyn Walker, ofPhiladelphia, one of the circle which Cowperwood once upon a time hadbeen vainly ambitious to enter. Mrs. Merrill, aware of the interestthe Cowperwoods had aroused in Mrs. Simms and others, welcomed theopportunity to find out something definite. 

"By the way, did you ever chance to hear of a Frank Algernon Cowperwoodor his wife in Philadelphia?" she inquired of Mrs. Walker. 

"Why, my dear Nellie, " replied her friend, nonplussed that a woman sosmart as Mrs. Merrill should even refer to them, "have those peopleestablished themselves in Chicago? His career in Philadelphia was, tosay the least, spectacular. He was connected with a city treasurerthere who stole five hundred thousand dollars, and they both went tothe penitentiary. That wasn't the worst of it! He became intimate withsome young girl--a Miss Butler, the sister of Owen Butler, by the way, who is now such a power down there, and--" She merely lifted her eyes. "While he was in the penitentiary her father died and the family brokeup. I even heard it rumored that the old gentleman killed himself. "(She was referring to Aileen's father, Edward Malia Butler. ) "When hecame out of the penitentiary Cowperwood disappeared, and I did hearsome one say that he had gone West, and divorced his wife and marriedagain. His first wife is still living in Philadelphia somewhere withhis two children. "

Mrs. Merrill was properly astonished, but she did not show it. "Quitean interesting story, isn't it?" she commented, distantly, thinking howeasy it would be to adjust the Cowperwood situation, and how pleasedshe was that she had never shown any interest in them. "Did you eversee her--his new wife?"

"I think so, but I forget where. I believe she used to ride and drivea great deal in Philadelphia. "

"Did she have red hair?"

"Oh yes. She was a very striking blonde. "

"I fancy it must be the same person. They have been in the papersrecently in Chicago. I wanted to be sure. "

Mrs. Merrill was meditating some fine comments to be made in the future. 

"I suppose now they're trying to get into Chicago society?" Mrs. Walkersmiled condescendingly and contemptuously--as much at Chicago societyas at the Cowperwoods. 

"It's possible that they might attempt something like that in the Eastand succeed--I'm sure I don't know, " replied Mrs. Merrill, caustically, resenting the slur, "but attempting and achieving are quite differentthings in Chicago. "

The answer was sufficient. It ended the discussion. When next Mrs. Simms was rash enough to mention the Cowperwoods, or, rather, thepeculiar publicity in connection with him, her future viewpoint wasdefinitely fixed for her. 

"If you take my advice, " commented Mrs. Merrill, finally, "the less youhave to do with these friends of yours the better. I know all aboutthem. You might have seen that from the first. They can never beaccepted. "

Mrs. Merrill did not trouble to explain why, but Mrs. Simms through herhusband soon learned the whole truth, and she was righteously indignantand even terrified. Who was to blame for this sort of thing, anyhow?she thought. Who had introduced them? The Addisons, of course. Butthe Addisons were socially unassailable, if not all-powerful, and sothe best had to be made of that. But the Cowperwoods could be droppedfrom the lists of herself and her friends instantly, and that was nowdone. A sudden slump in their social significance began to manifestitself, though not so swiftly but what for the time being it wasslightly deceptive. 

The first evidence of change which Aileen observed was when thecustomary cards and invitations for receptions and the like, which hadcome to them quite freely of late, began to decline sharply in number, and when the guests to her own Wednesday afternoons, which ratherprematurely she had ventured to establish, became a mere negligiblehandful. At first she could not understand this, not being willing tobelieve that, following so soon upon her apparent triumph as a hostessin her own home, there could be so marked a decline in her localimportance. Of a possible seventy-five or fifty who might have calledor left cards, within three weeks after the housewarming only twentyresponded. A week later it had declined to ten, and within five weeks, all told, there was scarcely a caller. It is true that a very few ofthe unimportant--those who had looked to her for influence and theself-protecting Taylor Lord and Kent McKibben, who were commerciallyobligated to Cowperwood--were still faithful, but they were reallyworse than nothing. Aileen was beside herself with disappointment, opposition, chagrin, shame. There are many natures, rhinoceros-bidedand iron-souled, who can endure almost any rebuff in the hope ofeventual victory, who are almost too thick-skinned to suffer, but herswas not one of these. Already, in spite of her original daring inregard to the opinion of society and the rights of the former Mrs. Cowperwood, she was sensitive on the score of her future and what herpast might mean to her. Really her original actions could beattributed to her youthful passion and the powerful sex magnetism ofCowperwood. Under more fortunate circumstances she would have marriedsafely enough and without the scandal which followed. As it was now, her social future here needed to end satisfactorily in order to justifyherself to herself, and, she thought, to him. 

"You may put the sandwiches in the ice-box, " she said to Louis, thebutler, after one of the earliest of the "at home" failures, referringto the undue supply of pink-and-blue-ribboned titbits which, uneaten, honored some fine Sevres with their presence. "Send the flowers to thehospital. The servants may drink the claret cup and lemonade. Keepsome of the cakes fresh for dinner. "

The butler nodded his head. "Yes, Madame, " he said. Then, by way ofpouring oil on what appeared to him to be a troubled situation, headded: "Eet's a rough day. I suppose zat has somepsing to do weeth it. "

Aileen was aflame in a moment. She was about to exclaim: "Mind yourbusiness!" but changed her mind. "Yes, I presume so, " was her answer, as she ascended to her room. If a single poor "at home" was to becommented on by servants, things were coming to a pretty pass. Shewaited until the next week to see whether this was the weather or areal change in public sentiment. It was worse than the one before. The singers she had engaged had to be dismissed without performing theservice for which they had come. Kent McKibben and Taylor Lord, verywell aware of the rumors now flying about, called, but in a remote andtroubled spirit. Aileen saw that, too. An affair of this kind, withonly these two and Mrs. Webster Israels and Mrs. Henry Huddlestonecalling, was a sad indication of something wrong. She had to pleadillness and excuse herself. The third week, fearing a worse defeatthan before, Aileen pretended to be ill. She would see how many cardswere left. There were just three. That was the end. She realized thather "at homes" were a notable failure. 

At the same time Cowperwood was not to be spared his share in thedistrust and social opposition which was now rampant. 

His first inkling of the true state of affairs came in connection witha dinner which, on the strength of an old invitation, theyunfortunately attended at a time when Aileen was still uncertain. Ithad been originally arranged by the Sunderland Sledds, who were not somuch socially, and who at the time it occurred were as yet unaware ofthe ugly gossip going about, or at least of society's new attitudetoward the Cowperwoods. At this time it was understood by nearlyall--the Simms, Candas, Cottons, and Kingslands--that a great mistakehad been made, and that the Cowperwoods were by no means admissible. 

To this particular dinner a number of people, whom the latter knew, hadbeen invited. Uniformly all, when they learned or recalled that theCowperwoods were expected, sent eleventh-hour regrets--"so sorry. "Outside the Sledds there was only one other couple--the StanislauHoecksemas, for whom the Cowperwoods did not particularly care. It wasa dull evening. Aileen complained of a headache, and they went home. 

Very shortly afterward, at a reception given by their neighbors, theHaatstaedts, to which they had long since been invited, there was anevident shyness in regard to them, quite new in its aspect, althoughthe hosts themselves were still friendly enough. Previous to this, when strangers of prominence had been present at an affair of this kindthey were glad to be brought over to the Cowperwoods, who were alwaysconspicuous because of Aileen's beauty. On this day, for no reasonobvious to Aileen or Cowperwood (although both suspected), introductions were almost uniformly refused. There were a number whoknew them, and who talked casually, but the general tendency on thepart of all was to steer clear of them. Cowperwood sensed thedifficulty at once. "I think we'd better leave early, " he remarked toAileen, after a little while. "This isn't very interesting. "

They returned to their own home, and Cowperwood to avoid discussionwent down-town. He did not care to say what he thought of this as yet. 

It was previous to a reception given by the Union League that the firstreal blow was struck at him personally, and that in a roundabout way. Addison, talking to him at the Lake National Bank one morning, had saidquite confidentially, and out of a clear sky:

"I want to tell you something, Cowperwood. You know by now somethingabout Chicago society. You also know where I stand in regard to somethings you told me about your past when I first met you. Well, there'sa lot of talk going around about you now in regard to all that, andthese two clubs to which you and I belong are filled with a lot oftwo-faced, double-breasted hypocrites who've been stirred up by thistalk of conspiracy in the papers. There are four or five stockholdersof the old companies who are members, and they are trying to drive youout. They've looked up that story you told me, and they're talkingabout filing charges with the house committees at both places. Now, nothing can come of it in either case--they've been talking to me; butwhen this next reception comes along you'll know what to do. They'llhave to extend you an invitation; but they won't mean it. " (Cowperwoodunderstood. ) "This whole thing is certain to blow over, in my judgment;it will if I have anything to do with it; but for the present--"

He stared at Cowperwood in a friendly way. 

The latter smiled. "I expected something like this, Judah, to tell youthe truth, " he said, easily. "I've expected it all along. You needn'tworry about me. I know all about this. I've seen which way the windis blowing, and I know how to trim my sails. "

Addison reached out and took his hand. "But don't resign, whatever youdo, " he said, cautiously. "That would be a confession of weakness, andthey don't expect you to. I wouldn't want you to. Stand your ground. This whole thing will blow over. They're jealous, I think. "

"I never intended to, " replied Cowperwood. "There's no legitimatecharge against me. I know it will all blow over if I'm given timeenough. " Nevertheless he was chagrined to think that he should besubjected to such a conversation as this with any one. 

Similarly in other ways "society"--so called--was quite able to enforceits mandates and conclusions. 

The one thing that Cowperwood most resented, when he learned of it muchlater, was a snub direct given to Aileen at the door of the NorrieSimmses'; she called there only to be told that Mrs. Simms was not athome, although the carriages of others were in the street. A few daysafterward Aileen, much to his regret and astonishment--for he did notthen know the cause--actually became ill. 

If it had not been for Cowperwood's eventual financial triumph over allopposition--the complete routing of the enemy--in the struggle forcontrol in the gas situation--the situation would have been hard, indeed. As it was, Aileen suffered bitterly; she felt that the slightwas principally directed at her, and would remain in force. In theprivacy of their own home they were compelled eventually to admit, theone to the other, that their house of cards, resplendent and forcefullooking as it was, had fallen to the ground. Personal confidencesbetween people so closely united are really the most trying of all. Human souls are constantly trying to find each other, and rarelysucceeding. 

"You know, " he finally said to her once, when he came in ratherunexpectedly and found her sick in bed, her eyes wet, and her maiddismissed for the day, "I understand what this is all about. To tellyou the truth, Aileen, I rather expected it. We have been going toofast, you and I. We have been pushing this matter too hard. Now, Idon't like to see you taking it this way, dear. This battle isn't lost. Why, I thought you had more courage than this. Let me tell yousomething which you don't seem to remember. Money will solve all thissometime. I'm winning in this fight right now, and I'll win in others. They are coming to me. Why, dearie, you oughtn't to despair. You'retoo young. I never do. You'll win yet. We can adjust this matterright here in Chicago, and when we do we will pay up a lot of scores atthe same time. We're rich, and we're going to be richer. That willsettle it. Now put on a good face and look pleased; there are plenty ofthings to live for in this world besides society. Get up now anddress, and we'll go for a drive and dinner down-town. You have me yet. Isn't that something?"

"Oh yes, " sighed Aileen, heavily; but she sank back again. She put herarms about his neck and cried, as much out of joy over the consolationhe offered as over the loss she had endured. "It was as much for youas for me, " she sighed. 

"I know that, " he soothed; "but don't worry about it now. You willcome out all right. We both will. Come, get up. " Nevertheless, he wassorry to see her yield so weakly. It did not please him. He resolvedsome day to have a grim adjustment with society on this score. Meanwhile Aileen was recovering her spirits. She was ashamed of herweakness when she saw how forcefully he faced it all. 

"Oh, Frank, " she exclaimed, finally, "you're always so wonderful. You're such a darling. "

"Never mind, " he said, cheerfully. "If we don't win this game here inChicago, we will somewhere. "

He was thinking of the brilliant manner in which he had adjusted hisaffairs with the old gas companies and Mr. Schryhart, and howthoroughly he would handle some other matters when the time came. 

Chapter XIV

Undercurrents

It was during the year that followed their social repudiation, and thenext and the next, that Cowperwood achieved a keen realization of whatit would mean to spend the rest of his days in social isolation, or atleast confined in his sources of entertainment to a circle or elementwhich constantly reminded him of the fact that he was not identifiedwith the best, or, at least, not the most significant, however dullthat might be. When he had first attempted to introduce Aileen intosociety it was his idea that, however tame they might chance to find itto begin with, they themselves, once admitted, could make it intosomething very interesting and even brilliant. Since the time theCowperwoods had been repudiated, however, they had found it necessary, if they wished any social diversion at all, to fall back upon suchvarious minor elements as they could scrape an acquaintancewith--passing actors and actresses, to whom occasionally they couldgive a dinner; artists and singers whom they could invite to the houseupon gaining an introduction; and, of course, a number of the sociallyunimportant, such as the Haatstaedts, Hoecksemas, Videras, Baileys, andothers still friendly and willing to come in a casual way. Cowperwoodfound it interesting from time to time to invite a business friend, alover of pictures, or some young artist to the house to dinner or forthe evening, and on these occasions Aileen was always present. TheAddisons called or invited them occasionally. But it was a dull game, the more so since their complete defeat was thus all the more plainlyindicated. 

This defeat, as Cowperwood kept reflecting, was really not his fault atall. He had been getting along well enough personally. If Aileen hadonly been a somewhat different type of woman! Nevertheless, he was inno way prepared to desert or reproach her. She had clung to him throughhis stormy prison days. She had encouraged him when he neededencouragement. He would stand by her and see what could be done alittle later; but this ostracism was a rather dreary thing to endure. Besides, personally, he appeared to be becoming more and moreinteresting to men and to women. The men friends he had made heretained--Addison, Bailey, Videra, McKibben, Rambaud, and others. There were women in society, a number of them, who regretted hisdisappearance if not that of Aileen. Occasionally the experiment wouldbe tried of inviting him without his wife. At first he refusedinvariably; later he went alone occasionally to a dinner-party withouther knowledge. 

It was during this interregnum that Cowperwood for the first timeclearly began to get the idea that there was a marked differencebetween him and Aileen intellectually and spiritually; and that whilehe might be in accord with her in many ways--emotionally, physically, idyllicly--there were, nevertheless, many things which he could doalone which she could not do--heights to which he could rise where shecould not possibly follow. Chicago society might be a negligiblequantity, but he was now to contrast her sharply with the best of whatthe Old World had to offer in the matter of femininity, for followingtheir social expulsion in Chicago and his financial victory, he oncemore decided to go abroad. In Rome, at the Japanese and Brazilianembassies (where, because of his wealth, he gained introduction), andat the newly established Italian Court, he encountered at a distancecharming social figures of considerable significance--Italiancountesses, English ladies of high degree, talented American women ofstrong artistic and social proclivities. As a rule they were quick torecognize the charm of his manner, the incisiveness and grip of hismind, and to estimate at all its worth the high individuality of hissoul; but he could also always see that Aileen was not so acceptable. She was too rich in her entourage, too showy. Her glowing health andbeauty was a species of affront to the paler, more sublimated souls ofmany who were not in themselves unattractive. 

"Isn't that the typical American for you, " he heard a woman remark, atone of those large, very general court receptions to which so many arefreely admitted, and to which Aileen had been determined to go. He wasstanding aside talking to an acquaintance he had made--anEnglish-speaking Greek banker stopping at the Grand Hotel--while Aileenpromenaded with the banker's wife. The speaker was an Englishwoman. "So gaudy, so self-conscious, and so naive!"

Cowperwood turned to look. It was Aileen, and the lady speaking wasundoubtedly well bred, thoughtful, good-looking. He had to admit thatmuch that she said was true, but how were you to gage a woman likeAileen, anyhow? She was not reprehensible in any way--just afull-blooded animal glowing with a love of life. She was attractive tohim. It was too bad that people of obviously more conservativetendencies were so opposed to her. Why could they not see what hesaw--a kind of childish enthusiasm for luxury and show which sprang, perhaps, from the fact that in her youth she had not enjoyed the socialopportunities which she needed and longed for. He felt sorry for her. At the same time he was inclined to feel that perhaps now another typeof woman would be better for him socially. If he had a harder type, one with keener artistic perceptions and a penchant for just the rightsocial touch or note, how much better he would do! He came homebringing a Perugino, brilliant examples of Luini, Previtali, andPinturrichio (this last a portrait of Caesar Borgia), which he pickedup in Italy, to say nothing of two red African vases of great size thathe found in Cairo, a tall gilt Louis Fifteenth standard of carved woodthat he discovered in Rome, two ornate candelabra from Venice for hiswalls, and a pair of Italian torcheras from Naples to decorate thecorners of his library. It was thus by degrees that his art collectionwas growing. 

At the same time it should be said, in the matter of women and the sexquestion, his judgment and views had begun to change tremendously. Whenhe had first met Aileen he had many keen intuitions regarding life andsex, and above all clear faith that he had a right to do as he pleased. Since he had been out of prison and once more on his upward way therehad been many a stray glance cast in his direction; he had so often hadit clearly forced upon him that he was fascinating to women. Althoughhe had only so recently acquired Aileen legally, yet she was years oldto him as a mistress, and the first engrossing--it had been almostall-engrossing--enthusiasm was over. He loved her not only for herbeauty, but for her faithful enthusiasm; but the power of others toprovoke in him a momentary interest, and passion even, was somethingwhich he did not pretend to understand, explain, or moralize about. Soit was and so he was. He did not want to hurt Aileen's feelings byletting her know that his impulses thus wantonly strayed to others, butso it was. 

Not long after he had returned from the European trip he stopped oneafternoon in the one exclusive drygoods store in State Street topurchase a tie. As he was entering a woman crossed the aisle beforehim, from one counter to another--a type of woman which he was comingto admire, but only from a rather distant point of view, seeing themgoing here and there in the world. She was a dashing type, essentiallysmart and trig, with a neat figure, dark hair and eyes, an olive skin, small mouth, quaint nose--all in all quite a figure for Chicago at thetime. She had, furthermore, a curious look of current wisdom in hereyes, an air of saucy insolence which aroused Cowperwood's sense ofmastery, his desire to dominate. To the look of provocation anddefiance which she flung him for the fraction of a second he returned acuriously leonine glare which went over her like a dash of cold water. It was not a hard look, however, merely urgent and full of meaning. She was the vagrom-minded wife of a prosperous lawyer who was absorbedin his business and in himself. She pretended indifference for amoment after the first glance, but paused a little way off as if toexamine some laces. Cowperwood looked after her to catch a secondfleeting, attracted look. He was on his way to several engagementswhich he did not wish to break, but he took out a note-book, wrote on aslip of paper the name of a hotel, and underneath: "Parlor, secondfloor, Tuesday, 1 P. M. " Passing by where she stood, he put it into hergloved hand, which was hanging by her side. The fingers closed over itautomatically. She had noted his action. On the day and hoursuggested she was there, although he had given no name. That liaison, while delightful to him, was of no great duration. The lady wasinteresting, but too fanciful. 

Similarly, at the Henry Huddlestones', one of their neighbors at thefirst Michigan Avenue house they occupied, he encountered one eveningat a small dinner-party a girl of twenty-three who interested himgreatly--for the moment. Her name was not very attractive--Ella F. Hubby, as he eventually learned--but she was not unpleasing. Herprincipal charm was a laughing, hoydenish countenance and roguish eyes. She was the daughter of a well-to-do commission merchant in South WaterStreet. That her interest should have been aroused by that ofCowperwood in her was natural enough. She was young, foolish, impressionable, easily struck by the glitter of a reputation, and Mrs. Huddlestone had spoken highly of Cowperwood and his wife and the greatthings he was doing or was going to do. When Ella saw him, and saw thathe was still young-looking, with the love of beauty in his eyes and aforce of presence which was not at all hard where she was concerned, she was charmed; and when Aileen was not looking her glance keptconstantly wandering to his with a laughing signification of friendshipand admiration. It was the most natural thing in the world for him tosay to her, when they had adjourned to the drawing-room, that if shewere in the neighborhood of his office some day she might care to lookin on him. The look he gave her was one of keen understanding, andbrought a look of its own kind, warm and flushing, in return. Shecame, and there began a rather short liaison. It was interesting butnot brilliant. The girl did not have sufficient temperament to bindhim beyond a period of rather idle investigation. 

There was still, for a little while, another woman, whom he hadknown--a Mrs. Josephine Ledwell, a smart widow, who came primarily togamble on the Board of Trade, but who began to see at once, onintroduction, the charm of a flirtation with Cowperwood. She was awoman not unlike Aileen in type, a little older, not so good-looking, and of a harder, more subtle commercial type of mind. She ratherinterested Cowperwood because she was so trig, self-sufficient, andcareful. She did her best to lure him on to a liaison with her, whichfinally resulted, her apartment on the North Side being the center ofthis relationship. It lasted perhaps six weeks. Through it all he wasquite satisfied that he did not like her so very well. Any one whoassociated with him had Aileen's present attractiveness to contendwith, as well as the original charm of his first wife. It was no easymatter. 

It was during this period of social dullness, however, which somewhatresembled, though it did not exactly parallel his first years with hisfirst wife, that Cowperwood finally met a woman who was destined toleave a marked impression on his life. He could not soon forget her. Her name was Rita Sohlberg. She was the wife of Harold Sohlberg, aDanish violinist who was then living in Chicago, a very young man; butshe was not a Dane, and he was by no means a remarkable violinist, though he had unquestionably the musical temperament. 

You have perhaps seen the would-be's, the nearly's, the pretenders inevery field--interesting people all--devoted with a kind of madenthusiasm to the thing they wish to do. They manifest in some waysall the externals or earmarks of their professional traditions, and yetare as sounding brass and tinkling cymbals. You would have had to knowHarold Sohlberg only a little while to appreciate that he belonged tothis order of artists. He had a wild, stormy, November eye, a wealthof loose, brownish-black hair combed upward from the temples, with onelock straggling Napoleonically down toward the eyes; cheeks that hadalmost a babyish tint to them; lips much too rich, red, and sensuous; anose that was fine and large and full, but only faintly aquiline; andeyebrows and mustache that somehow seemed to flare quite like hiserrant and foolish soul. He had been sent away from Denmark(Copenhagen) because he had been a never-do-well up to twenty-five andbecause he was constantly falling in love with women who would not haveanything to do with him. Here in Chicago as a teacher, with his smallpension of forty dollars a month sent him by his mother, he had gaineda few pupils, and by practising a kind of erratic economy, which kepthim well dressed or hungry by turns, he had managed to make aninteresting showing and pull himself through. He was only twenty-eightat the time he met Rita Greenough, of Wichita, Kansas, and at the timethey met Cowperwood Harold was thirty-four and she twenty-seven. 

She had been a student at the Chicago Fine Arts School, and at variousstudent affairs had encountered Harold when he seemed to play divinely, and when life was all romance and art. Given the spring, the sunshineon the lake, white sails of ships, a few walks and talks on pensiveafternoons when the city swam in a golden haze, and the thing was done. There was a sudden Saturday afternoon marriage, a runaway day toMilwaukee, a return to the studio now to be fitted out for two, andthen kisses, kisses, kisses until love was satisfied or eased. 

But life cannot exist on that diet alone, and so by degrees thedifficulties had begun to manifest themselves. Fortunately, the latterwere not allied with sharp financial want. Rita was not poor. Herfather conducted a small but profitable grain elevator at Wichita, and, after her sudden marriage, decided to continue her allowance, thoughthis whole idea of art and music in its upper reaches was to him astrange, far-off, uncertain thing. A thin, meticulous, genial personinterested in small trade opportunities, and exactly suited to therather sparse social life of Wichita, he found Harold as curious as abomb, and preferred to handle him gingerly. Gradually, however, beinga very human if simple person, he came to be very proud of it--boastedin Wichita of Rita and her artist husband, invited them home to astoundthe neighbors during the summer-time, and the fall brought his almostfarmer-like wife on to see them and to enjoy trips, sight-seeing, studio teas. It was amusing, typically American, naive, almostimpossible from many points of view. 

Rita Sohlberg was of the semi-phlegmatic type, soft, full-blooded, witha body that was going to be fat at forty, but which at present wasdeliciously alluring. Having soft, silky, light-brown hair, the colorof light dust, and moist gray-blue eyes, with a fair skin and even, white teeth, she was flatteringly self-conscious of her charms. Shepretended in a gay, childlike way to be unconscious of the thrill shesent through many susceptible males, and yet she knew well enough allthe while what she was doing and how she was doing it; it pleased herso to do. She was conscious of the wonder of her smooth, soft arms andneck, the fullness and seductiveness of her body, the grace andperfection of her clothing, or, at least, the individuality and tastewhich she made them indicate. She could take an old straw-hat form, aribbon, a feather, or a rose, and with an innate artistry of feelingturn it into a bit of millinery which somehow was just the effectivething for her. She chose naive combinations of white and blues, pinksand white, browns and pale yellows, which somehow suggested her ownsoul, and topped them with great sashes of silky brown (or even red)ribbon tied about her waist, and large, soft-brimmed, face-haloinghats. She was a graceful dancer, could sing a little, could playfeelingly--sometimes brilliantly--and could draw. Her art was amakeshift, however; she was no artist. The most significant thingabout her was her moods and her thoughts, which were uncertain, casual, anarchic. Rita Sohlberg, from the conventional point of view, was adangerous person, and yet from her own point of view at this time shewas not so at all--just dreamy and sweet. 

A part of the peculiarity of her state was that Sohlberg had begun todisappoint Rita--sorely. Truth to tell, he was suffering from thatmost terrible of all maladies, uncertainty of soul and inability totruly find himself. At times he was not sure whether he was cut out tobe a great violinist or a great composer, or merely a great teacher, which last he was never willing really to admit. "I am an arteest, " hewas fond of saying. "Ho, how I suffer from my temperament!" And again:"These dogs! These cows! These pigs!" This of other people. Thequality of his playing was exceedingly erratic, even though at times itattained to a kind of subtlety, tenderness, awareness, and charm whichbrought him some attention. As a rule, however, it reflected thechaotic state of his own brain. He would play violently, feverishly, with a wild passionateness of gesture which robbed him of all abilityto control his own technic. 

"Oh, Harold!" Rita used to exclaim at first, ecstatically. Later shewas not so sure. 

Life and character must really get somewhere to be admirable, andHarold, really and truly, did not seem to be getting anywhere. Hetaught, stormed, dreamed, wept; but he ate his three meals a day, Ritanoticed, and he took an excited interest at times in other women. Tobe the be-all and end-all of some one man's life was the least thatRita could conceive or concede as the worth of her personality, and so, as the years went on and Harold began to be unfaithful, first in moods, transports, then in deeds, her mood became dangerous. She counted themup--a girl music pupil, then an art student, then the wife of a bankerat whose house Harold played socially. There followed strange, sullenmoods on the part of Rita, visits home, groveling repentances on thepart of Harold, tears, violent, passionate reunions, and then the samething over again. What would you?

Rita was not jealous of Harold any more; she had lost faith in hisability as a musician. But she was disappointed that her charms werenot sufficient to blind him to all others. That was the fly in theointment. It was an affront to her beauty, and she was stillbeautiful. She was unctuously full-bodied, not quite so tall asAileen, not really as large, but rounder and plumper, softer and moreseductive. Physically she was not well set up, so vigorous; but hereyes and mouth and the roving character of her mind held a strangelure. Mentally she was much more aware than Aileen, much more precisein her knowledge of art, music, literature, and current events; and inthe field of romance she was much more vague and alluring. She knewmany things about flowers, precious stones, insects, birds, charactersin fiction, and poetic prose and verse generally. 

At the time the Cowperwoods first met the Sohlbergs the latter stillhad their studio in the New Arts Building, and all was seemingly asserene as a May morning, only Harold was not getting along very well. He was drifting. The meeting was at a tea given by the Haatstaedts, with whom the Cowperwoods were still friendly, and Harold played. Aileen, who was there alone, seeing a chance to brighten her own life alittle, invited the Sohlbergs, who seemed rather above the average, toher house to a musical evening. They came. 

On this occasion Cowperwood took one look at Sohlberg and placed himexactly. "An erratic, emotional temperament, " he thought. "Probablynot able to place himself for want of consistency and application. " Buthe liked him after a fashion. Sohlberg was interesting as an artistictype or figure--quite like a character in a Japanese print might be. He greeted him pleasantly. 

"And Mrs. Sohlberg, I suppose, " he remarked, feelingly, catching aquick suggestion of the rhythm and sufficiency and naive taste thatwent with her. She was in simple white and blue--small blue ribbonsthreaded above lacy flounces in the skin. Her arms and throat weredeliciously soft and bare. Her eyes were quick, and yet soft andbabyish--petted eyes. 

"You know, " she said to him, with a peculiar rounded formation of themouth, which was a characteristic of her when she talked--a pretty, pouty mouth, "I thought we would never get heah at all. There was afire"--she pronounced it fy-yah--"at Twelfth Street" (the Twelfth wasTwalfth in her mouth) "and the engines were all about there. Oh, suchsparks and smoke! And the flames coming out of the windows! The flameswere a very dark red--almost orange and black. They're pretty whenthey're that way--don't you think so?"

Cowperwood was charmed. "Indeed, I do, " he said, genially, using akind of superior and yet sympathetic air which he could easily assumeon occasion. He felt as though Mrs. Sohlberg might be a charmingdaughter to him--she was so cuddling and shy--and yet he could see thatshe was definite and individual. Her arms and face, he told himself, were lovely. Mrs. Sohlberg only saw before her a smart, cold, exactman--capable, very, she presumed--with brilliant, incisive eyes. Howdifferent from Harold, she thought, who would never be anythingmuch--not even famous. 

"I'm so glad you brought your violin, " Aileen was saying to Harold, whowas in another corner. "I've been looking forward to your coming toplay for us. "

"Very nize ov you, I'm sure, " Sohlberg replied, with his sweety drawl. "Such a nize plaze you have here--all these loafly books, and jade, andglass. "

He had an unctuous, yielding way which was charming, Aileen thought. Heshould have a strong, rich woman to take care of him. He was like astormy, erratic boy. 

After refreshments were served Sohlberg played. Cowperwood wasinterested by his standing figure--his eyes, his hair--but he was muchmore interested in Mrs. Sohlberg, to whom his look constantly strayed. He watched her hands on the keys, her fingers, the dimples at herelbows. What an adorable mouth, he thought, and what light, fluffyhair! But, more than that, there was a mood that invested it all--a bitof tinted color of the mind that reached him and made him sympatheticand even passionate toward her. She was the kind of woman he wouldlike. She was somewhat like Aileen when she was six years younger(Aileen was now thirty-three, and Mrs. Sohlberg twenty-seven), onlyAileen had always been more robust, more vigorous, less nebulous. Mrs. Sohlberg (he finally thought it out for himself) was like the richtinted interior of a South Sea oyster-shell--warm, colorful, delicate. But there was something firm there, too. Nowhere in society had heseen any one like her. She was rapt, sensuous, beautiful. He kept hiseyes on her until finally she became aware that he was gazing at her, and then she looked back at him in an arch, smiling way, fixing hermouth in a potent line. Cowperwood was captivated. Was shevulnerable? was his one thought. Did that faint smile mean anythingmore than mere social complaisance? Probably not, but could not atemperament so rich and full be awakened to feeling by his own? Whenshe was through playing he took occasion to say: "Wouldn't you like tostroll into the gallery? Are you fond of pictures?" He gave her his arm. 

"Now, you know, " said Mrs. Sohlberg, quaintly--very captivatingly, hethought, because she was so pretty--"at one time I thought I was goingto be a great artist. Isn't that funny! I sent my father one of mydrawings inscribed 'to whom I owe it all. ' You would have to see thedrawing to see how funny that is. "

She laughed softly. 

Cowperwood responded with a refreshed interest in life. Her laugh wasas grateful to him as a summer wind. "See, " he said, gently, as theyentered the room aglow with the soft light produced by guttered jets, "here is a Luini bought last winter. " It was "The Mystic Marriage ofSt. Catharine. " He paused while she surveyed the rapt expression of theattenuated saint. "And here, " he went on, "is my greatest find sofar. " They were before the crafty countenance of Caesar Borgia paintedby Pinturrichio. 

"What a strange face!" commented Mrs. Sohlberg, naively. "I didn'tknow any one had ever painted him. He looks somewhat like an artisthimself, doesn't he?" She had never read the involved and quite Satanichistory of this man, and only knew the rumor of his crimes andmachinations. 

"He was, in his way, " smiled Cowperwood, who had had an outline of hislife, and that of his father, Pope Alexander VI. , furnished him at thetime of the purchase. Only so recently had his interest in CaesarBorgia begun. Mrs. Sohlberg scarcely gathered the sly humor of it. 

"Oh yes, and here is Mrs. Cowperwood, " she commented, turning to thepainting by Van Beers. "It's high in key, isn't it?" she said, loftily, but with an innocent loftiness that appealed to him. He likedspirit and some presumption in a woman. "What brilliant colors! I likethe idea of the garden and the clouds. "

She stepped back, and Cowperwood, interested only in her, surveyed theline of her back and the profile of her face. Such co-ordinatedperfection of line and color!

"Where every motion weaves and sings, " he might have commented. Insteadhe said: "That was in Brussels. The clouds were an afterthought, andthat vase on the wall, too. "

"It's very good, I think, " commented Mrs. Sohlberg, and moved away. 

"How do you like this Israels?" he asked. It was the painting called"The Frugal Meal. "

"I like it, " she said, "and also your Bastien Le-Page, " referring to"The Forge. " "But I think your old masters are much more interesting. If you get many more you ought to put them together in a room. Don'tyou think so? I don't care for your Gerome very much. " She had a cutedrawl which he considered infinitely alluring. 

"Why not?" asked Cowperwood. 

"Oh, it's rather artificial; don't you think so? I like the color, butthe women's bodies are too perfect, I should say. It's very pretty, though. "

He had little faith in the ability of women aside from their value asobjects of art; and yet now and then, as in this instance, theyrevealed a sweet insight which sharpened his own. Aileen, hereflected, would not be capable of making a remark such as this. Shewas not as beautiful now as this woman--not as alluringly simple, naive, delicious, nor yet as wise. Mrs. Sohlberg, he reflectedshrewdly, had a kind of fool for a husband. Would she take an interestin him, Frank Cowperwood? Would a woman like this surrender on anybasis outside of divorce and marriage? He wondered. On her part, Mrs. Sohlberg was thinking what a forceful man Cowperwood was, and how closehe had stayed by her. She felt his interest, for she had often seenthese symptoms in other men and knew what they meant. She knew thepull of her own beauty, and, while she heightened it as artfully as shedared, yet she kept aloof, too, feeling that she had never met any oneas yet for whom it was worth while to be different. But Cowperwood--heneeded someone more soulful than Aileen, she thought. 

Chapter XV

A New Affection

The growth of a relationship between Cowperwood and Rita Sohlberg wasfostered quite accidentally by Aileen, who took a foolishly sentimentalinterest in Harold which yet was not based on anything of real meaning. She liked him because he was a superlatively gracious, flattering, emotional man where women--pretty women--were concerned. She had someidea she could send him pupils, and, anyhow, it was nice to call at theSohlberg studio. Her social life was dull enough as it was. So shewent, and Cowperwood, mindful of Mrs. Sohlberg, came also. Shrewd tothe point of destruction, he encouraged Aileen in her interest in them. He suggested that she invite them to dinner, that they give a musicalat which Sohlberg could play and be paid. There were boxes at thetheaters, tickets for concerts sent, invitations to drive Sundays orother days. 

The very chemistry of life seems to play into the hands of a situationof this kind. Once Cowperwood was thinking vividly, forcefully, ofher, Rita began to think in like manner of him. Hourly he grew moreattractive, a strange, gripping man. Beset by his mood, she was havingthe devil's own time with her conscience. Not that anything had beensaid as yet, but he was investing her, gradually beleaguering her, sealing up, apparently, one avenue after another of escape. OneThursday afternoon, when neither Aileen nor he could attend theSohlberg tea, Mrs. Sohlberg received a magnificent bunch of Jacqueminotroses. "For your nooks and corners, " said a card. She knew wellenough from whom it came and what it was worth. There were all offifty dollars worth of roses. It gave her breath of a world of moneythat she had never known. Daily she saw the name of his banking andbrokerage firm advertised in the papers. Once she met him in Merrill'sstore at noon, and he invited her to lunch; but she felt obliged todecline. Always he looked at her with such straight, vigorous eyes. To think that her beauty had done or was doing this! Her mind, quitebeyond herself, ran forward to an hour when perhaps this eager, magnetic man would take charge of her in a way never dreamed of byHarold. But she went on practising, shopping, calling, reading, brooding over Harold's inefficiency, and stopping oddly sometimes tothink--the etherealized grip of Cowperwood upon her. Those stronghands of his--how fine they were--and those large, soft-hard, incisiveeyes. The puritanism of Wichita (modified sometime since by the artlife of Chicago, such as it was) was having a severe struggle with themanipulative subtlety of the ages--represented in this man. 

"You know you are very elusive, " he said to her one evening at thetheater when he sat behind her during the entr'acte, and Harold andAileen had gone to walk in the foyer. The hubbub of conversationdrowned the sound of anything that might be said. Mrs. Sohlberg wasparticularly pleasing in a lacy evening gown. 

"No, " she replied, amusedly, flattered by his attention and acutelyconscious of his physical nearness. By degrees she had been yieldingherself to his mood, thrilling at his every word. "It seems to me I amvery stable, " she went on. "I'm certainly substantial enough. "

She looked at her full, smooth arm lying on her lap. 

Cowperwood, who was feeling all the drag of her substantiality, but inaddition the wonder of her temperament, which was so much richer thanAileen's, was deeply moved. Those little blood moods that no wordsever (or rarely) indicate were coming to him from her--faintzephyr-like emanations of emotions, moods, and fancies in her mindwhich allured him. She was like Aileen in animality, but better, stillsweeter, more delicate, much richer spiritually. Or was he just tiredof Aileen for the present, he asked himself at times. No, no, he toldhimself that could not be. Rita Sohlberg was by far the most pleasingwoman he had ever known. 

"Yes, but elusive, just the same, " he went on, leaning toward her. "Youremind me of something that I can find no word for--a bit of color or aperfume or tone--a flash of something. I follow you in my thoughtsall the time now. Your knowledge of art interests me. I like yourplaying--it is like you. You make me think of delightful things thathave nothing to do with the ordinary run of my life. Do youunderstand?"

"It is very nice, " she said, "if I do. " She took a breath, softly, dramatically. "You make me think vain things, you know. " (Her mouthwas a delicious O. ) "You paint a pretty picture. " She was warm, flushed, suffused with a burst of her own temperament. 

"You are like that, " he went on, insistently. "You make me feel likethat all the time. You know, " he added, leaning over her chair, "Isometimes think you have never lived. There is so much that wouldcomplete your perfectness. I should like to send you abroad or takeyou--anyhow, you should go. You are very wonderful to me. Do you findme at all interesting to you?"

"Yes, but"--she paused--"you know I am afraid of all this and of you. "Her mouth had that same delicious formation which had first attractedhim. "I don't think we had better talk like this, do you? Harold isvery jealous, or would be. What do you suppose Mrs. Cowperwood wouldthink?"

"I know very well, but we needn't stop to consider that now, need we?It will do her no harm to let me talk to you. Life is betweenindividuals, Rita. You and I have very much in common. Don't you seethat? You are infinitely the most interesting woman I have ever known. You are bringing me something I have never known. Don't you see that? Iwant you to tell me something truly. Look at me. You are not happy asyou are, are you? Not perfectly happy?"

"No. " She smoothed her fan with her fingers. 

"Are you happy at all?"

"I thought I was once. I'm not any more, I think. "

"It is so plain why, " he commented. "You are so much more wonderfulthan your place gives you scope for. You are an individual, not anacolyte to swing a censer for another. Mr. Sohlberg is veryinteresting, but you can't be happy that way. It surprises me youhaven't seen it. "

"Oh, " she exclaimed, with a touch of weariness, "but perhaps I have. "

He looked at her keenly, and she thrilled. "I don't think we'd bettertalk so here, " she replied. "You'd better be--"

He laid his hand on the back of her chair, almost touching her shoulder. 

"Rita, " he said, using her given name again, "you wonderful woman!"

"Oh!" she breathed. 

Cowperwood did not see Mrs. Sohlberg again for over a week--ten daysexactly--when one afternoon Aileen came for him in a new kind of trap, having stopped first to pick up the Sohlbergs. Harold was up in frontwith her and she had left a place behind for Cowperwood with Rita. Shedid not in the vaguest way suspect how interested he was--his mannerwas so deceptive. Aileen imagined that she was the superior woman ofthe two, the better-looking, the better-dressed, hence the moreensnaring. She could not guess what a lure this woman's temperamenthad for Cowperwood, who was so brisk, dynamic, seemingly unromantic, but who, just the same, in his nature concealed (under a very forcefulexterior) a deep underlying element of romance and fire. 

"This is charming, " he said, sinking down beside Rita. "What a fineevening! And the nice straw hat with the roses, and the nice linendress. My, my!" The roses were red; the dress white, with thin, greenribbon run through it here and there. She was keenly aware of thereason for his enthusiasm. He was so different from Harold, so healthyand out-of-doorish, so able. To-day Harold had been in tantrums overfate, life, his lack of success. 

"Oh, I shouldn't complain so much if I were you, " she had said to him, bitterly. "You might work harder and storm less. "

This had produced a scene which she had escaped by going for a walk. Almost at the very moment when she had returned Aileen had appeared. It was a way out. 

She had cheered up, and accepted, dressed. So had Sohlberg. Apparentlysmiling and happy, they had set out on the drive. Now, as Cowperwoodspoke, she glanced about her contentedly. "I'm lovely, " she thought, "and he loves me. How wonderful it would be if we dared. " But she saidaloud: "I'm not so very nice. It's just the day--don't you think so?It's a simple dress. I'm not very happy, though, to-night, either. "

"What's the matter?" he asked, cheeringly, the rumble of the trafficdestroying the carrying-power of their voices. He leaned toward her, very anxious to solve any difficulty which might confront her, perfectly willing to ensnare her by kindness. "Isn't there something Ican do? We're going now for a long ride to the pavilion in JacksonPark, and then, after dinner, we'll come back by moonlight. Won't thatbe nice? You must be smiling now and like yourself--happy. You have noreason to be otherwise that I know of. I will do anything for you thatyou want done--that can be done. You can have anything you want that Ican give you. What is it? You know how much I think of you. If youleave your affairs to me you would never have any troubles of any kind. "

"Oh, it isn't anything you can do--not now, anyhow. My affairs! Ohyes. What are they? Very simple, all. "

She had that delicious atmosphere of remoteness even from herself. Hewas enchanted. 

"But you are not simple to me, Rita, " he said, softly, "nor are youraffairs. They concern me very much. You are so important to me. Ihave told you that. Don't you see how true it is? You are a strangecomplexity to me--wonderful. I'm mad over you. Ever since I saw youlast I have been thinking, thinking. If you have troubles let me sharethem. You are so much to me--my only trouble. I can fix your life. Join it with mine. I need you, and you need me. "

"Yes, " she said, "I know. " Then she paused. "It's nothing much, " shewent on--"just a quarrel. "

"What over?"

"Over me, really. " The mouth was delicious. "I can't swing the censeralways, as you say. " That thought of his had stuck. "It's all rightnow, though. Isn't the day lovely, be-yoot-i-ful!"

Cowperwood looked at her and shook his head. She was such atreasure--so inconsequential. Aileen, busy driving and talking, couldnot see or hear. She was interested in Sohlberg, and the southwardcrush of vehicles on Michigan Avenue was distracting her attention. Asthey drove swiftly past budding trees, kempt lawns, fresh-madeflower-beds, open windows--the whole seductive world ofspring--Cowperwood felt as though life had once more taken a freshstart. His magnetism, if it had been visible, would have enveloped himlike a glittering aura. Mrs. Sohlberg felt that this was going to be awonderful evening. 

The dinner was at the Park--an open-air chicken a la Maryland affair, with waffles and champagne to help out. Aileen, flattered bySohlberg's gaiety under her spell, was having a delightful time, jesting, toasting, laughing, walking on the grass. Sohlberg was makinglove to her in a foolish, inconsequential way, as many men wereinclined to do; but she was putting him off gaily with "silly boy" and"hush. " She was so sure of herself that she was free to tell Cowperwoodafterward how emotional he was and how she had to laugh at him. Cowperwood, quite certain that she was faithful, took it all in goodpart. Sohlberg was such a dunce and such a happy convenience ready tohis hand. "He's not a bad sort, " he commented. "I rather like him, though I don't think he's so much of a violinist. "

After dinner they drove along the lake-shore and out through an openbit of tree-blocked prairie land, the moon shining in a clear sky, filling the fields and topping the lake with a silvery effulgence. Mrs. Sohlberg was being inoculated with the virus Cowperwood, and itwas taking deadly effect. The tendency of her own disposition, howeverlethargic it might seem, once it was stirred emotionally, was to act. She was essentially dynamic and passionate. Cowperwood was beginningto stand out in her mind as the force that he was. It would bewonderful to be loved by such a man. There would be an eager, vividlife between them. It frightened and drew her like a blazing lamp inthe dark. To get control of herself she talked of art, people, ofParis, Italy, and he responded in like strain, but all the while hesmoothed her hand, and once, under the shadow of some trees, he put hishand to her hair, turned her face, and put his mouth softly to hercheek. She flushed, trembled, turned pale, in the grip of this strangestorm, but drew herself together. It was wonderful--heaven. Her oldlife was obviously going to pieces. 

"Listen, " he said, guardedly. "Will you meet me to-morrow at threejust beyond the Rush Street bridge? I will pick you up promptly. Youwon't have to wait a moment. "

She paused, meditating, dreaming, almost hypnotized by his strangeworld of fancy. 

"Will you?" he asked, eagerly. 

"Wait, " she said, softly. "Let me think. Can I?"

She paused. 

"Yes, " she said, after a time, drawing in a deep breath. "Yes"--as ifshe had arranged something in her mind. 

"My sweet, " he whispered, pressing her arm, while he looked at herprofile in the moonlight. 

"But I'm doing a great deal, " she replied, softly, a little breathlessand a little pale. 

Chapter XVI

A Fateful Interlude

Cowperwood was enchanted. He kept the proposed tryst with eagernessand found her all that he had hoped. She was sweeter, more colorful, more elusive than anybody he had ever known. In their charmingapartment on the North Side which he at once engaged, and where hesometimes spent mornings, evenings, afternoons, as opportunityafforded, he studied her with the most critical eye and found heralmost flawless. She had that boundless value which youth and acertain insouciance of manner contribute. There was, delicious torelate, no melancholy in her nature, but a kind of innate sufficiencywhich neither looked forward to nor back upon troublesome ills. Sheloved beautiful things, but was not extravagant; and what interestedhim and commanded his respect was that no urgings of his towardprodigality, however subtly advanced, could affect her. She knew whatshe wanted, spent carefully, bought tastefully, arrayed herself in wayswhich appealed to him as the flowers did. His feeling for her became attimes so great that he wished, one might almost have said, to destroyit--to appease the urge and allay the pull in himself, but it wasuseless. The charm of her endured. His transports would leave herrefreshed apparently, prettier, more graceful than ever, it seemed tohim, putting back her ruffled hair with her hand, mouthing at herselfprettily in the glass, thinking of many remote delicious things at once. 

"Do you remember that picture we saw in the art store the other day, Algernon?" she would drawl, calling him by his second name, which shehad adopted for herself as being more suited to his moods when with herand more pleasing to her. Cowperwood had protested, but she held toit. "Do you remember that lovely blue of the old man's coat?" (It wasan "Adoration of the Magi. ") "Wasn't that be-yoot-i-ful?"

She drawled so sweetly and fixed her mouth in such an odd way that hewas impelled to kiss her. "You clover blossom, " he would say to her, coming over and taking her by the arms. "You sprig of cherry bloom. You Dresden china dream. "

"Now, are you going to muss my hair, when I've just managed to fix it?"

The voice was the voice of careless, genial innocence--and the eyes. 

"Yes, I am, minx. "

"Yes, but you mustn't smother me, you know. Really, you know youalmost hurt me with your mouth. Aren't you going to be nice to me?"

"Yes, sweet. But I want to hurt you, too. "

"Well, then, if you must. "

But for all his transports the lure was still there. She was like abutterfly, he thought, yellow and white or blue and gold, flutteringover a hedge of wild rose. 

In these intimacies it was that he came quickly to understand how muchshe knew of social movements and tendencies, though she was just anindividual of the outer fringe. She caught at once a clearunderstanding of his social point of view, his art ambition, his dreamsof something better for himself in every way. She seemed to seeclearly that he had not as yet realized himself, that Aileen was notjust the woman for him, though she might be one. She talked of her ownhusband after a time in a tolerant way--his foibles, defects, weaknesses. She was not unsympathetic, he thought, just weary of astate that was not properly balanced either in love, ability, orinsight. Cowperwood had suggested that she could take a larger studiofor herself and Harold--do away with the petty economies that hadhampered her and him--and explain it all on the grounds of a largergenerosity on the part of her family. At first she objected; butCowperwood was tactful and finally brought it about. He againsuggested a little while later that she should persuade Harold to go toEurope. There would be the same ostensible reason--additional meansfrom her relatives. Mrs. Sohlberg, thus urged, petted, made over, assured, came finally to accept his liberal rule--to bow to him; shebecame as contented as a cat. With caution she accepted of hislargess, and made the cleverest use of it she could. For somethingover a year neither Sohlberg nor Aileen was aware of the intimacy whichhad sprung up. Sohlberg, easily bamboozled, went back to Denmark for avisit, then to study in Germany. Mrs. Sohlberg followed Cowperwood toEurope the following year. At Aix-les-Bains, Biarritz, Paris, evenLondon, Aileen never knew that there was an additional figure in thebackground. Cowperwood was trained by Rita into a really finer pointof view. He came to know better music, books, even the facts. Sheencouraged him in his idea of a representative collection of the oldmasters, and begged him to be cautious in his selection of moderns. Hefelt himself to be delightfully situated indeed. 

The difficulty with this situation, as with all such where anindividual ventures thus bucaneeringly on the sea of sex, is thepossibility of those storms which result from misplaced confidence, andfrom our built-up system of ethics relating to property in women. ToCowperwood, however, who was a law unto himself, who knew no law exceptsuch as might be imposed upon him by his lack of ability to think, thispossibility of entanglement, wrath, rage, pain, offered no particularobstacle. It was not at all certain that any such thing would follow. Where the average man might have found one such liaison difficult tomanage, Cowperwood, as we have seen, had previously entered on severalsuch affairs almost simultaneously; and now he had ventured on yetanother; in the last instance with much greater feeling and enthusiasm. The previous affairs had been emotional makeshifts at best--more orless idle philanderings in which his deeper moods and feelings were notconcerned. In the case of Mrs. Sohlberg all this was changed. For thepresent at least she was really all in all to him. But thistemperamental characteristic of his relating to his love of women, hisartistic if not emotional subjection to their beauty, and the mysteryof their personalities led him into still a further affair, and thislast was not so fortunate in its outcome. 

Antoinette Nowak had come to him fresh from a West Side high school anda Chicago business college, and had been engaged as his privatestenographer and secretary. This girl had blossomed forth intosomething exceptional, as American children of foreign parents are wontto do. You would have scarcely believed that she, with her fine, lithebody, her good taste in dress, her skill in stenography, bookkeeping, and business details, could be the daughter of a struggling Pole, whohad first worked in the Southwest Chicago Steel Mills, and who hadlater kept a fifth-rate cigar, news, and stationery store in the Polishdistrict, the merchandise of playing-cards and a back room for idlingand casual gaming being the principal reasons for its existence. Antoinette, whose first name had not been Antoinette at all, but Minka(the Antoinette having been borrowed by her from an article in one ofthe Chicago Sunday papers), was a fine dark, brooding girl, ambitiousand hopeful, who ten days after she had accepted her new place wasadmiring Cowperwood and following his every daring movement with almostexcited interest. To be the wife of such a man, she thought--to evencommand his interest, let alone his affection--must be wonderful. After the dull world she had known--it seemed dull compared to theupper, rarefied realms which she was beginning to glimpse throughhim--and after the average men in the real-estate office over the waywhere she had first worked, Cowperwood, in his good clothes, his remotemood, his easy, commanding manner, touched the most ambitious chords ofher being. One day she saw Aileen sweep in from her carriage, wearingwarm brown furs, smart polished boots, a street-suit of corded brownwool, and a fur toque sharpened and emphasized by a long dark-redfeather which shot upward like a dagger or a quill pen. Antoinettehated her. She conceived herself to be better, or as good at least. Why was life divided so unfairly? What sort of a man was Cowperwood, anyhow? One night after she had written out a discreet but truthfulhistory of himself which he had dictated to her, and which she had sentto the Chicago newspapers for him soon after the opening of hisbrokerage office in Chicago, she went home and dreamed of what he hadtold her, only altered, of course, as in dreams. She thought thatCowperwood stood beside her in his handsome private office in La SalleStreet and asked her:

"Antoinette, what do you think of me?" Antoinette was nonplussed, butbrave. In her dream she found herself intensely interested in him. 

"Oh, I don't know what to think. I'm so sorry, " was her answer. Thenhe laid his hand on hers, on her cheek, and she awoke. She beganthinking, what a pity, what a shame that such a man should ever havebeen in prison. He was so handsome. He had been married twice. Perhaps his first wife was very homely or very mean-spirited. Shethought of this, and the next day went to work meditatively. Cowperwood, engrossed in his own plans, was not thinking of her atpresent. He was thinking of the next moves in his interesting gas war. And Aileen, seeing her one day, merely considered her an underling. The woman in business was such a novelty that as yet she was declasse. Aileen really thought nothing of Antoinette at all. 

Somewhat over a year after Cowperwood had become intimate with Mrs. Sohlberg his rather practical business relations with Antoinette Nowaktook on a more intimate color. What shall we say of this--that he hadalready wearied of Mrs. Sohlberg? Not in the least. He was desperatelyfond of her. Or that he despised Aileen, whom he was thus grosslydeceiving? Not at all. She was to him at times as attractive asever--perhaps more so for the reason that her self-imagined rights werebeing thus roughly infringed upon. He was sorry for her, but inclinedto justify himself on the ground that these other relations--withpossibly the exception of Mrs. Sohlherg--were not enduring. If it hadbeen possible to marry Mrs. Sohlberg he might have done so, and he didspeculate at times as to whether anything would ever induce Aileen toleave him; but this was more or less idle speculation. He ratherfancied they would live out their days together, seeing that he wasable thus easily to deceive her. But as for a girl like AntoinetteNowak, she figured in that braided symphony of mere sex attractionwhich somehow makes up that geometric formula of beauty which rules theworld. She was charming in a dark way, beautiful, with eyes thatburned with an unsatisfied fire; and Cowperwood, although at first onlyin the least moved by her, became by degrees interested in her, wondering at the amazing, transforming power of the American atmosphere. 

"Are your parents English, Antoinette?" he asked her, one morning, withthat easy familiarity which he assumed to all underlings and minorintellects--an air that could not be resented in him, and which wasusually accepted as a compliment. 

Antoinette, clean and fresh in a white shirtwaist, a blackwalking-skirt, a ribbon of black velvet about her neck, and her long, black hair laid in a heavy braid low over her forehead and held closeby a white celluloid comb, looked at him with pleased and gratefuleyes. She had been used to such different types of men--the earnest, fiery, excitable, sometimes drunken and swearing men of her childhood, always striking, marching, praying in the Catholic churches; and thenthe men of the business world, crazy over money, and with nounderstanding of anything save some few facts about Chicago and itsmomentary possibilities. In Cowperwood's office, taking his lettersand hearing him talk in his quick, genial way with old Laughlin, Sippens, and others, she had learned more of life than she had everdreamed existed. He was like a vast open window out of which she waslooking upon an almost illimitable landscape. 

"No, sir, " she replied, dropping her slim, firm, white hand, holding ablack lead-pencil restfully on her notebook. She smiled quiteinnocently because she was pleased. 

"I thought not, " he said, "and yet you're American enough. "

"I don't know how it is, " she said, quite solemnly. "I have a brotherwho is quite as American as I am. We don't either of us look like ourfather or mother. "

"What does your brother do?" he asked, indifferently. 

"He's one of the weighers at Arneel & Co. He expects to be a managersometime. " She smiled. 

Cowperwood looked at her speculatively, and after a momentary returnglance she dropped her eyes. Slowly, in spite of herself, a telltaleflush rose and mantled her brown cheeks. It always did when he lookedat her. 

"Take this letter to General Van Sickle, " he began, on this occasionquite helpfully, and in a few minutes she had recovered. She could notbe near Cowperwood for long at a time, however, without being stirredby a feeling which was not of her own willing. He fascinated andsuffused her with a dull fire. She sometimes wondered whether a man soremarkable would ever be interested in a girl like her. 

The end of this essential interest, of course, was the eventualassumption of Antoinette. One might go through all the dissolvingdetails of days in which she sat taking dictation, receivinginstructions, going about her office duties in a state of apparentlychill, practical, commercial single-mindedness; but it would be to nopurpose. As a matter of fact, without in any way affecting thepreciseness and accuracy of her labor, her thoughts were always uponthe man in the inner office--the strange master who was then seeing hismen, and in between, so it seemed, a whole world of individuals, solemnand commercial, who came, presented their cards, talked at times almostinterminably, and went away. It was the rare individual, however, sheobserved, who had the long conversation with Cowperwood, and thatinterested her the more. His instructions to her were always of thebriefest, and he depended on her native intelligence to supply muchthat he scarcely more than suggested. 

"You understand, do you?" was his customary phrase. 

"Yes, " she would reply. 

She felt as though she were fifty times as significant here as she hadever been in her life before. 

The office was clean, hard, bright, like Cowperwood himself. Themorning sun, streaming in through an almost solid glass east frontshaded by pale-green roller curtains, came to have an almost romanticatmosphere for her. Cowperwood's private office, as in Philadelphia, was a solid cherry-wood box in which he could shut himselfcompletely--sight-proof, sound-proof. When the door was closed it wassacrosanct. He made it a rule, sensibly, to keep his door open as muchas possible, even when he was dictating, sometimes not. It was inthese half-hours of dictation--the door open, as a rule, for he did notcare for too much privacy--that he and Miss Nowak came closest. Aftermonths and months, and because he had been busy with the other womanmentioned, of whom she knew nothing, she came to enter sometimes with asense of suffocation, sometimes of maidenly shame. It would never haveoccurred to her to admit frankly that she wanted Cowperwood to makelove to her. It would have frightened her to have thought of herselfas yielding easily, and yet there was not a detail of his personalitythat was not now burned in her brain. His light, thick, alwayssmoothly parted hair, his wide, clear, inscrutable eyes, his carefullymanicured hands, so full and firm, his fresh clothing of delicate, intricate patterns--how these fascinated her! He seemed always remoteexcept just at the moment of doing something, when, curiously enough, he seemed intensely intimate and near. 

One day, after many exchanges of glances in which her own always fellsharply--in the midst of a letter--he arose and closed the half-opendoor. She did not think so much of that, as a rule--it had happenedbefore--but now, to-day, because of a studied glance he had given her, neither tender nor smiling, she felt as though something unusual wereabout to happen. Her own body was going hot and cold by turns--herneck and hands. She had a fine figure, finer than she realized, withshapely limbs and torso. Her head had some of the sharpness of the oldGreek coinage, and her hair was plaited as in ancient cut stone. Cowperwood noted it. He came back and, without taking his seat, bentover her and intimately took her hand. 

"Antoinette, " he said, lifting her gently. 

She looked up, then arose--for he slowly drew her--breathless, thecolor gone, much of the capable practicality that was hers completelyeliminated. She felt limp, inert. She pulled at her hand faintly, andthen, lifting her eyes, was fixed by that hard, insatiable gaze of his. Her head swam--her eyes were filled with a telltale confusion. 

"Antoinette!"

"Yes, " she murmured. 

"You love me, don't you?"

She tried to pull herself together, to inject some of her nativerigidity of soul into her air--that rigidity which she always imaginedwould never desert her--but it was gone. There came instead to her apicture of the far Blue Island Avenue neighborhood from which sheemanated--its low brown cottages, and then this smart, hard office andthis strong man. He came out of such a marvelous world, apparently. Astrange foaming seemed to be in her blood. She was deliriously, deliciously numb and happy. 

"Antoinette!"

"Oh, I don't know what I think, " she gasped. "I-- Oh yes, I do, I do. "

"I like your name, " he said, simply. "Antoinette. " And then, pullingher to him, he slipped his arm about her waist. 

She was frightened, numb, and then suddenly, not so much from shame asshock, tears rushed to her eyes. She turned and put her hand on thedesk and hung her head and sobbed. 

"Why, Antoinette, " he asked, gently, bending over her, "are you so muchunused to the world? I thought you said you loved me. Do you want meto forget all this and go on as before? I can, of course, if you can, you know. "

He knew that she loved him, wanted him. 

She heard him plainly enough, shaking. 

"Do you?" he said, after a time, giving her moments in which to recover. 

"Oh, let me cry!" she recovered herself sufficiently to say, quitewildly. "I don't know why I'm crying. It's just because I'm nervous, I suppose. Please don't mind me now. "

"Antoinette, " he repeated, "look at me! Will you stop?"

"Oh no, not now. My eyes are so bad. "

"Antoinette! Come, look!" He put his hand under her chin. "See, I'mnot so terrible. "

"Oh, " she said, when her eyes met his again, "I--" And then she foldedher arms against his breast while he petted her hand and held her close. 

"I'm not so bad, Antoinette. It's you as much as it is me. You dolove me, then?"

"Yes, yes--oh yes!"

"And you don't mind?"

"No. It's all so strange. " Her face was hidden. 

"Kiss me, then. "

She put up her lips and slipped her arms about him. He held her close. 

He tried teasingly to make her say why she cried, thinking the while ofwhat Aileen or Rita would think if they knew, but she would not atfirst--admitting later that it was a sense of evil. Curiously she alsothought of Aileen, and how, on occasion, she had seen her sweep in andout. Now she was sharing with her (the dashing Mrs. Cowperwood, sovain and superior) the wonder of his affection. Strange as it mayseem, she looked on it now as rather an honor. She had risen in herown estimation--her sense of life and power. Now, more than everbefore, she knew something of life because she knew something of loveand passion. The future seemed tremulous with promise. She went backto her machine after a while, thinking of this. What would it all cometo? she wondered, wildly. You could not have told by her eyes that shehad been crying. Instead, a rich glow in her brown cheeks heightenedher beauty. No disturbing sense of Aileen was involved with all this. Antoinette was of the newer order that was beginning to privatelyquestion ethics and morals. She had a right to her life, lead where itwould. And to what it would bring her. The feel of Cowperwood's lipswas still fresh on hers. What would the future reveal to her now? What?

Chapter XVII

An Overture to Conflict

The result of this understanding was not so important to Cowperwood asit was to Antoinette. In a vagrant mood he had unlocked a spirit herewhich was fiery, passionate, but in his case hopelessly worshipful. However much she might be grieved by him, Antoinette, as hesubsequently learned, would never sin against his personal welfare. Yet she was unwittingly the means of first opening the flood-gates ofsuspicion on Aileen, thereby establishing in the latter's mind the factof Cowperwood's persistent unfaithfulness. 

The incidents which led up to this were comparatively trivial--nothingmore, indeed, at first than the sight of Miss Nowak and Cowperwoodtalking intimately in his office one afternoon when the others had goneand the fact that she appeared to be a little bit disturbed by Aileen'sarrival. Later came the discovery--though of this Aileen could not beabsolutely sure--of Cowperwood and Antoinette in a closed carriage onestormy November afternoon in State Street when he was supposed to beout of the city. She was coming out of Merrill's store at the time, and just happened to glance at the passing vehicle, which was runningnear the curb. Aileen, although uncertain, was greatly shocked. Couldit be possible that he had not left town? She journeyed to his officeon the pretext of taking old Laughlin's dog, Jennie, a pretty collarshe had found; actually to find if Antoinette were away at the sametime. Could it be possible, she kept asking herself, that Cowperwoodhad become interested in his own stenographer? The fact that the officeassumed that he was out of town and that Antoinette was not there gaveher pause. Laughlin quite innocently informed her that he thought MissNowak had gone to one of the libraries to make up certain reports. Itleft her in doubt. 

What was Aileen to think? Her moods and aspirations were linked soclosely with the love and success of Cowperwood that she could not, inspite of herself, but take fire at the least thought of losing him. Hehimself wondered sometimes, as he threaded the mesh-like paths of sex, what she would do once she discovered his variant conduct. Indeed, there had been little occasional squabbles, not sharp, but suggestive, when he was trifling about with Mrs. Kittridge, Mrs. Ledwell, andothers. There were, as may be imagined, from time to time absences, brief and unimportant, which he explained easily, passionalindifferences which were not explained so easily, and the like; butsince his affections were not really involved in any of thoseinstances, he had managed to smooth the matter over quite nicely. 

"Why do you say that?" he would demand, when she suggested, apropos ofa trip or a day when she had not been with him, that there might havebeen another. "You know there hasn't. If I am going in for that sortof thing you'll learn it fast enough. Even if I did, it wouldn't meanthat I was unfaithful to you spiritually. "

"Oh, wouldn't it?" exclaimed Aileen, resentfully, and with somedisturbance of spirit. "Well, you can keep your spiritualfaithfulness. I'm not going to be content with any sweet thoughts. "

Cowperwood laughed even as she laughed, for he knew she was right andhe felt sorry for her. At the same time her biting humor pleased him. He knew that she did not really suspect him of actual infidelity; hewas obviously so fond of her. But she also knew that he was innatelyattractive to women, and that there were enough of the philanderingtype to want to lead him astray and make her life a burden. Also thathe might prove a very willing victim. 

Sex desire and its fruition being such an integral factor in themarriage and every other sex relation, the average woman is prone tostudy the periodic manifestations that go with it quite as onedependent on the weather--a sailor, or example--might study thebarometer. In this Aileen was no exception. She was so beautifulherself, and had been so much to Cowperwood physically, that she hadfollowed the corresponding evidences of feeling in him with the utmostinterest, accepting the recurring ebullitions of his physical emotionsas an evidence of her own enduring charm. As time went on, however--and that was long before Mrs. Sohlberg or any one else hadappeared--the original flare of passion had undergone a form ofsubsidence, though not noticeable enough to be disturbing. Aileenthought and thought, but she did not investigate. Indeed, because ofthe precariousness of her own situation as a social failure she wasafraid to do so. 

With the arrival of Mrs. Sohlberg and then of Antoinette Nowak asfactors in the potpourri, the situation became more difficult. Humanlyfond of Aileen as Cowperwood was, and because of his lapses and heraffection, desirous of being kind, yet for the time being he wasalienated almost completely from her. He grew remote according as hisclandestine affairs were drifting or blazing, without, however, losinghis firm grip on his financial affairs, and Aileen noticed it. Itworried her. She was so vain that she could scarcely believe thatCowperwood could long be indifferent, and for a while her sentimentalinterest in Sohlberg's future and unhappiness of soul beclouded herjudgment; but she finally began to feel the drift of affairs. Thepathos of all this is that it so quickly descends into the realm of theunsatisfactory, the banal, the pseudo intimate. Aileen noticed it atonce. She tried protestations. "You don't kiss me the way you didonce, " and then a little later, "You haven't noticed me hardly for fourwhole days. What's the matter?"

"Oh, I don't know, " replied Cowperwood, easily; "I guess I want you asmuch as ever. I don't see that I am any different. " He took her in hisarms and petted and caressed her; but Aileen was suspicious, nervous. 

The psychology of the human animal, when confronted by these tangles, these ripping tides of the heart, has little to do with so-calledreason or logic. It is amazing how in the face of passion and theaffections and the changing face of life all plans and theories bywhich we guide ourselves fall to the ground. Here was Aileen talkingbravely at the time she invaded Mrs. Lillian Cowperwood's domain of thenecessity of "her Frank" finding a woman suitable to his needs, tastes, abilities, but now that the possibility of another woman equally orpossibly better suited to him was looming in the offing--although shehad no idea who it might be--she could not reason in the same way. Herox, God wot, was the one that was being gored. What if he should findsome one whom he could want more than he did her? Dear heaven, howterrible that would be! What would she do? she asked herself, thoughtfully. She lapsed into the blues one afternoon--almostcried--she could scarcely say why. Another time she thought of all theterrible things she would do, how difficult she would make it for anyother woman who invaded her preserves. However, she was not sure. Would she declare war if she discovered another? She knew she wouldeventually; and yet she knew, too, that if she did, and Cowperwood wereset in his passion, thoroughly alienated, it would do no good. Itwould be terrible, but what could she do to win him back? That was theissue. Once warned, however, by her suspicious questioning, Cowperwoodwas more mechanically attentive than ever. He did his best to concealhis altered mood--his enthusiasms for Mrs. Sohlberg, his interest inAntoinette Nowak--and this helped somewhat. 

But finally there was a detectable change. Aileen noticed it firstafter they had been back from Europe nearly a year. At this time shewas still interested in Sohlberg, but in a harmlessly flirtatious way. She thought he might be interesting physically, but would he be asdelightful as Cowperwood? Never! When she felt that Cowperwood himselfmight be changing she pulled herself up at once, and when Antoinetteappeared--the carriage incident--Sohlberg lost his, at best, unstablecharm. She began to meditate on what a terrible thing it would be tolose Cowperwood, seeing that she had failed to establish herselfsocially. Perhaps that had something to do with his defection. Nodoubt it had. Yet she could not believe, after all his protestationsof affection in Philadelphia, after all her devotion to him in thosedark days of his degradation and punishment, that he would really turnon her. No, he might stray momentarily, but if she protested enough, made a scene, perhaps, he would not feel so free to injure her--hewould remember and be loving and devoted again. After seeing him, orimagining she had seen him, in the carriage, she thought at first thatshe would question him, but later decided that she would wait and watchmore closely. Perhaps he was beginning to run around with other women. There was safety in numbers--that she knew. Her heart, her pride, washurt, but not broken. 

Chapter XVIII

The Clash

The peculiar personality of Rita Sohlberg was such that by her veryaction she ordinarily allayed suspicion, or rather distracted it. Although a novice, she had a strange ease, courage, or balance of soulwhich kept her whole and self-possessed under the most trying ofcircumstances. She might have been overtaken in the most compromisingof positions, but her manner would always have indicated ease, a senseof innocence, nothing unusual, for she had no sense of moraldegradation in this matter--no troublesome emotion as to what was toflow from a relationship of this kind, no worry as to her own soul, sin, social opinion, or the like. She was really interested in art andlife--a pagan, in fact. Some people are thus hardily equipped. It isthe most notable attribute of the hardier type of personalities--notnecessarily the most brilliant or successful. You might have said thather soul was naively unconscious of the agony of others in loss. Shewould have taken any loss to herself with an amazing equableness--somequalms, of course, but not many--because her vanity and sense of charmwould have made her look forward to something better or as good. 

She had called on Aileen quite regularly in the past, with or withoutHarold, and had frequently driven with the Cowperwoods or joined themat the theater or elsewhere. She had decided, after becoming intimatewith Cowperwood, to study art again, which was a charming blind, for itcalled for attendance at afternoon or evening classes which shefrequently skipped. Besides, since Harold had more money he wasbecoming gayer, more reckless and enthusiastic over women, andCowperwood deliberately advised her to encourage him in some liaisonwhich, in case exposure should subsequently come to them, wouldeffectually tie his hands. 

"Let him get in some affair, " Cowperwood told Rita. "We'll putdetectives on his trail and get evidence. He won't have a word to say. "

"We don't really need to do that, " she protested sweetly, naively. "He's been in enough scrapes as it is. He's given me some of theletters--" (she pronounced it "lettahs")--"written him. "

"But we'll need actual witnesses if we ever need anything at all. Justtell me when he's in love again, and I'll do the rest. "

"You know I think, " she drawled, amusingly, "that he is now. I saw himon the street the other day with one of his students--rather a prettygirl, too. "

Cowperwood was pleased. Under the circumstances he would almost havebeen willing--not quite--for Aileen to succumb to Sohlberg in order toentrap her and make his situation secure. Yet he really did not wishit in the last analysis--would have been grieved temporarily if she haddeserted him. However, in the case of Sohlberg, detectives wereemployed, the new affair with the flighty pupil was unearthed and swornto by witnesses, and this, combined with the "lettahs" held by Rita, constituted ample material wherewith to "hush up" the musician if everhe became unduly obstreperous. So Cowperwood and Rita's state was quitecomfortable. 

But Aileen, meditating over Antoinette Nowak, was beside herself withcuriosity, doubt, worry. She did not want to injure Cowperwood in anyway after his bitter Philadelphia experience, and yet when she thoughtof his deserting her in this way she fell into a great rage. Hervanity, as much as her love, was hurt. What could she do to justify orset at rest her suspicions? Watch him personally? She was too dignifiedand vain to lurk about street-corners or offices or hotels. Never!Start a quarrel without additional evidence--that would be silly. Hewas too shrewd to give her further evidence once she spoke. He wouldmerely deny it. She brooded irritably, recalling after a time, andwith an aching heart, that her father had put detectives on her trackonce ten years before, and had actually discovered her relations withCowperwood and their rendezvous. Bitter as that memorywas--torturing--yet now the same means seemed not too abhorrent toemploy under the circumstances. No harm had come to Cowperwood in theformer instance, she reasoned to herself--no especial harm--from thatdiscovery (this was not true), and none would come to him now. (Thisalso was not true. ) But one must forgive a fiery, passionate soul, wounded to the quick, some errors of judgment. Her thought was that shewould first be sure just what it was her beloved was doing, and thendecide what course to take. But she knew that she was treading ondangerous ground, and mentally she recoiled from the consequences whichmight follow. He might leave her if she fought him too bitterly. Hemight treat her as he had treated his first wife, Lillian. 

She studied her liege lord curiously these days, wondering if it weretrue that he had deserted her already, as he had deserted his firstwife thirteen years before, wondering if he could really take up with agirl as common as Antoinette Nowak--wondering, wondering, wondering--half afraid and yet courageous. What could be done withhim? If only he still loved her all would be well yet--but oh!

The detective agency to which she finally applied, after weeks ofsoul-racking suspense, was one of those disturbingly human implementswhich many are not opposed to using on occasion, when it is the onlymeans of solving a troublous problem of wounded feelings or jeopardizedinterests. Aileen, being obviously rich, was forthwith shamefullyovercharged; but the services agreed upon were well performed. To heramazement, chagrin, and distress, after a few weeks of observationCowperwood was reported to have affairs not only with Antoinette Nowak, whom she did suspect, but also with Mrs. Sohlberg. And these twoaffairs at one and the same time. For the moment it left Aileenactually stunned and breathless. 

The significance of Rita Sohlberg to her in this hour was greater thanthat of any woman before or after. Of all living things, women dreadwomen most of all, and of all women the clever and beautiful. RitaSohlberg had been growing on Aileen as a personage, for she hadobviously been prospering during this past year, and her beauty hadbeen amazingly enhanced thereby. Once Aileen had encountered Rita in alight trap on the Avenue, very handsome and very new, and she hadcommented on it to Cowperwood, whose reply had been: "Her father mustbe making some money. Sohlberg could never earn it for her. "

Aileen sympathized with Harold because of his temperament, but she knewthat what Cowperwood said was true. 

Another time, at a box-party at the theater, she had noted the richelaborateness of Mrs. Sohlberg's dainty frock, the endless pleatings ofpale silk, the startling charm of the needlework and theribbons--countless, rosetted, small--that meant hard work on the partof some one. 

"How lovely this is, " she had commented. 

"Yes, " Rita had replied, airily; "I thought, don't you know, mydressmaker would never get done working on it. "

It had cost, all told, two hundred and twenty dollars, and Cowperwoodhad gladly paid the bill. 

Aileen went home at the time thinking of Rita's taste and of how wellshe had harmonized her materials to her personality. She was trulycharming. 

Now, however, when it appeared that the same charm that had appealed toher had appealed to Cowperwood, she conceived an angry, animalopposition to it all. Rita Sohlberg! Ha! A lot of satisfaction she'dget knowing as she would soon, that Cowperwood was sharing hisaffection for her with Antoinette Nowak--a mere stenographer. And a lotof satisfaction Antoinette would get--the cheap upstart--when shelearned, as she would, that Cowperwood loved her so lightly that hewould take an apartment for Rita Sohlberg and let a cheap hotel or anassignation-house do for her. 

But in spite of this savage exultation her thoughts kept coming back toherself, to her own predicament, to torture and destroy her. Cowperwood, the liar! Cowperwood, the pretender! Cowperwood, the sneak!At one moment she conceived a kind of horror of the man because of allhis protestations to her; at the next a rage--bitter, swelling; at thenext a pathetic realization of her own altered position. Say what onewill, to take the love of a man like Cowperwood away from a woman likeAileen was to leave her high and dry on land, as a fish out of itsnative element, to take all the wind out of her sails--almost to killher. Whatever position she had once thought to hold through him, wasnow jeopardized. Whatever joy or glory she had had in being Mrs. FrankAlgernon Cowperwood, it was now tarnished. She sat in her room, thissame day after the detectives had given their report, a tired look inher eyes, the first set lines her pretty mouth had ever known showingabout it, her past and her future whirling painfully and nebulously inher brain. Suddenly she got up, and, seeing Cowperwood's picture onher dresser, his still impressive eyes contemplating her, she seized itand threw it on the floor, stamping on his handsome face with herpretty foot, and raging at him in her heart. The dog! The brute! Herbrain was full of the thought of Rita's white arms about him, of hislips to hers. The spectacle of Rita's fluffy gowns, her enticingcostumes, was in her eyes. Rita should not have him; she should nothave anything connected with him, nor, for that matter, AntoinetteNowak, either--the wretched upstart, the hireling. To think he shouldstoop to an office stenographer! Once on that thought, she decided thathe should not be allowed to have a woman as an assistant any more. Heowed it to her to love her after all she had done for him, the coward, and to let other women alone. Her brain whirled with strange thoughts. She was really not sane in her present state. She was so wrought up byher prospective loss that she could only think of rash, impossible, destructive things to do. She dressed swiftly, feverishly, and, calling a closed carriage from the coach-house, ordered herself to bedriven to the New Arts Building. She would show this rosy cat of awoman, this smiling piece of impertinence, this she-devil, whether shewould lure Cowperwood away. She meditated as she rode. She would notsit back and be robbed as Mrs. Cowperwood had been by her. Never! Hecould not treat her that way. She would die first! She would kill RitaSohlberg and Antoinette Nowak and Cowperwood and herself first. Shewould prefer to die that way rather than lose his love. Oh yes, athousand times! Fortunately, Rita Sohlberg was not at the New ArtsBuilding, or Sohlberg, either. They had gone to a reception. Nor wasshe at the apartment on the North Side, where, under the name ofJacobs, as Aileen had been informed by the detectives, she andCowperwood kept occasional tryst. Aileen hesitated for a moment, feeling it useless to wait, then she ordered the coachman to drive toher husband's office. It was now nearly five o'clock. Antoinette andCowperwood had both gone, but she did not know it. She changed hermind, however, before she reached the office--for it was Rita Sohlbergshe wished to reach first--and ordered her coachman to drive back tothe Sohlberg studio. But still they had not returned. In a kind ofaimless rage she went home, wondering how she should reach RitaSohlberg first and alone. Then, to her savage delight, the game walkedinto her bag. The Sohlbergs, returning home at six o'clock from somereception farther out Michigan Avenue, had stopped, at the wish ofHarold, merely to pass the time of day with Mrs. Cowperwood. Rita wasexquisite in a pale-blue and lavender concoction, with silver braidworked in here and there. Her gloves and shoes were pungent bits ofromance, her hat a dream of graceful lines. At the sight of her, Aileen, who was still in the hall and had opened the door herself, fairly burned to seize her by the throat and strike her; but sherestrained herself sufficiently to say, "Come in. " She still had senseenough and self-possession enough to conceal her wrath and to close thedoor. Beside his wife Harold was standing, offensively smug andinefficient in the fashionable frock-coat and silk hat of the time, arestraining influence as yet. He was bowing and smiling:

"Oh. " This sound was neither an "oh" nor an "ah, " but a kind of Danishinflected "awe, " which was usually not unpleasing to hear. "How areyou, once more, Meeses Cowperwood? It eez sudge a pleasure to see youagain--awe. "

"Won't you two just go in the reception-room a moment, " said Aileen, almost hoarsely. "I'll be right in. I want to get something. " Then, as an afterthought, she called very sweetly: "Oh, Mrs. Sohlberg, won'tyou come up to my room for a moment? I have something I want to showyou. "

Rita responded promptly. She always felt it incumbent upon her to bevery nice to Aileen. 

"We have only a moment to stay, " she replied, archly and sweetly, andcoming out in the hall, "but I'll come up. "

Aileen stayed to see her go first, then followed up-stairs swiftly, surely, entered after Rita, and closed the door. With a courage andrage born of a purely animal despair, she turned and locked it; thenshe wheeled swiftly, her eyes lit with a savage fire, her cheeks pale, but later aflame, her hands, her fingers working in a strange, unconscious way. 

"So, " she said, looking at Rita, and coming toward her quickly andangrily, "you'll steal my husband, will you? You'll live in a secretapartment, will you? You'll come here smiling and lying to me, willyou? You beast! You cat! You prostitute! I'll show you now! Youtow-headed beast! I know you now for what you are! I'll teach you oncefor all! Take that, and that, and that!"

Suiting action to word, Aileen had descended upon her whirlwind, animalfashion, striking, scratching, choking, tearing her visitor's hat fromher head, ripping the laces from her neck, beating her in the face, andclutching violently at her hair and throat to choke and mar her beautyif she could. For the moment she was really crazy with rage. 

By the suddenness of this onslaught Rita Sohlberg was taken backcompletely. It all came so swiftly, so terribly, she scarcely realizedwhat was happening before the storm was upon her. There was no timefor arguments, pleas, anything. Terrified, shamed, nonplussed, shewent down quite limply under this almost lightning attack. When Aileenbegan to strike her she attempted in vain to defend herself, utteringat the same time piercing screams which could be heard throughout thehouse. She screamed shrilly, strangely, like a wild dying animal. Onthe instant all her fine, civilized poise had deserted her. From thesweetness and delicacy of the reception atmosphere--the polite cooings, posturings, and mouthings so charming to contemplate, so alluring inher--she had dropped on the instant to that native animal conditionthat shows itself in fear. Her eyes had a look of hunted horror, herlips and cheeks were pale and drawn. She retreated in a staggering, ungraceful way; she writhed and squirmed, screaming in the strongclutch of the irate and vigorous Aileen. 

Cowperwood entered the hall below just before the screams began. He hadfollowed the Sohlbergs almost immediately from his office, and, chancing to glance in the reception-room, he had observed Sohlbergsmiling, radiant, an intangible air of self-ingratiating, social, andartistic sycophancy about him, his long black frock-coat buttonedsmoothly around his body, his silk hat still in his hands. 

"Awe, how do you do, Meezter Cowperwood, " he was beginning to say, hiscurly head shaking in a friendly manner, "I'm soa glad to see youagain" when--but who can imitate a scream of terror? We have no words, no symbols even, for those essential sounds of fright and agony. Theyfilled the hall, the library, the reception-room, the distant kitcheneven, and basement with a kind of vibrant terror. 

Cowperwood, always the man of action as opposed to nervous cogitation, braced up on the instant like taut wire. What, for heaven's sake, could that be? What a terrible cry! Sohlberg the artist, respondinglike a chameleon to the various emotional complexions of life, began tobreathe stertorously, to blanch, to lose control of himself. 

"My God!" he exclaimed, throwing up his hands, "that's Rita! She'sup-stairs in your wife's room! Something must have happened. Oh--" Onthe instant he was quite beside himself, terrified, shaking, almostuseless. Cowperwood, on the contrary, without a moment's hesitationhad thrown his coat to the floor, dashed up the stairs, followed bySohlberg. What could it be? Where was Aileen? As he bounded upward aclear sense of something untoward came over him; it was sickening, terrifying. Scream! Scream! Scream! came the sounds. "Oh, my God!don't kill me! Help! Help!" SCREAM--this last a long, terrified, ear-piercing wail. 

Sohlberg was about to drop from heart failure, he was so frightened. His face was an ashen gray. Cowperwood seized the door-knob vigorouslyand, finding the door locked, shook, rattled, and banged at it. 

"Aileen!" he called, sharply. "Aileen! What's the matter in there?Open this door, Aileen!"

"Oh, my God! Oh, help! help! Oh, mercy--o-o-o-o-oh!" It was the moaningvoice of Rita. 

"I'll show you, you she-devil!" he heard Aileen calling. "I'll teachyou, you beast! You cat, you prostitute! There! there! there!"

"Aileen!" he called, hoarsely. "Aileen!" Then, getting no response, and the screams continuing, he turned angrily. 

"Stand back!" he exclaimed to Sohlberg, who was moaning helplessly. "Get me a chair, get me a table--anything. " The butler ran to obey, butbefore he could return Cowperwood had found an implement. "Here!" hesaid, seizing a long, thin, heavily carved and heavily wrought oakchair which stood at the head of the stairs on the landing. He whirledit vigorously over his head. Smash! The sound rose louder than thescreams inside. 

Smash! The chair creaked and almost broke, but the door did not give. 

Smash! The chair broke and the door flew open. He had knocked the lockloose and had leaped in to where Aileen, kneeling over Rita on thefloor, was choking and beating her into insensibility. Like an animalhe was upon her. 

"Aileen, " he shouted, fiercely, in a hoarse, ugly, guttural voice, "youfool! You idiot--let go! What the devil's the matter with you? What areyou trying to do? Have you lost your mind?--you crazy idiot!"

He seized her strong hands and ripped them apart. He fairly draggedher back, half twisting and half throwing her over his knee, loosingher clutching hold. She was so insanely furious that she stillstruggled and cried, saying: "Let me at her! Let me at her! I'll teachher! Don't you try to hold me, you dog! I'll show you, too, youbrute--oh--"

"Pick up that woman, " called Cowperwood, firmly, to Sohlberg and thebutler, who had entered. "Get her out of here quick! My wife has gonecrazy. Get her out of here, I tell you! This woman doesn't know whatshe's doing. Take her out and get a doctor. What sort of a hell'smelee is this, anyway?"

"Oh, " moaned Rita, who was torn and fainting, almost unconscious fromsheer terror. 

"I'll kill her!" screamed Aileen. "I'll murder her! I'll murder youtoo, you dog! Oh"--she began striking at him--"I'll teach you how torun around with other women, you dog, you brute!"

Cowperwood merely gripped her hands and shook her vigorously, forcefully. 

"What the devil has got into you, anyway, you fool?" he said to her, bitterly, as they carried Rita out. "What are you trying to do, anyway--murder her? Do you want the police to come in here? Stop yourscreaming and behave yourself, or I'll shove a handkerchief in yourmouth! Stop, I tell you! Stop! Do you hear me? This is enough, youfool!" He clapped his hand over her mouth, pressing it tight andforcing her back against him. He shook her brutally, angrily. He wasvery strong. "Now will you stop, " he insisted, "or do you want me tochoke you quiet? I will, if you don't. You're out of your mind. Stop, I tell you! So this is the way you carry on when things don't go tosuit you?" She was sobbing, struggling, moaning, half screaming, quitebeside herself. 

"Oh, you crazy fool!" he said, swinging her round, and with an effortgetting out a handkerchief, which he forced over her face and in hermouth. "There, " he said, relievedly, "now will you shut up?" holdingher tight in an iron grip, he let her struggle and turn, quite ready toput an end to her breathing if necessary. 

Now that he had conquered her, he continued to hold her tightly, stooping beside her on one knee, listening and meditating. Hers wassurely a terrible passion. From some points of view he could not blameher. Great was her provocation, great her love. He knew herdisposition well enough to have anticipated something of this sort. Yet the wretchedness, shame, scandal of the terrible affair upset hiscustomary equilibrium. To think any one should give way to such astorm as this! To think that Aileen should do it! To think that Ritashould have been so mistreated! It was not at all unlikely that she wasseriously injured, marred for life--possibly even killed. The horrorof that! The ensuing storm of public rage! A trial! His whole careergone up in one terrific explosion of woe, anger, death! Great God!

He called the butler to him by a nod of his head, when the latter, whohad gone out with Rita, hurried back. 

"How is she?" he asked, desperately. "Seriously hurt?"

"No, sir; I think not. I believe she's just fainted. She'll be allright in a little while, sir. Can I be of any service, sir?"

Ordinarily Cowperwood would have smiled at such a scene. Now he wascold, sober. 

"Not now, " he replied, with a sigh of relief, still holding Aileenfirmly. "Go out and close the door. Call a doctor. Wait in the hall. When he comes, call me. "

Aileen, conscious of things being done for Rita, of sympathy beingextended to her, tried to get up, to scream again; but she couldn't;her lord and master held her in an ugly hold. When the door was closedhe said again: "Now, Aileen, will you hush? Will you let me get up andtalk to you, or must we stay here all night? Do you want me to drop youforever after to-night? I understand all about this, but I am incontrol now, and I am going to stay so. You will come to your sensesand be reasonable, or I will leave you to-morrow as sure as I am here. "His voice rang convincingly. "Now, shall we talk sensibly, or will yougo on making a fool of yourself--disgracing me, disgracing the house, making yourself and myself the laughing-stock of the servants, theneighborhood, the city? This is a fine showing you've made to-day. Good God! A fine showing, indeed! A brawl in this house, a fight! Ithought you had better sense--more self-respect--really I did. Youhave seriously jeopardized my chances here in Chicago. You haveseriously injured and possibly killed a woman. You could even behanged for that. Do you hear me?"

"Oh, let them hang me, " groaned Aileen. "I want to die. "

He took away his hand from her mouth, loosened his grip upon her arms, and let her get to her feet. She was still torrential, impetuous, ready to upbraid him, but once standing she was confronted by him, cold, commanding, fixing her with a fishy eye. He wore a look now shehad never seen on his face before--a hard, wintry, dynamic flare, whichno one but his commercial enemies, and only those occasionally, hadseen. 

"Now stop!" he exclaimed. "Not one more word! Not one! Do you hear me?"

She wavered, quailed, gave way. All the fury of her tempestuous soulfell, as the sea falls under a lapse of wind. She had had it in heart, on her lips, to cry again, "You dog! you brute!" and a hundred otherterrible, useless things, but somehow, under the pressure of his gaze, the hardness of his heart, the words on her lips died away. She lookedat him uncertainly for a moment, then, turning, she threw herself onthe bed near by, clutched her cheeks and mouth and eyes, and, rockingback and forth in an agony of woe, she began to sob:

"Oh, my God! my God! My heart! My life! I want to die! I want to die!"

Standing there watching her, there suddenly came to Cowperwood a keensense of her soul hurt, her heart hurt, and he was moved. 

"Aileen, " he said, after a moment or two, coming over and touching herquite gently, "Aileen! Don't cry so. I haven't left you yet. Your lifeisn't utterly ruined. Don't cry. This is bad business, but perhaps itis not without remedy. Come now, pull yourself together, Aileen!"

For answer she merely rocked and moaned, uncontrolled anduncontrollable. 

Being anxious about conditions elsewhere, he turned and stepped outinto the hall. He must make some show for the benefit of the doctorand the servants; he must look after Rita, and offer some sort ofpassing explanation to Sohlherg. 

"Here, " he called to a passing servant, "shut that door and watch it. If Mrs. Cowperwood comes out call me instantly. "

Chapter XIX

"Hell Hath No Fury--"

Rita was not dead by any means--only seriously bruised, scratched, andchoked. Her scalp was cut in one place. Aileen had repeatedly beatenher head on the floor, and this might have resulted seriously ifCowperwood had not entered as quickly as he had. Sohlberg for themoment--for some little time, in fact--was under the impression thatAileen had truly lost her mind, had suddenly gone crazy, and that thoseshameless charges he had heard her making were the emanations of adisordered brain. Nevertheless the things she had said haunted him. He was in a bad state himself--almost a subject for the doctor. Hislips were bluish, his cheeks blanched. Rita had been carried into anadjoining bedroom and laid upon a bed; cold water, ointments, a bottleof arnica had been procured; and when Cowperwood appeared she wasconscious and somewhat better. But she was still very weak and smartingfrom her wounds, both mental and physical. When the doctor arrived hehad been told that a lady, a guest, had fallen down-stairs; whenCowperwood came in the physician was dressing her wounds. 

As soon as he had gone Cowperwood said to the maid in attendance, "Goget me some hot water. " As the latter disappeared he bent over andkissed Rita's bruised lips, putting his finger to his own in warningsign. 

"Rita, " he asked, softly, "are you fully conscious?"

She nodded weakly. 

"Listen, then, " he said, bending over and speaking slowly. "Listencarefully. Pay strict attention to what I'm saying. You mustunderstand every word, and do as I tell you. You are not seriouslyinjured. You will be all right. This will blow over. I have sent foranother doctor to call on you at your studio. Your husband has gonefor some fresh clothes. He will come back in a little while. Mycarriage will take you home when you are a little stronger. Youmustn't worry. Everything will be all right, but you must denyeverything, do you hear? Everything! In so far as you know, Mrs. Cowperwood is insane. I will talk to your husband to-morrow. I willsend you a trained nurse. Meantime you must be careful of what you sayand how you say it. Be perfectly calm. Don't worry. You are perfectlysafe here, and you will be there. Mrs. Cowperwood will not trouble youany more. I will see to that. I am so sorry; but I love you. I amnear you all the while. You must not let this make any difference. You will not see her any more. "

Still he knew that it would make a difference. 

Reassured as to Rita's condition, he went back to Aileen's room toplead with her again--to soothe her if he could. He found her up anddressing, a new thought and determination in her mind. Since she hadthrown herself on the bed sobbing and groaning, her mood had graduallychanged; she began to reason that if she could not dominate him, couldnot make him properly sorry, she had better leave. It was evident, shethought, that he did not love her any more, seeing that his anxiety toprotect Rita had been so great; his brutality in restraining her somarked; and yet she did not want to believe that this was so. He hadbeen so wonderful to her in times past. She had not given up all hopeof winning a victory over him, and these other women--she loved him toomuch--but only a separation would do it. That might bring him to hissenses. She would get up, dress, and go down-town to a hotel. Heshould not see her any more unless he followed her. She was satisfiedthat she had broken up the liaison with Rita Sohlberg, anyway for thepresent, and as for Antoinette Nowak, she would attend to her later. Her brain and her heart ached. She was so full of woe and rage, alternating, that she could not cry any more now. She stood before hermirror trying with trembling fingers to do over her toilet and adjust astreet-costume. Cowperwood was disturbed, nonplussed at thisunexpected sight. 

"Aileen, " he said, finally, coming up behind her, "can't you and I talkthis thing over peacefully now? You don't want to do anything thatyou'll be sorry for. I don't want you to. I'm sorry. You don'treally believe that I've ceased to love you, do you? I haven't, youknow. This thing isn't as bad as it looks. I should think you wouldhave a little more sympathy with me after all we have been throughtogether. You haven't any real evidence of wrong-doing on which tobase any such outburst as this. "

"Oh, haven't I?" she exclaimed, turning from the mirror, where, sorrowfully and bitterly, she was smoothing her red-gold hair. Hercheeks were flushed, her eyes red. Just now she seemed as remarkableto him as she had seemed that first day, years ago, when in a red capehe had seen her, a girl of sixteen, running up the steps of herfather's house in Philadelphia. She was so wonderful then. Itmellowed his mood toward her. 

"That's all you know about it, you liar!" she declared. "It's littleyou know what I know. I haven't had detectives on your trail for weeksfor nothing. You sneak! You'd like to smooth around now and find outwhat I know. Well, I know enough, let me tell you that. You won'tfool me any longer with your Rita Sohlbergs and your Antoinette Nowaksand your apartments and your houses of assignation. I know what youare, you brute! And after all your protestations of love for me! Ugh!"

She turned fiercely to her task while Cowperwood stared at her, touchedby her passion, moved by her force. It was fine to see what a dramaticanimal she was--really worthy of him in many ways. 

"Aileen, " he said, softly, hoping still to ingratiate himself bydegrees, "please don't be so bitter toward me. Haven't you anyunderstanding of how life works--any sympathy with it? I thought youwere more generous, more tender. I'm not so bad. "

He eyed her thoughtfully, tenderly, hoping to move her through her lovefor him. 

"Sympathy! Sympathy!" She turned on him blazing. "A lot you know aboutsympathy! I suppose I didn't give you any sympathy when you were in thepenitentiary in Philadelphia, did I? A lot of good it did me--didn'tit? Sympathy! Bah! To have you come out here to Chicago and take upwith a lot of prostitutes--cheap stenographers and wives of musicians!You have given me a lot of sympathy, haven't you?--with that womanlying in the next room to prove it!"

She smoothed her lithe waist and shook her shoulders preparatory toputting on a hat and adjusting her wrap. She proposed to go just asshe was, and send Fadette back for all her belongings. 

"Aileen, " he pleaded, determined to have his way, "I think you're veryfoolish. Really I do. There is no occasion for all this--none in theworld. Here you are talking at the top of your voice, scandalizing thewhole neighborhood, fighting, leaving the house. It's abominable. Idon't want you to do it. You love me yet, don't you? You know you do. I know you don't mean all you say. You can't. You really don't believethat I have ceased to love you, do you, Aileen?"

"Love!" fired Aileen. "A lot you know about love! A lot you have everloved anybody, you brute! I know how you love. I thought you loved meonce. Humph! I see how you loved me--just as you've loved fifty otherwomen, as you love that snippy little Rita Sohlberg in the nextroom--the cat!--the dirty little beast!--the way you love AntoinetteNowak--a cheap stenographer! Bah! You don't know what the word means. "And yet her voice trailed off into a kind of sob and her eyes filledwith tears, hot, angry, aching. Cowperwood saw them and came over, hoping in some way to take advantage of them. He was truly sorrynow--anxious to make her feel tender toward him once more. 

"Aileen, " he pleaded, "please don't be so bitter. You shouldn't be sohard on me. I'm not so bad. Aren't you going to be reasonable?" Heput out a smoothing hand, but she jumped away. 

"Don't you touch me, you brute!" she exclaimed, angrily. "Don't youlay a hand on me. I don't want you to come near me. I'll not livewith you. I'll not stay in the same house with you and yourmistresses. Go and live with your dear, darling Rita on the North Sideif you want to. I don't care. I suppose you've been in the next roomcomforting her--the beast! I wish I had killed her--Oh, God!" She toreat her throat in a violent rage, trying to adjust a button. 

Cowperwood was literally astonished. Never had he seen such anoutburst as this. He had not believed Aileen to be capable of it. Hecould not help admiring her. Nevertheless he resented the brutality ofher assault on Rita and on his own promiscuous tendency, and thisfeeling vented itself in one last unfortunate remark. 

"I wouldn't be so hard on mistresses if I were you, Aileen, " heventured, pleadingly. "I should have thought your own experience wouldhave--"

He paused, for he saw on the instant that he was making a gravemistake. This reference to her past as a mistress was crucial. On theinstant she straightened up, and her eyes filled with a great pain. "So that's the way you talk to me, is it?" she asked. "I knew it! Iknew it! I knew it would come!"

She turned to a tall chest of drawers as high as her breasts, ladenwith silverware, jewel-boxes, brushes and combs, and, putting her armsdown, she laid her head upon them and began to cry. This was the laststraw. He was throwing up her lawless girlhood love to her as anoffense. 

"Oh!" she sobbed, and shook in a hopeless, wretched paroxysm. Cowperwood came over quickly. He was distressed, pained. "I didn'tmean that, Aileen, " he explained. "I didn't mean it in that way--notat all. You rather drew that out of me; but I didn't mean it as areproach. You were my mistress, but good Lord, I never loved you anythe less for that--rather more. You know I did. I want you to believethat; it's true. These other matters haven't been so important tome--they really haven't--"

He looked at her helplessly as she moved away to avoid him; he wasdistressed, nonplussed, immensely sorry. As he walked to the center ofthe room again she suddenly suffered a great revulsion of feeling, butonly in the direction of more wrath. This was too much. 

"So this is the way you talk to me, " she exclaimed, "after all I havedone for you! You say that to me after I waited for you and cried overyou when you were in prison for nearly two years? Your mistress! That'smy reward, is it? Oh!"

Suddenly she observed her jewel-case, and, resenting all the gifts hehad given her in Philadelphia, in Paris, in Rome, here in Chicago, shesuddenly threw open the lid and, grabbing the contents by handfuls, began to toss them toward him--to actually throw them in his face. Outthey came, handfuls of gauds that he had given her in real affection: ajade necklace and bracelet of pale apple-green set in spun gold, withclasps of white ivory; a necklace of pearls, assorted as to size andmatched in color, that shone with a tinted, pearly flame in the eveninglight; a handful of rings and brooches, diamonds, rubies, opals, amethysts; a dog-collar of emeralds, and a diamond hair-ornament. Sheflung them at him excitedly, strewing the floor, striking him on theneck, the face, the hands. "Take that! and that! and that! There theyare! I don't want anything more of yours. I don't want anything moreto do with you. I don't want anything that belongs to you. Thank God, I have money enough of my own to live on! I hate you--I despise you--Inever want to see you any more. Oh--" And, trying to think ofsomething more, but failing, she dashed swiftly down the hall and downthe stairs, while he stood for just one moment overwhelmed. Then hehurried after. 

"Aileen!" he called. "Aileen, come back here! Don't go, Aileen!" Butshe only hurried faster; she opened and closed the door, and actuallyran out in the dark, her eyes wet, her heart bursting. So this was theend of that youthful dream that had begun so beautifully. She was nobetter than the others--just one of his mistresses. To have her pastthrown up to her as a defense for the others! To be told that she wasno better than they! This was the last straw. She choked and sobbed asshe walked, vowing never to return, never to see him any more. But asshe did so Cowperwood came running after, determined for once, aslawless as he was, that this should not be the end of it all. She hadloved him, he reflected. She had laid every gift of passion andaffection on the altar of her love. It wasn't fair, really. She mustbe made to stay. He caught up at last, reaching her under the dark ofthe November trees. 

"Aileen, " he said, laying hold of her and putting his arms around herwaist. "Aileen, dearest, this is plain madness. It is insanity. You're not in your right mind. Don't go! Don't leave me! I love you!Don't you know I do? Can't you really see that? Don't run away likethis, and don't cry. I do love you, and you know it. I always shall. Come back now. Kiss me. I'll do better. Really I will. Give meanother chance. Wait and see. Come now--won't you? That's my girl, myAileen. Do come. Please!"

She pulled on, but he held her, smoothing her arms, her neck, her face. 

"Aileen!" he entreated. 

She tugged so that he was finally compelled to work her about into hisarms; then, sobbing, she stood there agonized but happy once more, in away. 

"But I don't want to, " she protested. "You don't love me any more. Letme go. "

But he kept hold of her, urging, and finally she said, her head uponhis shoulder as of old, "Don't make me come back to-night. I don't wantto. I can't. Let me go down-town. I'll come back later, maybe. "

"Then I'll go with you, " he said, endearingly. "It isn't right. Thereare a lot of things I should be doing to stop this scandal, but I'llgo. "

And together they sought a street-car. 

Chapter XX

"Man and Superman"

It is a sad commentary on all save the most chemic unions--those darkred flowers of romance that bloom most often only for a tragicend--that they cannot endure the storms of disaster that are wont toovertake them. A woman like Rita Sohlberg, with a seemingly urgentfeeling for Cowperwood, was yet not so charmed by him but that thisshock to her pride was a marked sedative. The crushing weight of suchan exposure as this, the Homeric laughter inherent, if not indicated inthe faulty planning, the failure to take into account beforehand allthe possibilities which might lead to such a disaster, was too much forher to endure. She was stung almost to desperation, maddened, at thethought of the gay, idle way in which she had walked into Mrs. Cowperwood's clutches and been made into a spectacle and alaughing-stock by her. What a brute she was--what a demon! Her ownphysical weakness under the circumstances was no grief to her--rather asalve to her superior disposition; but just the same she had been badlybeaten, her beauty turned into a ragamuffin show, and that was enough. This evening, in the Lake Shore Sanitarium, where she had been taken, she had but one thought--to get away when it should all be over andrest her wearied brain. She did not want to see Sohlberg any more; shedid not want to see Cowperwood any more. Already Harold, suspiciousand determined to get at the truth, was beginning to question her as tothe strangeness of Aileen's attack--her probable reason. WhenCowperwood was announced, Sohlberg's manner modified somewhat, forwhatever his suspicions were, he was not prepared to quarrel with thissingular man as yet. 

"I am so sorry about this unfortunate business, " said Cowperwood, coming in with brisk assurance. "I never knew my wife to become sostrangely unbalanced before. It was most fortunate that I arrived whenI did. I certainly owe you both every amend that can be made. Isincerely hope, Mrs. Sohlberg, that you are not seriously injured. Ifthere is anything I can possibly do--anything either of you cansuggest"--he looked around solicitously at Sohlberg--"I shall only betoo glad to do it. How would it do for you to take Mrs. Sohlberg awayfor a little while for a rest? I shall so gladly pay all expenses inconnection with her recovery. "

Sohlberg, brooding and heavy, remained unresponsive, smoldering; Rita, cheered by Cowperwood's presence, but not wholly relieved by any means, was questioning and disturbed. She was afraid there was to be aterrific scene between them. She declared she was better and would beall right--that she did not need to go away, but that she preferred tobe alone. 

"It's very strange, " said Sohlberg, sullenly, after a little while. "Idaunt onderstand it! I daunt onderstand it at all. Why should she dosoach a thing? Why should she say soach things? Here we have been thebest of friends opp to now. Then suddenly she attacks my wife and saisall these strange things. "

"But I have assured you, my dear Mr. Sohlberg, that my wife was not inher right mind. She has been subject to spells of this kind in thepast, though never to anything so violent as this to-night. Alreadyshe has recovered her normal state, and she does not remember. But, perhaps, if we are going to discuss things now we had better go out inthe hall. Your wife will need all the rest she can get. "

Once outside, Cowperwood continued with brilliant assurance: "Now, mydear Sohlberg, what is it I can say? What is it you wish me to do? Mywife has made a lot of groundless charges, to say nothing of injuringyour wife most seriously and shamefully. I cannot tell you, as I havesaid, how sorry I am. I assure you Mrs. Cowperwood is suffering from agross illusion. There is absolutely nothing to do, nothing to say, sofar as I can see, but to let the whole matter drop. Don't you agreewith me?"

Harold was twisting mentally in the coils of a trying situation. Hisown position, as he knew, was not formidable. Rita had reproached himover and over for infidelity. He began to swell and bluster at once. 

"That is all very well for you to say, Mr. Cowperwood, " he commented, defiantly, "but how about me? Where do I come in? I daunt know what totheenk yet. It ees very strange. Supposing what your wife sais wastrue? Supposing my wife has been going around weeth some one? That eeswhat I want to find out. Eef she has! Eef eet is what I theenk it eesI shall--I shall--I daunt know what I shall do. I am a very violentman. "

Cowperwood almost smiled, concerned as he was over avoiding publicity;he had no fear of Sohlberg physically. 

"See here, " he exclaimed, suddenly, looking sharply at the musician anddeciding to take the bull by the horns, "you are in quite as delicate asituation as I am, if you only stop to think. This affair, if it getsout, will involve not only me and Mrs. Cowperwood, but yourself andyour wife, and if I am not mistaken, I think your own affairs are notin any too good shape. You cannot blacken your wife without blackeningyourself--that is inevitable. None of us is exactly perfect. Formyself I shall be compelled to prove insanity, and I can do thiseasily. If there is anything in your past which is not precisely whatit should be it could not long be kept a secret. If you are willing tolet the matter drop I will make handsome provision for you both; if, instead, you choose to make trouble, to force this matter into thedaylight, I shall leave no stone unturned to protect myself, to put asgood a face on this matter as I can. "

"What!" exclaimed Sohlberg. "You threaten me? You try to frighten meafter your wife charges that you have been running around weeth mywife? You talk about my past! I like that. Haw! We shall see aboutdis! What is it you knaw about me?"

"Well, Mr. Sohlberg, " rejoined Cowperwood, calmly, "I know, forinstance, that for a long while your wife has not loved you, that youhave been living on her as any pensioner might, that you have beenrunning around with as many as six or seven women in as many years orless. For months I have been acting as your wife's financial adviser, and in that time, with the aid of detectives, I have learned of AnnaStelmak, Jessie Laska, Bertha Reese, Georgia Du Coin--do I need to sayany more? As a matter of fact, I have a number of your letters in mypossession. "

"Saw that ees it!" exclaimed Sohlberg, while Cowperwood eyed himfixedly. "You have been running around weeth my wife? Eet ees true, then. A fine situation! And you come here now weeth these threats, these lies to booldoze me. Haw! We weel see about them. We weel seewhat I can do. Wait teel I can consult a lawyer first. Then we weelsee!"

Cowperwood surveyed him coldly, angrily. "What an ass!" he thought. 

"See here, " he said, urging Sohlberg, for privacy's sake, to come downinto the lower hall, and then into the street before the sanitarium, where two gas-lamps were fluttering fitfully in the dark and wind, "Isee very plainly that you are bent on making trouble. It is not enoughthat I have assured you that there is nothing in this--that I havegiven you my word. You insist on going further. Very well, then. Supposing for argument's sake that Mrs. Cowperwood was not insane; thatevery word she said was true; that I had been misconducting myself withyour wife? What of it? What will you do?"

He looked at Sohlberg smoothly, ironically, while the latter flared up. 

"Haw!" he shouted, melodramatically. "Why, I would keel you, that'swhat I would do. I would keel her. I weel make a terrible scene. Just let me knaw that this is so, and then see!"

"Exactly, " replied Cowperwood, grimly. "I thought so. I believe you. For that reason I have come prepared to serve you in just the way youwish. " He reached in his coat and took out two small revolvers, whichhe had taken from a drawer at home for this very purpose. They gleamedin the dark. "Do you see these?" he continued. "I am going to saveyou the trouble of further investigation, Mr. Sohlberg. Every wordthat Mrs. Cowperwood said to-night--and I am saying this with a fullunderstanding of what this means to you and to me--is true. She is nomore insane than I am. Your wife has been living in an apartment withme on the North Side for months, though you cannot prove that. Shedoes not love you, but me. Now if you want to kill me here is a gun. "He extended his hand. "Take your choice. If I am to die you might aswell die with me. "

He said it so coolly, so firmly, that Sohlberg, who was an innatecoward, and who had no more desire to die than any other healthyanimal, paled. The look of cold steel was too much. The hand thatpressed them on him was hard and firm. He took hold of one, but hisfingers trembled. The steely, metallic voice in his ear wasundermining the little courage that he had. Cowperwood by now hadtaken on the proportions of a dangerous man--the lineaments of a demon. He turned away mortally terrified. 

"My God!" he exclaimed, shaking like a leaf. "You want to keel me, doyou? I weel not have anything to do with you! I weel not talk to you! Iweel see my lawyer. I weel talk to my wife first. "

"Oh, no you won't, " replied Cowperwood, intercepting him as he turnedto go and seizing him firmly by the arm. "I am not going to have youdo anything of the sort. I am not going to kill you if you are notgoing to kill me; but I am going to make you listen to reason for once. Now here is what else I have to say, and then I am through. I am notunfriendly to you. I want to do you a good turn, little as I care foryou. To begin with, there is nothing in those charges my wife made, not a thing. I merely said what I did just now to see if you were inearnest. You do not love your wife any more. She doesn't love you. You are no good to her. Now, I have a very friendly proposition tomake to you. If you want to leave Chicago and stay away three years ormore, I will see that you are paid five thousand dollars every year onJanuary first--on the nail--five thousand dollars! Do you hear? Or youcan stay here in Chicago and hold your tongue and I will make it threethousand--monthly or yearly, just as you please. But--and this is whatI want you to remember--if you don't get out of town or hold yourtongue, if you make one single rash move against me, I will kill you, and I will kill you on sight. Now, I want you to go away from here andbehave yourself. Leave your wife alone. Come and see me in a day ortwo--the money is ready for you any time. " He paused while Sohlbergstared--his eyes round and glassy. This was the most astonishingexperience of his life. This man was either devil or prince, or both. "Good God!" he thought. "He will do that, too. He will really killme. " Then the astounding alternative--five thousand dollars ayear--came to his mind. Well, why not? His silence gave consent. 

"If I were you I wouldn't go up-stairs again to-night, " continuedCowperwood, sternly. "Don't disturb her. She needs rest. Go ondown-town and come and see me to-morrow--or if you want to go back Iwill go with you. I want to say to Mrs. Sohlberg what I have said toyou. But remember what I've told you. "

"Nau, thank you, " replied Sohlberg, feebly. "I will go down-town. Goodnight. " And he hurried away. 

"I'm sorry, " said Cowperwood to himself, defensively. "It is too bad, but it was the only way. "

Chapter XXI

A Matter of Tunnels

The question of Sohlberg adjusted thus simply, if brutally, Cowperwoodturned his attention to Mrs. Sohlberg. But there was nothing much tobe done. He explained that he had now completely subdued Aileen andSohlberg, that the latter would make no more trouble, that he was goingto pension him, that Aileen would remain permanently quiescent. Heexpressed the greatest solicitude for her, but Rita was now sickened ofthis tangle. She had loved him, as she thought, but through the rageof Aileen she saw him in a different light, and she wanted to get away. His money, plentiful as it was, did not mean as much to her as it mighthave meant to some women; it simply spelled luxuries, without which shecould exist if she must. His charm for her had, perhaps, consistedmostly in the atmosphere of flawless security, which seemed to surroundhim--a glittering bubble of romance. That, by one fell attack, was nowburst. He was seen to be quite as other men, subject to the samestorms, the same danger of shipwreck. Only he was a better sailor thanmost. She recuperated gradually; left for home; left for Europe;details too long to be narrated. Sohlberg, after much meditating andfuming, finally accepted the offer of Cowperwood and returned toDenmark. Aileen, after a few days of quarreling, in which he agreed todispense with Antoinette Nowak, returned home. 

Cowperwood was in no wise pleased by this rough denouement. Aileen hadnot raised her own attractions in his estimation, and yet, strange torelate, he was not unsympathetic with her. He had no desire to deserther as yet, though for some time he had been growing in the feelingthat Rita would have been a much better type of wife for him. But whathe could not have, he could not have. He turned his attention withrenewed force to his business; but it was with many a backward glanceat those radiant hours when, with Rita in his presence or enfolded byhis arms, he had seen life from a new and poetic angle. She was socharming, so naive--but what could he do?

For several years thereafter Cowperwood was busy following the Chicagostreet-railway situation with increasing interest. He knew it wasuseless to brood over Rita Sohlberg--she would not return--and yet hecould not help it; but he could work hard, and that was something. Hisnatural aptitude and affection for street-railway work had long sincebeen demonstrated, and it was now making him restless. One might havesaid of him quite truly that the tinkle of car-bells and the plop ofplodding horses' feet was in his blood. He surveyed these extendinglines, with their jingling cars, as he went about the city, with analmost hungry eye. Chicago was growing fast, and these littlehorse-cars on certain streets were crowded night and morning--fairlybulging with people at the rush-hours. If he could only secure anoctopus-grip on one or all of them; if he could combine and controlthem all! What a fortune! That, if nothing else, might salve him forsome of his woes--a tremendous fortune--nothing less. He foreverbusied himself with various aspects of the scene quite as a poet mighthave concerned himself with rocks and rills. To own thesestreet-railways! To own these street-railways! So rang the song of hismind. 

Like the gas situation, the Chicago street-railway situation wasdivided into three parts--three companies representing andcorresponding with the three different sides or divisions of the city. The Chicago City Railway Company, occupying the South Side andextending as far south as Thirty-ninth Street, had been organized in1859, and represented in itself a mine of wealth. Already itcontrolled some seventy miles of track, and was annually being added toon Indiana Avenue, on Wabash Avenue, on State Street, and on ArcherAvenue. It owned over one hundred and fifty cars of the old-fashioned, straw-strewn, no-stove type, and over one thousand horses; it employedone hundred and seventy conductors, one hundred and sixty drivers, ahundred stablemen, and blacksmiths, harness-makers, and repairers ininteresting numbers. Its snow-plows were busy on the street in winter, its sprinkling-cars in summer. Cowperwood calculated its shares, bonds, rolling-stock, and other physical properties as totaling in thevicinity of over two million dollars. The trouble with this company wasthat its outstanding stock was principally controlled by NormanSchryhart, who was now decidedly inimical to Cowperwood, or anything hemight wish to do, and by Anson Merrill, who had never manifested anysigns of friendship. He did not see how he was to get control of thisproperty. Its shares were selling around two hundred and fifty dollars. 

The North Chicago City Railway was a corporation which had beenorganized at the same time as the South Side company, but by adifferent group of men. Its management was old, indifferent, andincompetent, its equipment about the same. The Chicago West DivisionRailway had originally been owned by the Chicago City or South SideRailway, but was now a separate corporation. It was not yet soprofitable as the other divisions of the city, but all sections of thecity were growing. The horse-bell was heard everywhere tinkling gaily. 

Standing on the outside of this scene, contemplating its promise, Cowperwood much more than any one else connected financially with thefuture of these railways at this time was impressed with their enormouspossibilities--their enormous future if Chicago continued to grow, andwas concerned with the various factors which might further or impedetheir progress. 

Not long before he had discovered that one of the chief handicaps tostreet-railway development, on the North and West Sides, lay in thecongestion of traffic at the bridges spanning the Chicago River. Between the street ends that abutted on it and connected the two sidesof the city ran this amazing stream--dirty, odorous, picturesque, compact of a heavy, delightful, constantly crowding and moving boattraffic, which kept the various bridges momentarily turning, and tiedup the street traffic on either side of the river until it seemed attimes as though the tangle of teams and boats would never any more bestraightened out. It was lovely, human, natural, Dickensesque--a fitsubject for a Daumier, a Turner, or a Whistler. The idlest ofbridge-tenders judged for himself when the boats and when the teamsshould be made to wait, and how long, while in addition to the regularpedestrians a group of idlers stood at gaze fascinated by the crowd ofmasts, the crush of wagons, and the picturesque tugs in the foregroundbelow. Cowperwood, as he sat in his light runabout, annoyed by a delay, or dashed swiftly forward to get over before a bridge turned, had longsince noted that the street-car service in the North and West Sides wasbadly hampered. The unbroken South Side, unthreaded by a river, had nosuch problem, and was growing rapidly. 

Because of this he was naturally interested to observe one day, in thecourse of his peregrinations, that there existed in two places underthe Chicago River--in the first place at La Salle Street, running northand south, and in the second at Washington Street, running east andwest--two now soggy and rat-infested tunnels which were never used byanybody--dark, dank, dripping affairs only vaguely lighted withoil-lamp, and oozing with water. Upon investigation he learned thatthey had been built years before to accommodate this same tide of wagontraffic, which now congested at the bridges, and which even then hadbeen rapidly rising. Being forced to pay a toll in time to which aslight toll in cash, exacted for the privilege of using a tunnel, hadseemed to the investors and public infinitely to be preferred, thistraffic had been offered this opportunity of avoiding the delay. However, like many another handsome commercial scheme on paper orbubbling in the human brain, the plan did not work exactly. Thesetunnels might have proved profitable if they had been properly builtwith long, low-per-cent. Grades, wide roadways, and a sufficiency oflight and air; but, as a matter of fact, they had not been judiciouslyadapted to public convenience. Norman Schryhart's father had been aninvestor in these tunnels, and Anson Merrill. When they had provedunprofitable, after a long period of pointless manipulation--cost, onemillion dollars--they had been sold to the city for exactly that sumeach, it being poetically deemed that a growing city could betterafford to lose so disturbing an amount than any of its humble, ambitious, and respectable citizens. That was a little affair by whichmembers of council had profited years before; but that also is anotherstory. 

After discovering these tunnels Cowperwood walked through them severaltimes--for though they were now boarded up, there was still anuninterrupted footpath--and wondered why they could not be utilized. It seemed to him that if the street-car traffic were heavy enough, profitable enough, and these tunnels, for a reasonable sum, could bemade into a lower grade, one of the problems which now hampered thegrowth of the North and West Sides would be obviated. But how? He didnot own the tunnels. He did not own the street-railways. The cost ofleasing and rebuilding the tunnels would be enormous. Helpers andhorses and extra drivers on any grade, however slight, would have to beused, and that meant an extra expense. With street-car horses as theonly means of traction, and with the long, expensive grades, he was notso sure that this venture would be a profitable one. 

However, in the fall of 1880, or a little earlier (when he was stillvery much entangled with the preliminary sex affairs that ledeventually to Rita Sohlberg), he became aware of a new system oftraction relating to street-cars which, together with the arrival ofthe arc-light, the telephone, and other inventions, seemed destined tochange the character of city life entirely. 

Recently in San Francisco, where the presence of hills made themovement of crowded street-railway cars exceedingly difficult, a newtype of traction had been introduced--that of the cable, which wasnothing more than a traveling rope of wire running over guttered wheelsin a conduit, and driven by immense engines, conveniently located inadjacent stations or "power-houses. " The cars carried a readilymanipulated "grip-lever, " or steel hand, which reached down through aslot into a conduit and "gripped" the moving cable. This inventionsolved the problem of hauling heavily laden street-cars up and downsteep grades. About the same time he also heard, in a roundabout way, that the Chicago City Railway, of which Schryhart and Merrill were theprincipal owners, was about to introduce this mode of traction on itslines--to cable State Street, and attach the cars of other linesrunning farther out into unprofitable districts as "trailers. " At oncethe solution of the North and West Side problems flashed uponhim--cables. 

Outside of the bridge crush and the tunnels above mentioned, there wasone other special condition which had been for some time pastattracting Cowperwood's attention. This was the waning energy of theNorth Chicago City Railway Company--the lack of foresight on the partof its directors which prevented them from perceiving the propersolution of their difficulties. The road was in a ratherunsatisfactory state financially--really open to a coup of some sort. In the beginning it had been considered unprofitable, so thinlypopulated was the territory they served, and so short the distance fromthe business heart. Later, however, as the territory filled up, theydid better; only then the long waits at the bridges occurred. Themanagement, feeling that the lines were likely to be poorly patronized, had put down poor, little, light-weight rails, and run slimpsy carswhich were as cold as ice in winter and as hot as stove-ovens insummer. No attempt had been made to extend the down-town terminus ofthe several lines into the business center--they stopped just over theriver which bordered it at the north. (On the South Side Mr. Schryharthad done much better for his patrons. He had already installed a loopfor his cable about Merrill's store. ) As on the West Side, straw wasstrewn in the bottom of all the cars in winter to keep the feet of thepassengers warm, and but few open cars were used in summer. Thedirectors were averse to introducing them because of the expense. Sothey had gone on and on, adding lines only where they were sure theywould make a good profit from the start, putting down the same style ofcheap rail that had been used in the beginning, and employing the sameantique type of car which rattled and trembled as it ran, until thepatrons were enraged to the point of anarchy. Only recently, because ofvarious suits and complaints inaugurated, the company had been greatlyannoyed, but they scarcely knew what to do, how to meet the onslaught. Though there was here and there a man of sense--such as TerrenceMulgannon, the general superintendent; Edwin Kaffrath, a director;William Johnson, the constructing engineer of the company--yet suchother men as Onias C. Skinner, the president, and Walter Parker, thevice-president, were reactionaries of an elderly character, conservative, meditative, stingy, and, worst of all, fearful or withoutcourage for great adventure. It is a sad commentary that age almostinvariably takes away the incentive to new achievement and makes "Letwell enough alone" the most appealing motto. 

Mindful of this, Cowperwood, with a now splendid scheme in his mind, one day invited John J. McKenty over to his house to dinner on a socialpretext. When the latter, accompanied by his wife, had arrived, andAileen had smiled on them both sweetly, and was doing her best to benice to Mrs. McKenty, Cowperwood remarked:

"McKenty, do you know anything about these two tunnels that the cityowns under the river at Washington and La Salle streets?"

"I know that the city took them over when it didn't need them, and thatthey're no good for anything. That was before my time, though, "explained McKenty, cautiously. "I think the city paid a million forthem. Why?"

"Oh, nothing much, " replied Cowperwood, evading the matter for thepresent. "I was wondering whether they were in such condition thatthey couldn't be used for anything. I see occasional references in thepapers to their uselessness. "

"They're in pretty bad shape, I'm afraid, " replied McKenty. "I haven'tbeen through either of them in years and years. The idea wasoriginally to let the wagons go through them and break up the crowdingat the bridges. But it didn't work. They made the grade too steep andthe tolls too high, and so the drivers preferred to wait for thebridges. They were pretty hard on horses. I can testify to thatmyself. I've driven a wagon-load through them more than once. Thecity should never have taken them over at all by rights. It was adeal. I don't know who all was in it. Carmody was mayor then, andAldrich was in charge of public works. "

He relapsed into silence, and Cowperwood allowed the matter of thetunnels to rest until after dinner when they had adjourned to thelibrary. There he placed a friendly hand on McKenty's arm, an act offamiliarity which the politician rather liked. 

"You felt pretty well satisfied with the way that gas business came outlast year, didn't you?" he inquired. 

"I did, " replied McKenty, warmly. "Never more so. I told you that atthe time. " The Irishman liked Cowperwood, and was grateful for theswift manner in which he had been made richer by the sum of severalhundred thousand dollars. 

"Well, now, McKenty, " continued Cowperwood, abruptly, and with aseeming lack of connection, "has it ever occurred to you that thingsare shaping up for a big change in the street-railway situation here? Ican see it coming. There's going to be a new motor power introduced onthe South Side within a year or two. You've heard of it?"

"I read something of it, " replied McKenty, surprised and a littlequestioning. He took a cigar and prepared to listen. Cowperwood, never smoking, drew up a chair. 

"Well, I'll tell you what that means, " he explained. "It means thateventually every mile of street-railway track in this city--to saynothing of all the additional miles that will be built before thischange takes place--will have to be done over on an entirely new basis. I mean this cable-conduit system. These old companies that arehobbling along now with an old equipment will have to make the change. They'll have to spend millions and millions before they can bring theirequipment up to date. If you've paid any attention to the matter youmust have seen what a condition these North and West Side lines are in. "

"It's pretty bad; I know that, " commented McKenty. 

"Just so, " replied Cowperwood, emphatically. "Well, now, if I knowanything about these old managements from studying them, they're goingto have a hard time bringing themselves to do this. Two to threemillion are two to three million, and it isn't going to be an easymatter for them to raise the money--not as easy, perhaps, as it wouldbe for some of the rest of us, supposing we wanted to go into thestreet-railway business. "

"Yes, supposing, " replied McKenty, jovially. "But how are you to getin it? There's no stock for sale that I know of. "

"Just the same, " said Cowperwood, "we can if we want to, and I'll showyou how. But at present there's just one thing in particular I'd likeyou to do for me. I want to know if there is any way that we can getcontrol of either of those two old tunnels that I was talking to youabout a little while ago. I'd like both if I might. Do you supposethat is possible?"

"Why, yes, " replied McKenty, wondering; "but what have they got to dowith it? They're not worth anything. Some of the boys were talkingabout filling them in some time ago--blowing them up. The police thinkcrooks hide in them. "

"Just the same, don't let any one touch them--don't lease them oranything, " replied Cowperwood, forcefully. "I'll tell you frankly whatI want to do. I want to get control, just as soon as possible, of allthe street-railway lines I can on the North and West Sides--new or oldfranchises. Then you'll see where the tunnels come in. "

He paused to see whether McKenty caught the point of all he meant, butthe latter failed. 

"You don't want much, do you?" he said, cheerfully. "But I don't seehow you can use the tunnels. However, that's no reason why I shouldn'ttake care of them for you, if you think that's important. "

"It's this way, " said Cowperwood, thoughtfully. "I'll make you apreferred partner in all the ventures that I control if you do as Isuggest. The street-railways, as they stand now, will have to be takenup lock, stock, and barrel, and thrown into the scrap heap within eightor nine years at the latest. You see what the South Side company isbeginning to do now. When it comes to the West and North Sidecompanies they won't find it so easy. They aren't earning as much asthe South Side, and besides they have those bridges to cross. Thatmeans a severe inconvenience to a cable line. In the first place, thebridges will have to be rebuilt to stand the extra weight and strain. Now the question arises at once--at whose expense? The city's?"

"That depends on who's asking for it, " replied Mr. McKenty, amiably. 

"Quite so, " assented Cowperwood. "In the next place, this rivertraffic is becoming impossible from the point of view of a decentstreet-car service. There are waits now of from eight to fifteenminutes while these tows and vessels get through. Chicago has fivehundred thousand population to-day. How much will it have in 1890? In1900? How will it be when it has eight hundred thousand or a million?"

"You're quite right, " interpolated McKenty. "It will be pretty bad. "

"Exactly. But what is worse, the cable lines will carry trailers, orsingle cars, from feeder lines. There won't be single cars waiting atthese draws--there will be trains, crowded trains. It won't beadvisable to delay a cable-train from eight to fifteen minutes whileboats are making their way through a draw. The public won't stand forthat very long, will it, do you think?"

"Not without making a row, probably, " replied McKenty. 

"Well, that means what, then?" asked Cowperwood. "Is the traffic goingto get any lighter? Is the river going to dry up?"

Mr. McKenty stared. Suddenly his face lighted. "Oh, I see, " he said, shrewdly. "It's those tunnels you're thinking about. Are they in anyshape to be used?"

"They can be made over cheaper than new ones can be built. "

"True for you, " replied McKenty, "and if they're in any sort of repairthey'd be just what you'd want. " He was emphatic, almost triumphant. "They belong to the city. They cost pretty near a million apiece, those things. "

"I know it, " said Cowperwood. "Now, do you see what I'm driving at?"

"Do I see!" smiled McKenty. "That's a real idea you have, Cowperwood. I take off my hat to you. Say what you want. "

"Well, then, in the first place, " replied Cowperwood, genially, "it isagreed that the city won't part with those two tunnels under anycircumstances until we can see what can be done about this othermatter?"

"It will not. "

"In the next place, it is understood, is it, that you won't make it anyeasier than you can possibly help for the North and West Side companiesto get ordinances extending their lines, or anything else, from now on?I shall want to introduce some franchises for feeders and outlyinglines myself. "

"Bring in your ordinances, " replied McKenty, "and I'll do whatever yousay. I've worked with you before. I know that you keep your word. "

"Thanks, " said Cowperwood, warmly. "I know the value of keeping it. In the mean while I'll go ahead and see what can be done about theother matter. I don't know just how many men I will need to let in onthis, or just what form the organization will take. But you may dependupon it that your interests will be properly taken care of, and thatwhatever is done will be done with your full knowledge and consent. "

"All very good, " answered McKenty, thinking of the new field ofactivity before them. A combination between himself and Cowperwood ina matter like this must prove very beneficial to both. And he wassatisfied, because of their previous relations, that his own interestswould not be neglected. 

"Shall we go and see if we can find the ladies?" asked Cowperwood, jauntily, laying hold of the politician's arm. 

"To be sure, " assented McKenty, gaily. "It's a fine house you havehere--beautiful. And your wife is as pretty a woman as I ever saw, ifyou'll pardon the familiarity. "

"I have always thought she was rather attractive myself, " repliedCowperwood, innocently. 

Chapter XXII

Street-railways at Last

Among the directors of the North Chicago City company there was oneman, Edwin L. Kaffrath, who was young and of a forward-lookingtemperament. His father, a former heavy stockholder of this company, had recently died and left all his holdings and practically hisdirectorship to his only son. Young Kaffrath was by no means apractical street-railway man, though he fancied he could do very wellat it if given a chance. He was the holder of nearly eight hundred ofthe five thousand shares of stock; but the rest of it was so dividedthat he could only exercise a minor influence. Nevertheless, from theday of his entrance into the company--which was months beforeCowperwood began seriously to think over the situation--he had beenstrong for improvements--extensions, more franchises, better cars, better horses, stoves in the cars in winter, and the like, all of whichsuggestions sounded to his fellow-directors like mere manifestations ofthe reckless impetuosity of youth, and were almost uniformly opposed. 

"What's the matter with them cars?" asked Albert Thorsen, one of theelder directors, at one of the meetings at which Kaffrath was presentand offering his usual protest. "I don't see anything the matter with'em. I ride in em. "

Thorsen was a heavy, dusty, tobacco-bestrewn individual of sixty-six, who was a little dull but genial. He was in the paint business, andalways wore a very light steel-gray suit much crinkled in the seat andarms. 

"Perhaps that's what's the matter with them, Albert, " chirped up SolonKaempfaert, one of his cronies on the board. 

The sally drew a laugh. 

"Oh, I don't know. I see the rest of you on board often enough. "

"Why, I tell you what's the matter with them, " replied Kaffrath. "They're dirty, and they're flimsy, and the windows rattle so you can'thear yourself think. The track is no good, and the filthy straw wekeep in them in winter is enough to make a person sick. We don't keepthe track in good repair. I don't wonder people complain. I'dcomplain myself. "

"Oh, I don't think things are as bad as all that, " put in Onias C. Skinner, the president, who had a face which with its very shortside-whiskers was as bland as a Chinese god. He was sixty-eight yearsof age. "They're not the best cars in the world, but they're goodcars. They need painting and varnishing pretty badly, some of them, but outside of that there's many a good year's wear in them yet. I'dbe very glad if we could put in new rolling-stock, but the item ofexpense will be considerable. It's these extensions that we have tokeep building and the long hauls for five cents which eat up theprofits. " The so-called "long hauls" were only two or three miles atthe outside, but they seemed long to Mr. Skinner. 

"Well, look at the South Side, " persisted Kaffrath. "I don't know whatyou people are thinking of. Here's a cable system introduced inPhiladelphia. There's another in San Francisco. Some one has inventeda car, as I understand it, that's going to run by electricity, and herewe are running cars--barns, I call them--with straw in them. GoodLord, I should think it was about time that some of us took a tumble toourselves!"

"Oh, I don't know, " commented Mr. Skinner. "It seems to me we havedone pretty well by the North Side. We have done a good deal. "

Directors Solon Kaempfaert, Albert Thorsen, Isaac White, Anthony Ewer, Arnold C. Benjamin, and Otto Matjes, being solemn gentlemen all, merelysat and stared. 

The vigorous Kaffrath was not to be so easily repressed, however. Herepeated his complaints on other occasions. The fact that there wasalso considerable complaint in the newspapers from time to time inregard to this same North Side service pleased him in a way. Perhapsthis would be the proverbial fire under the terrapin which would causeit to move along. 

By this time, owing to Cowperwood's understanding with McKenty, allpossibility of the North Side company's securing additional franchisesfor unoccupied streets, or even the use of the La Salle Street tunnel, had ended. Kaffrath did not know this. Neither did the directors orofficers of the company, but it was true. In addition, McKenty, throughthe aldermen, who were at his beck and call on the North Side, wasbeginning to stir up additional murmurs and complaints in order todiscredit the present management. There was a great to-do in councilover a motion on the part of somebody to compel the North Side companyto throw out its old cars and lay better and heavier tracks. Curiously, this did not apply so much to the West and South Sides, which were in the same condition. The rank and file of the city, ignorant of the tricks which were constantly being employed in politicsto effect one end or another, were greatly cheered by this so-called"public uprising. " They little knew the pawns they were in the game, orhow little sincerity constituted the primal impulse. 

Quite by accident, apparently, one day Addison, thinking of thedifferent men in the North Side company who might be of service toCowperwood, and having finally picked young Kaffrath as the idealagent, introduced himself to the latter at the Union League. 

"That's a pretty heavy load of expense that's staring you North andWest Side street-railway people in the face, " he took occasion toobserve. 

"How's that?" asked Kaffrath, curiously, anxious to hear anything whichconcerned the development of the business. 

"Well, unless I'm greatly mistaken, you, all of you, are going to beput to the expense of doing over your lines completely in a very littlewhile--so I hear--introducing this new motor or cable system that theyare getting on the South Side. " Addison wanted to convey the impressionthat the city council or public sentiment or something was going toforce the North Chicago company to indulge in this great and expensiveseries of improvements. 

Kaffrath pricked up his ears. What was the city Council going to do?He wanted to know all about it. They discussed the wholesituation--the nature of the cable-conduits, the cost of thepower-houses, the need of new rails, and the necessity of heavierbridges, or some other means of getting over or under the river. Addison took very good care to point out that the Chicago City or SouthSide Railway was in a much more fortunate position than either of theother two by reason of its freedom from the river-crossing problem. Then he again commiserated the North Side company on its ratherdifficult position. "Your company will have a very great deal to do, Ifancy, " he reiterated. 

Kaffrath was duly impressed and appropriately depressed, for his eighthundred shares would be depressed in value by the necessity of heavyexpenditures for tunnels and other improvements. Nevertheless, therewas some consolation in the thought that such betterment, as Addisonnow described, would in the long run make the lines more profitable. But in the mean time there might be rough sailing. The old directorsought to act soon now, he thought. With the South Side company beingdone over, they would have to follow suit. But would they? How couldhe get them to see that, even though it were necessary to mortgage thelines for years to come, it would pay in the long run? He was sick ofold, conservative, cautious methods. 

After the lapse of a few weeks Addison, still acting for Cowperwood, had a second and private conference with Kaffrath. He said, afterexacting a promise of secrecy for the present, that since theirprevious conversation he had become aware of new developments. In theinterval he had been visited by several men of long connection withstreet-railways in other localities. They had been visiting variouscities, looking for a convenient outlet for their capital, and hadfinally picked on Chicago. They had looked over the various lineshere, and had decided that the North Chicago City Railway was as good afield as any. He then elaborated with exceeding care the idea whichCowperwood had outlined to him. Kaffrath, dubious at first, wasfinally won over. He had too long chafed under the dusty, pokyattitude of the old regime. He did not know who these new men were, but this scheme was in line with his own ideas. It would require, asAddison pointed out, the expenditure of several millions of dollars, and he did not see how the money could be raised without outsideassistance, unless the lines were heavily mortgaged. If these new menwere willing to pay a high rate for fifty-one per cent. Of this stockfor ninety-nine years and would guarantee a satisfactory rate ofinterest on all the stock as it stood, besides inaugurating a forwardpolicy, why not let them? It would be just as good as mortgaging thesoul out of the old property, and the management was of no value, anyhow. Kaffrath could not see how fortunes were to be made for thesenew investors out of subsidiary construction and equipment companies, in which Cowperwood would be interested, how by issuing watered stockon the old and new lines the latter need scarcely lay down a dollaronce he had the necessary opening capital (the "talking capital, " as hewas fond of calling it) guaranteed. Cowperwood and Addison had by nowagreed, if this went through, to organize the Chicago Trust Companywith millions back of it to manipulate all their deals. Kaffrath onlysaw a better return on his stock, possibly a chance to get in on the"ground plan, " as a new phrase expressed it, of the new company. 

"That's what I've been telling these fellows for the past three years, "he finally exclaimed to Addison, flattered by the latter's personalattention and awed by his great influence; "but they never have beenwilling to listen to me. The way this North Side system has beenmanaged is a crime. Why, a child could do better than we have done. They've saved on track and rolling-stock, and lost on population. People are what we want up there, and there is only one way that I knowof to get them, and that is to give them decent car service. I'll tellyou frankly we've never done it. "

Not long after this Cowperwood had a short talk with Kaffrath, in whichhe promised the latter not only six hundred dollars a share for all thestock he possessed or would part with on lease, but a bonus of newcompany stock for his influence. Kaffrath returned to the North Sidejubilant for himself and for his company. He decided after due thoughtthat a roundabout way would best serve Cowperwood's ends, a line ofsubtle suggestion from some seemingly disinterested party. Consequently he caused William Johnson, the directing engineer, toapproach Albert Thorsen, one of the most vulnerable of the directors, declaring he had heard privately that Isaac White, Arnold C. Benjamin, and Otto Matjes, three other directors and the heaviest owners, hadbeen offered a very remarkable price for their stock, and that theywere going to sell, leaving the others out in the cold. 

Thorsen was beside himself with grief. "When did you hear that?" heasked. 

Johnson told him, but for the time being kept the source of hisinformation secret. Thorsen at once hurried to his friend, SolonKaempfaert, who in turn went to Kaffrath for information. 

"I have heard something to that effect, " was Kaffrath's only comment, "but really I do not know. "

Thereupon Thorsen and Kaempfaert imagined that Kaffrath was in theconspiracy to sell out and leave them with no particularly valuablepickings. It was very sad. 

Meanwhile, Cowperwood, on the advice of Kaffrath, was approaching IsaacWhite, Arnold C. Benjamin, and Otto Matjes direct--talking with them asif they were the only three he desired to deal with. A little laterThorsen and Kaempfaert were visited in the same spirit, and agreed insecret fear to sell out, or rather lease at the very advantageous termsCowperwood offered, providing he could get the others to do likewise. This gave the latter a strong backing of sentiment on the board. Finally Isaac White stated at one of the meetings that he had beenapproached with an interesting proposition, which he then and thereoutlined. He was not sure what to think, he said, but the board mightlike to consider it. At once Thorsen and Kaempfaert were convinced thatall Johnson had suggested was true. It was decided to have Cowperwoodcome and explain to the full board just what his plan was, and this hedid in a long, bland, smiling talk. It was made plain that the roadwould have to be put in shape in the near future, and that thisproposed plan relieved all of them of work, worry, and care. Moreover, they were guaranteed more interest at once than they had expected toearn in the next twenty or thirty years. Thereupon it was agreed thatCowperwood and his plan should be given a trial. Seeing that if he didnot succeed in paying the proposed interest promptly the property oncemore became theirs, so they thought, and that he assumed allobligations--taxes, water rents, old claims, a few pensions--itappeared in the light of a rather idyllic scheme. 

"Well, boys, I think this is a pretty good day's work myself, " observedAnthony Ewer, laying a friendly hand on the shoulder of Mr. AlbertThorsen. "I'm sure we can all unite in wishing Mr. Cowperwood luckwith his adventure. " Mr. Ewer's seven hundred and fifteen shares, worthseventy-one thousand five hundred dollars, having risen to a valuationof four hundred and twenty-nine thousand dollars, he was naturallyjubilant. 

"You're right, " replied Thorsen, who was parting with four hundred andeighty shares out of a total of seven hundred and ninety, and seeingthem all bounce in value from two hundred to six hundred dollars. "He's an interesting man. I hope he succeeds. "

Cowperwood, waking the next morning in Aileen's room--he had been outlate the night before with McKenty, Addison, Videra, and others--turnedand, patting her neck where she was dozing, said: "Well, pet, yesterdayafternoon I wound up that North Chicago Street Railway deal. I'mpresident of the new North Side company just as soon as I get my boardof directors organized. We're going to be of some real consequence inthis village, after all, in a year or two. "

He was hoping that this fact, among other things, would end inmollifying Aileen toward him. She had been so gloomy, remote, wearythese many days--ever since the terrific assault on Rita. 

"Yes?" she replied, with a half-hearted smile, rubbing her waking eyes. She was clad in a foamy nightgown of white and pink. "That's nice, isn't it?"

Cowperwood brought himself up on one elbow and looked at her, smoothingher round, bare arms, which he always admired. The luminous richnessof her hair had never lost its charm completely. 

"That means that I can do the same thing with the Chicago West DivisionCompany in a year or so, " he went on. "But there's going to be a lotof talk about this, I'm afraid, and I don't want that just now. Itwill work out all right. I can see Schryhart and Merrill and some ofthese other people taking notice pretty soon. They've missed out on twoof the biggest things Chicago ever had--gas and railways. "

"Oh yes, Frank, I'm glad for you, " commented Aileen, rather drearily, who, in spite of her sorrow over his defection, was still glad that hewas going on and forward. "You'll always do all right. "

"I wish you wouldn't feel so badly, Aileen, " he said, with a kind ofaffectional protest. "Aren't you going to try and be happy with me?This is as much for you as for me. You will be able to pay up oldscores even better than I will. "

He smiled winningly. 

"Yes, " she replied, reproachfully but tenderly at that, a littlesorrowfully, "a lot of good money does me. It was your love I wanted. "

"But you have that, " he insisted. "I've told you that over and over. I never ceased to care for you really. You know I didn't. "

"Yes, I know, " she replied, even as he gathered her close in his arms. "I know how you care. " But that did not prevent her from responding tohim warmly, for back of all her fuming protest was heartache, the wishto have his love intact, to restore that pristine affection which shehad once assumed would endure forever. 

Chapter XXIII

The Power of the Press

The morning papers, in spite of the efforts of Cowperwood and hisfriends to keep this transfer secret, shortly thereafter were full ofrumors of a change in "North Chicago. " Frank Algernon Cowperwood, hitherto unmentioned in connection with Chicago street-railways, waspointed to as the probable successor to Onias C. Skinner, and Edwin L. Kaffrath, one of the old directors, as future vice-president. The menback of the deal were referred to as "in all likelihood Easterncapitalists. " Cowperwood, as he sat in Aileen's room examining thevarious morning papers, saw that before the day was over he would besought out for an expression of opinion and further details. Heproposed to ask the newspaper men to wait a few days until he couldtalk to the publishers of the papers themselves--win theirconfidence--and then announce a general policy; it would be somethingthat would please the city, and the residents of the North Side inparticular. At the same time he did not care to promise anything whichhe could not easily and profitably perform. He wanted fame andreputation, but he wanted money even more; he intended to get both. 

To one who had been working thus long in the minor realms of finance, as Cowperwood considered that he had so far been doing, this suddenupward step into the more conspicuous regions of high finance andcontrol was an all-inspiring thing. So long had he been stirring aboutin a lesser region, paving the way by hours and hours of privatethought and conference and scheming, that now when he actually hadachieved his end he could scarcely believe for the time being that itwas true. Chicago was such a splendid city. It was growing so fast. Its opportunities were so wonderful. These men who had thus foolishlyparted with an indefinite lease of their holdings had not reallyconsidered what they were doing. This matter of Chicagostreet-railways, once he had them well in hand, could be made to yieldsuch splendid profits! He could incorporate and overcapitalize. Manysubsidiary lines, which McKenty would secure for him for a song, wouldbe worth millions in the future, and they should be his entirely; hewould not be indebted to the directors of the old North Chicago companyfor any interest on those. By degrees, year by year, as the city grew, the lines which were still controlled by this old company, but werepractically his, would become a mere item, a central core, in the sovery much larger system of new lines which he would build up about it. Then the West Side, and even the South Side sections--but why dream? Hemight readily become the sole master of street-railway traffic inChicago! He might readily become the most princely financial figure inthe city--and one of the few great financial magnates of the nation. 

In any public enterprise of any kind, as he knew, where the suffragesof the people or the privileges in their possessions are desired, thenewspapers must always be considered. As Cowperwood even now wascasting hungry eyes in the direction of the two tunnels--one to be heldin view of an eventual assumption of the Chicago West Division Company, the other to be given to the North Chicago Street Railway, which he hadnow organized, it was necessary to make friends with the variouspublishers. How to go about it?

Recently, because of the influx of a heavy native and foreign-bornpopulation (thousands and thousands of men of all sorts and conditionslooking for the work which the growth of the city seemed to promise), and because of the dissemination of stirring ideas through radicalindividuals of foreign groups concerning anarchism, socialism, communism, and the like, the civic idea in Chicago had become mostacute. This very May, in which Cowperwood had been going aboutattempting to adjust matters in his favor, there had been a tremendousnational flare-up, when in a great public place on the West Side knownas the Haymarket, at one of a number of labor meetings, dubbedanarchistic because of the principles of some of the speakers, a bombhad been hurled by some excited fanatic, which had exploded and maimedor killed a number of policemen, injuring slightly several others. This had brought to the fore, once and for all, as by a flash oflightning, the whole problem of mass against class, and had given itsuch an airing as in view of the cheerful, optimistic, almostinconsequential American mind had not previously been possible. Itchanged, quite as an eruption might, the whole face of the commerciallandscape. Man thought thereafter somewhat more accurately of nationaland civic things. What was anarchism? What socialism? What rights hadthe rank and file, anyhow, in economic and governmental development?Such were interesting questions, and following the bomb--which acted asa great stone cast in the water--these ripple-rings of thought werestill widening and emanating until they took in such supposedly remoteand impregnable quarters as editorial offices, banks and financialinstitutions generally, and the haunts of political dignitaries andtheir jobs. 

In the face of this, however, Cowperwood was not disturbed. He did notbelieve in either the strength of the masses or their ultimate rights, though he sympathized with the condition of individuals, and didbelieve that men like himself were sent into the world to betterperfect its mechanism and habitable order. Often now, in thesepreliminary days, he looked at the large companies of men with theirhorses gathered in and about the several carbarns of the company, andwondered at their state. So many of them were so dull. They wererather like animals, patient, inartistic, hopeless. He thought oftheir shabby homes, their long hours, their poor pay, and thenconcluded that if anything at all could be done for them it would bepay them decent living wages, which he proposed to do--nothing more. They could not be expected to understand his dreams or his visions, orto share in the magnificence and social dominance which he craved. Hefinally decided that it would be as well for him to personally visitthe various newspaper publishers and talk the situation over with them. Addison, when consulted as to this project, was somewhat dubious. Hehad small faith in the newspapers. 

He had seen them play petty politics, follow up enmities and personalgrudges, and even sell out, in certain cases, for pathetically smallrewards. 

"I tell you how it is, Frank, " remarked Addison, on one occasion. "Youwill have to do all this business on cotton heels, practically. Youknow that old gas crowd are still down on you, in spite of the factthat you are one of their largest stockholders. Schryhart isn't at allfriendly, and he practically owns the Chronicle. Ricketts will justabout say what he wants him to say. Hyssop, of the Mail and theTranscript, is an independent man, but he's a Presbyterian and a cold, self-righteous moralist. Braxton's paper, the Globe, practicallybelongs to Merrill, but Braxton's a nice fellow, at that. Old GeneralMacDonald, of the Inquirer, is old General MacDonald. It's allaccording to how he feels when he gets up in the morning. If he shouldchance to like your looks he might support you forever and foreveruntil you crossed his conscience in some way. He's a fine old walrus. I like him. Neither Schryhart nor Merrill nor any one else can getanything out of him unless he wants to give it. He may not live somany years, however, and I don't trust that son of his. Haguenin, ofthe Press, is all right and friendly to you, as I understand. Otherthings being equal, I think he'd naturally support you in anything hethought was fair and reasonable. Well, there you have them. Get themall on your side if you can. Don't ask for the LaSalle Street tunnelright away. Let it come as an afterthought--a great public need. Themain thing will be to avoid having the other companies stirring up areal fight against you. Depend on it, Schryhart will be thinkingpretty hard about this whole business from now on. As forMerrill--well, if you can show him where he can get something out of itfor his store, I guess he'll be for you. "

It is one of the splendid yet sinister fascinations of life that thereis no tracing to their ultimate sources all the winds of influence thatplay upon a given barque--all the breaths of chance that fill or desertour bellied or our sagging sails. We plan and plan, but who by takingthought can add a cubit to his stature? Who can overcome or even assistthe Providence that shapes our ends, rough hew them as we may. Cowperwood was now entering upon a great public career, and the variouseditors and public personalities of the city were watching him withinterest. Augustus M. Haguenin, a free agent with his organ, thePress, and yet not free, either, because he was harnessed to thenecessity of making his paper pay, was most interested. Lacking thecommanding magnetism of a man like MacDonald, he was nevertheless anhonest man, well-intentioned, thoughtful, careful. Haguenin, eversince the outcome of Cowperwood's gas transaction, had been intenselyinterested in the latter's career. It seemed to him that Cowperwoodwas probably destined to become a significant figure. Raw, glitteringforce, however, compounded of the cruel Machiavellianism of nature, ifit be but Machiavellian, seems to exercise a profound attraction forthe conventionally rooted. Your cautious citizen of average means, looking out through the eye of his dull world of seeming fact, is oftenthe first to forgive or condone the grim butcheries of theory by whichthe strong rise. Haguenin, observing Cowperwood, conceived of him as aman perhaps as much sinned against as sinning, a man who would befaithful to friends, one who could be relied upon in hours of greatstress. As it happened, the Haguenins were neighbors of theCowperwoods, and since those days when the latter had attemptedunsuccessfully to enter Chicago society this family had been asacceptable as any of those who had remained friendly. 

And so, when Cowperwood arrived one day at the office of the Press in ablowing snow-storm--it was just before the Christmas holidays--Hagueninwas glad to see him. "It's certainly real winter weather we're havingnow, isn't it?" he observed, cheerfully. "How goes the North ChicagoStreet Railway business?" For months he, with the other publishers, hadbeen aware that the whole North Side was to be made over by finecable-tracks, power-houses, and handsome cars; and there already wastalk that some better arrangement was to be made to bring thepassengers into the down-town section. 

"Mr. Haguenin, " said Cowperwood, smilingly--he was arrayed in a heavyfur coat, with a collar of beaver and driving-gauntlets of dogskin--"wehave reached the place in this street-railway problem on the North Sidewhere we are going to require the assistance of the newspapers, or atleast their friendly support. At present our principal difficulty isthat all our lines, when they come down-town, stop at Lake Street--justthis side of the bridges. That means a long walk for everybody to allthe streets south of it, and, as you probably know, there has beenconsiderable complaint. Besides that, this river traffic is becomingmore and more what I may say it has been for years--an intolerablenuisance. We have all suffered from it. No effort has ever been madeto regulate it, and because it is so heavy I doubt whether it ever canbe systematized in any satisfactory way. The best thing in the longrun would be to tunnel under the river; but that is such an expensiveproposition that, as things are now, we are in no position to undertakeit. The traffic on the North Side does not warrant it. It really doesnot warrant the reconstruction of the three bridges which we now use atState, Dearborn, and Clark; yet, if we introduce the cable system, which we now propose, these bridges will have to be done over. Itseems to me, seeing that this is an enterprise in which the public isas much interested almost as we are, that it would only be fair if thecity should help pay for this reconstruction work. All the landadjacent to these lines, and the property served by them, will begreatly enhanced in value. The city's taxing power will risetremendously. I have talked to several financiers here in Chicago, andthey agree with me; but, as is usual in all such cases, I find thatsome of the politicians are against me. Since I have taken charge ofthe North Chicago company the attitude of one or two papers has notbeen any too friendly. " (In the Chronicle, controlled by Schryhart, there had already been a number of references to the probability thatnow, since Cowperwood and his friends were in charge, the sky-rocketingtactics of the old Lake View, Hyde Park, and other gas organizationswould be repeated. Braxton's Globe, owned by Merrill, beingsemi-neutral, had merely suggested that it hoped that no such methodswould be repeated here. ) "Perhaps you may know, " Cowperwood continued, "that we have a very sweeping programme of improvement in mind, if wecan obtain proper public consideration and assistance. "

At this point he reached down in one of his pockets and drew forthastutely drafted maps and blue-prints, especially prepared for thisoccasion. They showed main cable lines on North Clark, La Salle, andWells streets. These lines coming down-town converged at Illinois andLa Salle streets on the North Side--and though Cowperwood made noreference to it at the moment, they were indicated on the map in red asrunning over or under the river at La Salle Street, where was nobridge, and emerging therefrom, following a loop along La Salle toMunroe, to Dearborn, to Randolph, and thence into the tunnel again. Cowperwood allowed Haguenin to gather the very interesting trafficsignificance of it all before he proceeded. 

"On the map, Mr. Haguenin, I have indicated a plan which, if we cangain the consent of the city, will obviate any quarrel as to the greatexpense of reconstructing the bridges, and will make use of a piece ofproperty which is absolutely without value to the city at present, butwhich can be made into something of vast convenience to the public. Iam referring, as you see"--he laid an indicative finger on the map inMr. Haguenin's hands--"to the old La Salle Street tunnel, which is nowboarded up and absolutely of no use to any one. It was builtapparently under a misapprehension as to the grade the average loadedwagon could negotiate. When it was found to be unprofitable it wassold to the city and locked up. If you have ever been through it youknow what condition it is in. My engineers tell me the walls areleaking, and that there is great danger of a cave-in unless it is veryspeedily repaired. I am also told that it will require about fourhundred thousand dollars to put it in suitable condition for use. Mytheory is that if the North Chicago Street Railway is willing to go tothis expense for the sake of solving this bridge-crush problem, andgiving the residents of the North Side a sensible and uninterruptedservice into the business heart, the city ought to be willing to makeus a present of this tunnel for the time being, or at least a longlease at a purely nominal rental. "

Cowperwood paused to see what Haguenin would say. 

The latter was looking at the map gravely, wondering whether it wasfair for Cowperwood to make this demand, wondering whether the cityshould grant it to him without compensation, wondering whether thebridge-traffic problem was as serious as he pointed out, wondering, indeed, whether this whole move was not a clever ruse to obtainsomething for nothing. 

"And what is this?" he asked, laying a finger on the aforementionedloop. 

"That, " replied Cowperwood, "is the only method we have been able tofigure out of serving the down-town business section and the NorthSide, and of solving this bridge problem. If we obtain the tunnel, asI hope we shall, all the cars of these North Side lines will emergehere"--he pointed to La Salle and Randolph--"and swing around--that is, they will if the city council give us the right of way. I think, ofcourse, there can be no reasonable objection to that. There is noreason why the citizens of the North Side shouldn't have as comfortablean access to the business heart as those of the West or South Side. "

"None in the world, " Mr. Haguenin was compelled to admit. "Are yousatisfied, however, that the council and the city should sanction thegift of a loop of this kind without some form of compensation?"

"I see no reason why they shouldn't, " replied Cowperwood, in a somewhatinjured tone. "There has never been any question of compensation whereother improvements have been suggested for the city in the past. TheSouth Side company has been allowed to turn in a loop around State andWabash. The Chicago City Passenger Railway has a loop in Adams andWashington streets. "

"Quite so, " said Mr. Haguenin, vaguely. "That is true. But thistunnel, now--do you think that should fall in the same category ofpublic beneficences?"

At the same time he could not help thinking, as he looked at theproposed loop indicated on the map, that the new cable line, with itsstring of trailers, would give down-town Chicago a truly metropolitanair and would provide a splendid outlet for the North Side. Thestreets in question were magnificent commercial thoroughfares, crowdedeven at this date with structures five, six, seven, and even eightstories high, and brimming with heavy streams of eager life--young, fresh, optimistic. Because of the narrow area into which thecommercial life of the city tended to congest itself, this property andthese streets were immensely valuable--among the most valuable in thewhole city. Also he observed that if this loop did come here its cars, on their return trip along Dearborn Street, would pass by his verydoor--the office of the Press--thereby enhancing the value of thatproperty of which he was the owner. 

"I certainly do, Mr. Haguenin, " returned Cowperwood, emphatically, inanswer to his query. "Personally, I should think Chicago would be gladto pay a bonus to get its street-railway service straightened out, especially where a corporation comes forward with a liberal, conservative programme such as this. It means millions in growth ofproperty values on the North Side. It means millions to the businessheart to have this loop system laid down just as I suggest. "

He put his finger firmly on the map which he had brought, and Hagueninagreed with him that the plan was undoubtedly a sound businessproposition. "Personally, I should be the last to complain, " he added, "for the line passes my door. At the same time this tunnel, as Iunderstand it, cost in the neighborhood of eight hundred thousand or amillion dollars. It is a delicate problem. I should like to know whatthe other editors think of it, and how the city council itself wouldfeel toward it. "

Cowperwood nodded. "Certainly, certainly, " he said. "With pleasure. Iwould not come here at all if I did not feel that I had a perfectlylegitimate proposition--one that the press of the city should unite insupporting. Where a corporation such as ours is facing largeexpenditures, which have to be financed by outside capital, it is onlynatural that we should wish to allay useless, groundless opposition inadvance. I hope we may command your support. "

"I hope you may, " smiled Mr. Haguenin. They parted the best of friends. 

The other publishers, guardians of the city's privileges, were notquite so genial as Haguenin in their approval of Cowperwood'sproposition. The use of a tunnel and several of the most importantdown-town streets might readily be essential to the development ofCowperwood's North Side schemes, but the gift of them was a differentmatter. Already, as a matter of fact, the various publishers andeditors had been consulted by Schryhart, Merrill, and others with aview to discovering how they felt as to this new venture, and whetherCowperwood would be cheerfully indorsed or not. Schryhart, smartingfrom the wounds he had received in the gas war, viewed this newactivity on Cowperwood's part with a suspicious and envious eye. Tohim much more than to the others it spelled a new and dangerous foe inthe street-railway field, although all the leading citizens of Chicagowere interested. 

"I suppose now, " he said one evening to the Hon. Walter MelvilleHyssop, editor and publisher of the Transcript and the Evening Mail, whom he met at the Union League, "that this fellow Cowperwood willattempt some disturbing coup in connection with street-railway affairs. He is just the sort. I think, from an editorial point of view, hispolitical connections will bear watching. " Already there were rumorsabroad that McKenty might have something to do with the new company. 

Hyssop, a medium-sized, ornate, conservative person, was not so sure. "We shall find out soon enough, no doubt, what propositions Mr. Cowperwood has in hand, " he remarked. "He is very energetic andcapable, as I understand it. "

Hyssop and Schryhart, as well as the latter and Merrill, had beensocial friends for years and years. 

After his call on Mr. Haguenin, Cowperwood's naturally selective andself-protective judgment led him next to the office of the Inquirer, old General MacDonald's paper, where he found that because ofrhuematism and the severe, inclement weather of Chicago, the oldGeneral had sailed only a few days before for Italy. His son, anaggressive, mercantile type of youth of thirty-two, and a managingeditor by the name of Du Bois were acting in his stead. In the son, Truman Leslie MacDonald, an intense, calm, and penetrating young man, Cowperwood encountered some one who, like himself, saw life only fromthe point of view of sharp, self-centered, personal advantage. Whatwas he, Truman Leslie MacDonald, to derive from any given situation, and how was he to make the Inquirer an even greater property than ithad been under his father before him? He did not propose to beoverwhelmed by the old General's rather flowery reputation. At thesame time he meant to become imposingly rich. An active member of ayoung and very smart set which had been growing up on the North Side, he rode, drove, was instrumental in organizing a new and exclusivecountry club, and despised the rank and file as unsuited to the fineatmosphere to which he aspired. Mr. Clifford Du Bois, the managingeditor, was a cool reprobate of forty, masquerading as a gentleman, andusing the Inquirer in subtle ways for furthering his personal ends, andthat under the old General's very nose. He was osseous, sandy-haired, blue-eyed, with a keen, formidable nose and a solid chin. Clifford DuBois was always careful never to let his left hand know what his righthand did. 

It was this sapient pair that received Cowperwood in the old General'sabsence, first in Mr. Du Bois's room and then in that of Mr. MacDonald. The latter had already heard much of Cowperwood's doings. Men who hadbeen connected with the old gas war--Jordan Jules, for instance, president of the old North Chicago Gas Company, and Hudson Baker, president of the old West Chicago Gas Company--had denounced him longbefore as a bucaneer who had pirated them out of very comfortablesinecures. Here he was now invading the North Chicago street-railwayfield and coming with startling schemes for the reorganization of thedown-town business heart. Why shouldn't the city have something inreturn; or, better yet, those who helped to formulate the publicopinion, so influential in the success of Cowperwood's plans? TrumanLeslie MacDonald, as has been said, did not see life from his father'spoint of view at all. He had in mind a sharp bargain, which he coulddrive with Cowperwood during the old gentleman's absence. The Generalneed never know. 

"I understand your point of view, Mr. Cowperwood, " he commented, loftily, "but where does the city come in? I see very clearly howimportant this is to the people of the North Side, and even to themerchants and real-estate owners in the down-town section; but thatsimply means that it is ten times as important to you. Undoubtedly, itwill help the city, but the city is growing, anyhow, and that will helpyou. I've said all along that these public franchises were worth morethan they used to be worth. Nobody seems to see it very clearly asyet, but it's true just the same. That tunnel is worth more now thanthe day it was built. Even if the city can't use it, somebody can. "

He was meaning to indicate a rival car line. 

Cowperwood bristled internally. 

"That's all very well, " he said, preserving his surface composure, "butwhy make fish of one and flesh of another? The South Side company has aloop for which it never paid a dollar. So has the Chicago CityPassenger Railway. The North Side company is planning more extensiveimprovements than were ever undertaken by any single company before. Ihardly think it is fair to raise the question of compensation and afranchise tax at this time, and in connection with this one companyonly. "

"Um--well, that may be true of the other companies. The South Sidecompany had those streets long ago. They merely connected them up. But this tunnel, now--that's a different matter, isn't it? The citybought and paid for that, didn't it?"

"Quite true--to help out men who saw that they couldn't make anotherdollar out of it, " said Cowperwood, acidly. "But it's of no use to thecity. It will cave in pretty soon if it isn't repaired. Why, theconsent of property-owners alone, along the line of this loop, is goingto aggregate a considerable sum. It seems to me instead of hampering agreat work of this kind the public ought to do everything in its powerto assist it. It means giving a new metropolitan flavor to thisdown-town section. It is time Chicago was getting out of its swaddlingclothes. "

Mr. MacDonald, the younger, shook his head. He saw clearly enough thesignificance of the points made, but he was jealous of Cowperwood andof his success. This loop franchise and tunnel gift meant millions forsome one. Why shouldn't there be something in it for him? He called inMr. Du Bois and went over the proposition with him. Quite withouteffort the latter sensed the drift of the situation. 

"It's an excellent proposition, " he said. "I don't see but that thecity should have something, though. Public sentiment is rather againstgifts to corporations just at present. "

Cowperwood caught the drift of what was in young MacDonald's mind. 

"Well, what would you suggest as a fair rate of compensation to thecity?" he asked, cautiously, wondering whether this aggressive youthwould go so far as to commit himself in any way. 

"Oh, well, as to that, " MacDonald replied, with a deprecatory wave ofhis hand, "I couldn't say. It ought to bear a reasonable relationshipto the value of the utility as it now stands. I should want to thinkthat over. I shouldn't want to see the city demand anythingunreasonable. Certainly, though, there is a privilege here that isworth something. "

Cowperwood flared inwardly. His greatest weakness, if he had one, wasthat he could but ill brook opposition of any kind. This youngupstart, with his thin, cool face and sharp, hard eyes! He would haveliked to tell him and his paper to go to the devil. He went away, hoping that he could influence the Inquirer in some other way upon theold General's return. 

As he was sitting next morning in his office in North Clark Street hewas aroused by the still novel-sounding bell of the telephone--one ofthe earliest in use--on the wall back of him. After a parley with hissecretary, he was informed that a gentleman connected with the Inquirerwished to speak with him. 

"This is the Inquirer, " said a voice which Cowperwood, his ear to thereceiver, thought he recognized as that of young Truman MacDonald, theGeneral's son. "You wanted to know, " continued the voice, "what wouldbe considered adequate compensation so far as that tunnel matter isconcerned. Can you hear me?"

"Yes, " replied Cowperwood. 

"Well, I should not care to influence your judgment one way or theother; but if my opinion were asked I should say about fifty thousanddollars' worth of North Chicago Street Railway stock would besatisfactory. "

The voice was young, clear, steely. 

"To whom would you suggest that it might be paid?" Cowperwood asked, softly, quite genially. 

"That, also, I would suggest, might be left to your very soundjudgment. "

The voice ceased. The receiver was hung up. 

"Well, I'll be damned!" Cowperwood said, looking at the floorreflectively. A smile spread over his face. "I'm not going to be heldup like that. I don't need to be. It isn't worth it. Not at present, anyhow. " His teeth set. 

He was underestimating Mr. Truman Leslie MacDonald, principally becausehe did not like him. He thought his father might return and oust him. It was one of the most vital mistakes he ever made in his life. 

Chapter XXIV

The Coming of Stephanie Platow

During this period of what might have been called financial andcommercial progress, the affairs of Aileen and Cowperwood had been to acertain extent smoothed over. Each summer now, partly to take Aileen'smind off herself and partly to satisfy his own desire to see the worldand collect objects of art, in which he was becoming more and moreinterested, it was Cowperwood's custom to make with his wife a shorttrip abroad or to foreign American lands, visiting in these two yearsRussia, Scandinavia, Argentine, Chili, and Mexico. Their plan was toleave in May or June with the outward rush of traffic, and return inSeptember or early October. His idea was to soothe Aileen as much aspossible, to fill her mind with pleasing anticipations as to hereventual social triumph somewhere--in New York or London, if notChicago--to make her feel that in spite of his physical desertion hewas still spiritually loyal. 

By now also Cowperwood was so shrewd that he had the ability tosimulate an affection and practise a gallantry which he did not feel, or, rather, that was not backed by real passion. He was the soul ofattention; he would buy her flowers, jewels, knickknacks, andornaments; he would see that her comfort was looked after to the lastdetail; and yet, at the very same moment, perhaps, he would be lookingcautiously about to see what life might offer in the way of illicitentertainment. Aileen knew this, although she could not prove it to betrue. At the same time she had an affection and an admiration for theman which gripped her in spite of herself. 

You have, perhaps, pictured to yourself the mood of some general whohas perhaps suffered a great defeat; the employee who after years offaithful service finds himself discharged. What shall life say to theloving when their love is no longer of any value, when all that hasbeen placed upon the altar of affection has been found to be a vainsacrifice? Philosophy? Give that to dolls to play with. Religion? Seekfirst the metaphysical-minded. Aileen was no longer the lithe, forceful, dynamic girl of 1865, when Cowperwood first met her. She wasstill beautiful, it is true, a fair, full-blown, matronly creature notmore than thirty-five, looking perhaps thirty, feeling, alas, that shewas a girl and still as attractive as ever. It is a grim thing to awoman, however fortunately placed, to realize that age is creeping on, and that love, that singing will-o'-the-wisp, is fading into theultimate dark. Aileen, within the hour of her greatest triumph, hadseen love die. It was useless to tell herself, as she did sometimes, that it might come back, revive. Her ultimately realistic temperamenttold her this could never be. Though she had routed Rita Sohlberg, shewas fully aware that Cowperwood's original constancy was gone. She wasno longer happy. Love was dead. That sweet illusion, with its pearlypink for heart and borders, that laughing cherub that lures withCupid's mouth and misty eye, that young tendril of the vine of lifethat whispers of eternal spring-time, that calls and calls whereaching, wearied feet by legion follow, was no longer in existence. 

In vain the tears, the storms, the self-tortures; in vain the looks inthe mirror, the studied examination of plump, sweet features stillfresh and inviting. One day, at the sight of tired circles under hereyes, she ripped from her neck a lovely ruche that she was adjustingand, throwing herself on her bed, cried as though her heart wouldbreak. Why primp? Why ornament? Her Frank did not love her. What toher now was a handsome residence in Michigan Avenue, the refinements ofa French boudoir, or clothing that ran the gamut of the dressmaker'sart, hats that were like orchids blooming in serried rows? In vain, invain! Like the raven that perched above the lintel of the door, sadmemory was here, grave in her widow weeds, crying "never more. " Aileenknew that the sweet illusion which had bound Cowperwood to her for atime had gone and would never come again. He was here. His step wasin the room mornings and evenings; at night for long prosaic, uninterrupted periods she could hear him breathing by her side, hishand on her body. There were other nights when he was not there--whenhe was "out of the city"--and she resigned herself to accept hisexcuses at their face value. Why quarrel? she asked herself. Whatcould she do? She was waiting, waiting, but for what?

And Cowperwood, noting the strange, unalterable changes which timeworks in us all, the inward lap of the marks of age, the flutedrecession of that splendor and radiance which is youth, sighed at timesperhaps, but turned his face to that dawn which is forever breakingwhere youth is. Not for him that poetic loyalty which substitutes forthe perfection of young love its memories, or takes for the glitter ofpassion and desire that once was the happy thoughts ofcompanionship--the crystal memories that like early dews congealedremain beaded recollections to comfort or torture for the end of formerjoys. On the contrary, after the vanishing of Rita Sohlberg, with allthat she meant in the way of a delicate insouciance which Aileen hadnever known, his temperament ached, for he must have something likethat. Truth to say, he must always have youth, the illusion of beauty, vanity in womanhood, the novelty of a new, untested temperament, quiteas he must have pictures, old porcelain, music, a mansion, illuminatedmissals, power, the applause of the great, unthinking world. 

As has been said, this promiscuous attitude on Cowperwood's part wasthe natural flowering out of a temperament that was chronicallypromiscuous, intellectually uncertain, and philosophically anarchistic. From one point of view it might have been said of him that he wasseeking the realization of an ideal, yet to one's amazement our veryideals change at times and leave us floundering in the dark. What isan ideal, anyhow? A wraith, a mist, a perfume in the wind, a dream offair water. The soul-yearning of a girl like Antoinette Nowak was alittle too strained for him. It was too ardent, too clinging, and hehad gradually extricated himself, not without difficulty, from thatparticular entanglement. Since then he had been intimate with otherwomen for brief periods, but to no great satisfaction--Dorothy Ormsby, Jessie Belle Hinsdale, Toma Lewis, Hilda Jewell; but they shall benames merely. One was an actress, one a stenographer, one the daughterof one of his stock patrons, one a church-worker, a solicitor forcharity coming to him to seek help for an orphan's home. It was apathetic mess at times, but so are all defiant variations from theaccustomed drift of things. In the hardy language of Napoleon, onecannot make an omelette without cracking a number of eggs. 

The coming of Stephanie Platow, Russian Jewess on one side of herfamily, Southwestern American on the other, was an event inCowperwood's life. She was tall, graceful, brilliant, young, with muchof the optimism of Rita Sohlberg, and yet endowed with a strangefatalism which, once he knew her better, touched and moved him. He mether on shipboard on the way to Goteborg. Her father, Isadore Platow, was a wealthy furrier of Chicago. He was a large, meaty, oily type ofman--a kind of ambling, gelatinous formula of the male, with the usualsound commercial instincts of the Jew, but with an errant philosophywhich led him to believe first one thing and then another so long asneither interfered definitely with his business. He was an admirer ofHenry George and of so altruistic a programme as that of Robert Owen, and, also, in his way, a social snob. And yet he had married SusettaOsborn, a Texas girl who was once his bookkeeper. Mrs. Platow waslithe, amiable, subtle, with an eye always to the main socialchance--in other words, a climber. She was shrewd enough to realizethat a knowledge of books and art and current events was essential, andso she "went in" for these things. 

It is curious how the temperaments of parents blend and revivify intheir children. As Stephanie grew up she had repeated in her verydiffering body some of her father's and mother's characteristics--aninteresting variability of soul. She was tall, dark, sallow, lithe, with a strange moodiness of heart and a recessive, fulgurous gleam inher chestnut-brown, almost brownish-black eyes. She had a full, sensuous, Cupid's mouth, a dreamy and even languishing expression, agraceful neck, and a heavy, dark, and yet pleasingly modeled face. From both her father and mother she had inherited a penchant for art, literature, philosophy, and music. Already at eighteen she wasdreaming of painting, singing, writing poetry, writing books, acting--anything and everything. Serene in her own judgment of whatwas worth while, she was like to lay stress on any silly mood or fad, thinking it exquisite--the last word. Finally, she was a rankvoluptuary, dreaming dreams of passionate union with first one and thenanother type of artist, poet, musician--the whole gamut of the artisticand emotional world. 

Cowperwood first saw her on board the Centurion one June morning, asthe ship lay at dock in New York. He and Aileen were en route forNorway, she and her father and mother for Denmark and Switzerland. Shewas hanging over the starboard rail looking at a flock of wide-wingedgulls which were besieging the port of the cook's galley. She wasmusing soulfully--conscious (fully) that she was musing soulfully. Hepaid very little attention to her, except to note that she was tall, rhythmic, and that a dark-gray plaid dress, and an immense veil of graysilk wound about her shoulders and waist and over one arm, after themanner of a Hindu shawl, appeared to become her much. Her face seemedvery sallow, and her eyes ringed as if indicating dyspepsia. Her blackhair under a chic hat did not escape his critical eye. Later she andher father appeared at the captain's table, to which the Cowperwoodshad also been invited. 

Cowperwood and Aileen did not know how to take this girl, though sheinterested them both. They little suspected the chameleon character ofher soul. She was an artist, and as formless and unstable as water. It was a mere passing gloom that possessed her. Cowperwood liked thesemi-Jewish cast of her face, a certain fullness of the neck, her dark, sleepy eyes. But she was much too young and nebulous, he thought, andhe let her pass. On this trip, which endured for ten days, he saw muchof her, in different moods, walking with a young Jew in whom she seemedgreatly interested, playing at shuffleboard, reading solemnly in acorner out of the reach of the wind or spray, and usually lookingnaive, preternaturally innocent, remote, dreamy. At other times sheseemed possessed of a wild animation, her eyes alight, her expressionvigorous, an intense glow in her soul. Once he saw her bent over asmall wood block, cutting a book-plate with a thin steel graving tool. 

Because of Stephanie's youth and seeming unimportance, her lack of whatmight be called compelling rosy charm, Aileen had become reasonablyfriendly with the girl. Far subtler, even at her years, than Aileen, Stephanie gathered a very good impression of the former, of her mentalgirth, and how to take her. She made friends with her, made abook-plate for her, made a sketch of her. She confided to Aileen thatin her own mind she was destined for the stage, if her parents wouldpermit; and Aileen invited her to see her husband's pictures on theirreturn. She little knew how much of a part Stephanie would play inCowperwood's life. 

The Cowperwoods, having been put down at Goteborg, saw no more of thePlatows until late October. Then Aileen, being lonely, called to seeStephanie, and occasionally thereafter Stephanie came over to the SouthSide to see the Cowperwoods. She liked to roam about their house, todream meditatively in some nook of the rich interior, with a book forcompany. She liked Cowperwood's pictures, his jades, his missals, hisancient radiant glass. From talking with Aileen she realized that thelatter had no real love for these things, that her expressions ofinterest and pleasure were pure make-believe, based on their value aspossessions. For Stephanie herself certain of the illuminated booksand bits of glass had a heavy, sensuous appeal, which only the trulyartistic can understand. They unlocked dark dream moods and pageantsfor her. She responded to them, lingered over them, experiencedstrange moods from them as from the orchestrated richness of music. 

And in doing so she thought of Cowperwood often. Did he really likethese things, or was he just buying them to be buying them? She hadheard much of the pseudo artistic--the people who made a show of art. She recalled Cowperwood as he walked the deck of the Centurion. Sheremembered his large, comprehensive, embracing blue-gray eyes thatseemed to blaze with intelligence. He seemed to her quite obviously amore forceful and significant man than her father, and yet she couldnot have said why. He always seemed so trigly dressed, so well puttogether. There was a friendly warmth about all that he said or did, though he said or did little. She felt that his eyes were mocking, thatback in his soul there was some kind of humor over something which shedid not understand quite. 

After Stephanie had been back in Chicago six months, during which timeshe saw very little of Cowperwood, who was busy with his street-railwayprogramme, she was swept into the net of another interest which carriedher away from him and Aileen for the time being. On the West Side, among a circle of her mother's friends, had been organized an AmateurDramatic League, with no less object than to elevate the stage. Thatworld-old problem never fails to interest the new and theinexperienced. It all began in the home of one of the new rich of theWest Side--the Timberlakes. They, in their large house on AshlandAvenue, had a stage, and Georgia Timberlake, a romantic-minded girl oftwenty with flaxen hair, imagined she could act. Mrs. Timberlake, afat, indulgent mother, rather agreed with her. The whole idea, after afew discursive performances of Milton's "The Masque of Comus, " "Pyramusand Thisbe, " and an improved Harlequin and Columbine, written by one ofthe members, was transferred to the realm of the studios, thenquartered in the New Arts Building. An artist by the name of LaneCross, a portrait-painter, who was much less of an artist than he was astage director, and not much of either, but who made his living byhornswaggling society into the belief that he could paint, was inducedto take charge of these stage performances. 

By degrees the "Garrick Players, " as they chose to call themselves, developed no little skill and craftsmanship in presenting one form andanother of classic and semi-classic play. "Romeo and Juliet, " with fewproperties of any kind, "The Learned Ladies" of Moliere, Sheridan's"The Rivals, " and the "Elektra" of Sophocles were all given. Considerable ability of one kind and another was developed, the groupincluding two actresses of subsequent repute on the American stage, oneof whom was Stephanie Platow. There were some ten girls and womenamong the active members, and almost as many men--a variety ofcharacters much too extended to discuss here. There was a dramaticcritic by the name of Gardner Knowles, a young man, very smug andhandsome, who was connected with the Chicago Press. Whipping hisneatly trousered legs with his bright little cane, he used to appear atthe rooms of the players at the Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday teaswhich they inaugurated, and discuss the merits of the venture. Thusthe Garrick Players were gradually introduced into the newspapers. Lane Cross, the smooth-faced, pasty-souled artist who had charge, was arake at heart, a subtle seducer of women, who, however, escapeddetection by a smooth, conventional bearing. He was interested in suchgirls as Georgia Timberlake, Irma Ottley, a rosy, aggressive maiden whoessayed comic roles, and Stephanie Platow. These, with another girl, Ethel Tuckerman, very emotional and romantic, who could dancecharmingly and sing, made up a group of friends which became veryclose. Presently intimacies sprang up, only in this realm, instead ofending in marriage, they merely resulted in sex liberty. Thus EthelTuckerman became the mistress of Lane Cross; an illicit attachment grewup between Irma Ottley and a young society idler by the name of BlissBridge; and Gardner Knowles, ardently admiring Stephanie Platowliterally seized upon her one afternoon in her own home, when he wentostensibly to interview her, and overpersuaded her. She was onlyreasonably fond of him, not in love; but, being generous, nebulous, passionate, emotional, inexperienced, voiceless, and vainly curious, without any sense of the meums and teums that govern society in suchmatters, she allowed this rather brutal thing to happen. She was not acoward--was too nebulous and yet forceful to be such. Her parentsnever knew. And once so launched, another world--that of sexsatisfaction--began to dawn on her. 

Were these young people evil? Let the social philosopher answer. Onething is certain: They did not establish homes and raise children. Onthe contrary, they led a gay, butterfly existence for nearly two years;then came a gift in the lute. Quarrels developed over parts, respective degrees of ability, and leadership. Ethel Tuckerman fell outwith Lane Cross, because she discovered him making love to Irma Ottley. Irma and Bliss Bridge released each other, the latter transferring hisaffections to Georgia Timberlake. Stephanie Platow, by far the mostindividual of them all, developed a strange inconsequence as to herdeeds. It was when she was drawing near the age of twenty that theaffair with Gardner Knowles began. After a time Lane Cross, with hissomewhat earnest attempt at artistic interpretation and his superiorityin the matter of years--he was forty, and young Knowles onlytwenty-four--seemed more interesting to Stephanie, and he was quick torespond. There followed an idle, passionate union with this man, whichseemed important, but was not so at all. And then it was thatStephanie began dimly to perceive that it was on and on that theblessings lie, that somewhere there might be some man much moreremarkable than either of these; but this was only a dream. Shethought of Cowperwood at times; but he seemed to her to be too wrappedup in grim tremendous things, far apart from this romantic world ofamateur dramatics in which she was involved. 

Chapter XXV

Airs from the Orient

Cowperwood gained his first real impression of Stephanie at the GarrickPlayers, where he went with Aileen once to witness a performance of"Elektra. " He liked Stephanie particularly in this part, and thoughther beautiful. One evening not long afterward he noticed her in hisown home looking at his jades, particularly a row of bracelets andear-rings. He liked the rhythmic outline of her body, which remindedhim of a letter S in motion. Quite suddenly it came over him that shewas a remarkable girl--very--destined, perhaps, to some significantfuture. At the same time Stephanie was thinking of him. 

"Do you find them interesting?" he asked, stopping beside her. 

"I think they're wonderful. Those dark-greens, and that pale, fattywhite! I can see how beautiful they would be in a Chinese setting. Ihave always wished we could find a Chinese or Japanese play to producesometime. "

"Yes, with your black hair those ear-rings would look well, " saidCowperwood. 

He had never deigned to comment on a feature of hers before. Sheturned her dark, brown-black eyes on him--velvety eyes with a kind ofblack glow in them--and now he noticed how truly fine they were, andhow nice were her hands--brown almost as a Malay's. 

He said nothing more; but the next day an unlabeled box was deliveredto Stephanie at her home containing a pair of jade ear-rings, abracelet, and a brooch with Chinese characters intagliated. Stephaniewas beside herself with delight. She gathered them up in her hands andkissed them, fastening the ear-rings in her ears and adjusting thebracelet and ring. Despite her experience with her friends andrelatives, her stage associates, and her paramours, she was still alittle unschooled in the world. Her heart was essentially poetic andinnocent. No one had ever given her much of anything--not even herparents. Her allowance thus far in life had been a pitiful six dollarsa week outside of her clothing. As she surveyed these pretty things inthe privacy of her room she wondered oddly whether Cowperwood wasgrowing to like her. Would such a strong, hard business man beinterested in her? She had heard her father say he was becoming veryrich. Was she a great actress, as some said she was, and would strong, able types of men like Cowperwood take to her--eventually? She hadheard of Rachel, of Nell Gwynne, of the divine Sarah and her loves. She took the precious gifts and locked them in a black-iron box whichwas sacred to her trinkets and her secrets. 

The mere acceptance of these things in silence was sufficientindication to Cowperwood that she was of a friendly turn of mind. Hewaited patiently until one day a letter came to his office--not hishouse--addressed, "Frank Algernon Cowperwood, Personal. " It was writtenin a small, neat, careful hand, almost printed. 

I don't know how to thank you for your wonderful present. I didn'tmean you should give them to me, and I know you sent them. I shallkeep them with pleasure and wear them with delight. It was so nice ofyou to do this. 

 STEPHANIE PLATOW. 

Cowperwood studied the handwriting, the paper, the phraseology. For agirl of only a little over twenty this was wise and reserved andtactful. She might have written to him at his residence. He gave herthe benefit of a week's time, and then found her in his own home oneSunday afternoon. Aileen had gone calling, and Stephanie waspretending to await her return. 

"It's nice to see you there in that window, " he said. "You fit yourbackground perfectly. "

"Do I?" The black-brown eyes burned soulfully. The panneling back ofher was of dark oak, burnished by the rays of an afternoon winter sun. 

Stephanie Platow had dressed for this opportunity. Her full, rich, short black hair was caught by a childish band of blood-red ribbon, holding it low over her temples and ears. Her lithe body, soharmonious in its graven roundness, was clad in an apple-green bodice, and a black skirt with gussets of red about the hem; her smooth arms, from the elbows down, were bare. On one wrist was the jade bracelet hehad given her. Her stockings were apple-green silk, and, despite thechill of the day, her feet were shod in enticingly low slippers withbrass buckles. 

Cowperwood retired to the hall to hang up his overcoat and came backsmiling. 

"Isn't Mrs. Cowperwood about?"

"The butler says she's out calling, but I thought I'd wait a littlewhile, anyhow. She may come back. "

She turned up a dark, smiling face to him, with languishing, inscrutable eyes, and he recognized the artist at last, full and clear. 

"I see you like my bracelet, don't you?"

"It's beautiful, " she replied, looking down and surveying it dreamily. "I don't always wear it. I carry it in my muff. I've just put it onfor a little while. I carry them all with me always. I love them so. I like to feel them. "

She opened a small chamois bag beside her--lying with her handkerchiefand a sketch-book which she always carried--and took out the ear-ringsand brooch. 

Cowperwood glowed with a strange feeling of approval and enthusiasm atthis manifestation of real interest. He liked jade himself very much, but more than that the feeling that prompted this expression inanother. Roughly speaking, it might have been said of him that youthand hope in women--particularly youth when combined with beauty andambition in a girl--touched him. He responded keenly to her impulse todo or be something in this world, whatever it might be, and he lookedon the smart, egoistic vanity of so many with a kindly, tolerant, almost parental eye. Poor little organisms growing on the tree oflife--they would burn out and fade soon enough. He did not know theballad of the roses of yesteryear, but if he had it would have appealedto him. He did not care to rifle them, willy-nilly; but should theirtemperaments or tastes incline them in his direction, they would notsuffer vastly in their lives because of him. The fact was, the man wasessentially generous where women were concerned. 

"How nice of you!" he commented, smiling. "I like that. " And then, seeing a note-book and pencil beside her, he asked, "What are youdoing?"

"Just sketching. "

"Let me see?"

"It's nothing much, " she replied, deprecatingly. "I don't draw verywell. "

"Gifted girl!" he replied, picking it up. "Paints, draws, carves onwood, plays, sings, acts. "

"All rather badly, " she sighed, turning her head languidly and lookingaway. In her sketch-book she had put all of her best drawings; therewere sketches of nude women, dancers, torsos, bits of running figures, sad, heavy, sensuous heads and necks of sleeping girls, chins up, eyelids down, studies of her brothers and sister, and of her father andmother. 

"Delightful!" exclaimed Cowperwood, keenly alive to a new treasure. Good heavens, where had been his eyes all this while? Here was a jewellying at his doorstep--innocent, untarnished--a real jewel. Thesedrawings suggested a fire of perception, smoldering and somber, whichthrilled him. 

"These are beautiful to me, Stephanie, " he said, simply, a strange, uncertain feeling of real affection creeping over him. The man'sgreatest love was for art. It was hypnotic to him. "Did you everstudy art?" he asked. 

"No. "

"And you never studied acting?"

"No. "

She shook her head in a slow, sad, enticing way. The black hairconcealing her ears moved him strangely. 

"I know the art of your stage work is real, and you have a natural artwhich I just seem to see. What has been the matter with me, anyhow?"

"Oh no, " she sighed. "It seems to me that I merely play at everything. I could cry sometimes when I think how I go on. "

"At twenty?"

"That is old enough, " she smiled, archly. 

"Stephanie, " he asked, cautiously, "how old are you, exactly?"

"I will be twenty-one in April, " she answered. 

"Have your parents been very strict with you?"

She shook her head dreamily. "No; what makes you ask? They haven'tpaid very much attention to me. They've always liked Lucille andGilbert and Ormond best. " Her voice had a plaintive, neglected ring. It was the voice she used in her best scenes on the stage. 

"Don't they realize that you are very talented?"

"I think perhaps my mother feels that I may have some ability. Myfather doesn't, I'm sure. Why?"

She lifted those languorous, plaintive eyes. 

"Why, Stephanie, if you want to know, I think you're wonderful. Ithought so the other night when you were looking at those jades. It allcame over me. You are an artist, truly, and I have been so busy I havescarcely seen it. Tell me one thing. "

"Yes. "

She drew in a soft breath, filling her chest and expanding her bosom, while she looked at him from under her black hair. Her hands werecrossed idly in her lap. Then she looked demurely down. 

"Look, Stephanie! Look up! I want to ask you something. You have knownsomething of me for over a year. Do you like me?"

"I think you're very wonderful, " she murmured. 

"Is that all?"

"Isn't that much?" she smiled, shooting a dull, black-opal look in hisdirection. 

"You wore my bracelet to-day. Were you very glad to get it?"

"Oh yes, " she sighed, with aspirated breath, pretending a kind ofsuffocation. 

"How beautiful you really are!" he said, rising and looking down at her. 

She shook her head. 

"No. "

"Yes!"

"No. "

"Come, Stephanie! Stand by me and look at me. You are so tall andslender and graceful. You are like something out of Asia. "

She sighed, turning in a sinuous way, as he slipped his arm her. "Idon't think we should, should we?" she asked, naively, after a moment, pulling away from him. 

"Stephanie!"

"I think I'd better go, now, please. "

Chapter XXVI

Love and War

It was during the earlier phases of his connection with Chicagostreet-railways that Cowperwood, ardently interesting himself inStephanie Platow, developed as serious a sex affair as any that had yetheld him. At once, after a few secret interviews with her, he adoptedhis favorite ruse in such matters and established bachelor quarters inthe down-town section as a convenient meeting-ground. Severalconversations with Stephanie were not quite as illuminating as theymight have been, for, wonderful as she was--a kind of artistic godsendin this dull Western atmosphere--she was also enigmatic and elusive, very. He learned speedily, in talking with her on several days whenthey met for lunch, of her dramatic ambitions, and of the seemingspiritual and artistic support she required from some one who wouldhave faith in her and inspire her by his or her confidence. He learnedall about the Garrick Players, her home intimacies and friends, thegrowing quarrels in the dramatic organization. He asked her, as theysat in a favorite and inconspicuous resort of his finding, during oneof those moments when blood and not intellect was ruling between them, whether she had ever--

"Once, " she naively admitted. 

It was a great shock to Cowperwood. He had fancied her refreshinglyinnocent. But she explained it was all so accidental, so unintentionalon her part, very. She described it all so gravely, soulfully, pathetically, with such a brooding, contemplative backward searching ofthe mind, that he was astonished and in a way touched. What a pity! Itwas Gardner Knowles who had done this, she admitted. But he was notvery much to blame, either. It just happened. She had tried toprotest, but-- Wasn't she angry? Yes, but then she was sorry to doanything to hurt Gardner Knowles. He was such a charming boy, and hehad such a lovely mother and sister, and the like. 

Cowperwood was astonished. He had reached that point in life where theabsence of primal innocence in a woman was not very significant; but inStephanie, seeing that she was so utterly charming, it was almost toobad. He thought what fools the Platows must be to tolerate this artatmosphere for Stephanie without keeping a sharp watch over it. Nevertheless, he was inclined to believe from observation thus far thatStephanie might be hard to watch. She was ingrainedly irresponsible, apparently--so artistically nebulous, so non-self-protective. To go onand be friends with this scamp! And yet she protested that never afterthat had there been the least thing between them. Cowperwood couldscarcely believe it. She must be lying, and yet he liked her so. Thevery romantic, inconsequential way in which she narrated all thisstaggered, amused, and even fascinated him. 

"But, Stephanie, " he argued, curiously, "there must been some aftermathto all this. What happened? What did you do?"

"Nothing. " She shook her head. 

He had to smile. 

"But oh, don't let's talk about it!" she pleaded. "I don't want to. It hurts me. There was nothing more. "

She sighed, and Cowperwood meditated. The evil was now done, and thebest that he could do, if he cared for her at all--and he did--was tooverlook it. He surveyed her oddly, wonderingly. What a charming soulshe was, anyhow! How naive--how brooding! She had art--lots of it. Didhe want to give her up?

As he might have known, it was dangerous to trifle with a type of thiskind, particularly once awakened to the significance of promiscuity, and unless mastered by some absorbing passion. Stephanie had had toomuch flattery and affection heaped upon her in the past two years to beeasily absorbed. Nevertheless, for the time being, anyhow, she wasfascinated by the significance of Cowperwood. It was wonderful to haveso fine, so powerful a man care for her. She conceived of him as avery great artist in his realm rather than as a business man, and hegrasped this fact after a very little while and appreciated it. To hisdelight, she was even more beautiful physically than he hadanticipated--a smoldering, passionate girl who met him with a firewhich, though somber, quite rivaled his own. She was different, too, in her languorous acceptance of all that he bestowed from any one hehad ever known. She was as tactful as Rita Sohlberg--more so--but sopreternaturally silent at times. 

"Stephanie, " he would exclaim, "do talk. What are you thinking of? Youdream like an African native. "

She merely sat and smiled in a dark way or sketched or modeled him. She was constantly penciling something, until moved by the fever of herblood, when she would sit and look at him or brood silently, eyes down. Then, when he would reach for her with seeking hands, she would sigh, "Oh yes, oh yes!"

Those were delightful days with Stephanie. 

In the matter of young MacDonald's request for fifty thousand dollarsin securities, as well as the attitude of the other editors--Hyssop, Braxton, Ricketts, and so on--who had proved subtly critical, Cowperwood conferred with Addison and McKenty. 

"A likely lad, that, " commented McKenty, succintly, when he heard it. "He'll do better than his father in one way, anyhow. He'll probablymake more money. "

McKenty had seen old General MacDonald just once in his life, and likedhim. 

"I should like to know what the General would think of that if heknew, " commented Addison, who admired the old editor greatly. "I'mafraid he wouldn't sleep very well. "

"There is just one thing, " observed Cowperwood, thoughtfully. "Thisyoung man will certainly come into control of the Inquirer sometime. He looks to me like some one who would not readily forget an injury. "He smiled sardonically. So did McKenty and Addison. 

"Be that as it may, " suggested the latter, "he isn't editor yet. "McKenty, who never revealed his true views to any one but Cowperwood, waited until he had the latter alone to observe:

What can they do? Your request is a reasonable one. Why shouldn't thecity give you the tunnel? It's no good to anyone as it is. And the loopis no more than the other roads have now. I'm thinking it's theChicago City Railway and that silk-stocking crowd on State Street orthat gas crowd that's talking against you. I've heard them before. Give them what they want, and it's a fine moral cause. Give it toanyone else, and there's something wrong with it. It's littleattention I pay to them. We have the council, let it pass theordinances. It can't be proved that they don't do it willingly. Themayor is a sensible man. He'll sign them. Let young MacDonald talk ifhe wants to. If he says too much you can talk to his father. As forHyssop, he's an old grandmother anyhow. I've never known him to be fora public improvement yet that was really good for Chicago unlessSchryhart or Merrill or Arneel or someone else of that crowd wanted it. I know them of old. My advice is to go ahead and never mind them. Tohell with them! Things will be sweet enough, once you are as powerfulas they are. They'll get nothing in the future without paying for it. It's little enough they've ever done to further anything that I wanted. 

Cowperwood, however, remained cool and thoughtful. Should he pay youngMacDonald? he asked himself. Addison knew of no influence that hecould bring to bear. Finally, after much thought, he decided toproceed as he had planned. Consequently, the reporters around the CityHall and the council-chamber, who were in touch with Alderman ThomasDowling, McKenty's leader on the floor of council, and those who calledoccasionally--quite regularly, in fact--at the offices of the NorthChicago Street Railway Company, Cowperwood's comfortable new offices inthe North Side, were now given to understand that two ordinances--onegranting the free use of the La Salle Street tunnel for an unlimitedperiod (practically a gift of it), and another granting a right of wayin La Salle, Munroe, Dearborn, and Randolph streets for the proposedloop--would be introduced in council very shortly. Cowperwood granteda very flowery interview, in which he explained quite enthusiasticallyall that the North Chicago company was doing and proposed to do, andmade clear what a splendid development it would assure to the NorthSide and to the business center. 

At once Schryhart, Merrill, and some individuals connected with theChicago West Division Company, began to complain in the newspaperoffices and at the clubs to Ricketts, Braxton, young MacDonald, and theother editors. Envy of the pyrotechnic progress of the man was as mucha factor in this as anything else. It did not make the slightestdifference, as Cowperwood had sarcastically pointed out, that everyother corporation of any significance in Chicago had asked and receivedwithout money and without price. Somehow his career in connection withChicago gas, his venturesome, if unsuccessful effort to enter Chicagosociety, his self-acknowledged Philadelphia record, rendered thesensitive cohorts of the ultra-conservative exceedingly fearful. InSchryhart's Chronicle appeared a news column which was headed, "PlainGrab of City Tunnel Proposed. " It was a very truculent statement, andirritated Cowperwood greatly. The Press (Mr. Haguenin's paper), on theother hand, was most cordial to the idea of the loop, while appearingto be a little uncertain as to whether the tunnel should be grantedwithout compensation or not. Editor Hyssop felt called upon to insistthat something more than merely nominal compensation should be made forthe tunnel, and that "riders" should be inserted in the loop ordinancemaking it incumbent upon the North Chicago company to keep thosethoroughfares in full repair and well lighted. The Inquirer, under Mr. MacDonald, junior, and Mr. Du Bois, was in rumbling opposition. Nofree tunnels, it cried; no free ordinances for privileges in thedown-town heart. It had nothing to say about Cowperwood personally. The Globe, Mr. Braxton's paper, was certain that no free rights to thetunnel should be given, and that a much better route for the loop couldbe found--one larger and more serviceable to the public, one that mightbe made to include State Street or Wabash Avenue, or both, where Mr. Merrill's store was located. So it went, and one could see quiteclearly to what extent the interests of the public figured in themajority of these particular viewpoints. 

Cowperwood, individual, reliant, utterly indifferent to opposition ofany kind, was somewhat angered by the manner in which his overtures hadbeen received, but still felt that the best way out of his troubles wasto follow McKenty's advice and get power first. Once he had hiscable-conduit down, his new cars running, the tunnel rebuilt, brilliantly lighted, and the bridge crush disposed of, the public wouldsee what a vast change for the better had been made and would supporthim. Finally all things were in readiness and the ordinance jammedthrough. McKenty, being a little dubious of the outcome, had arocking-chair brought into the council-chamber itself during the hourswhen the ordinances were up for consideration. In this he sat, presumably as a curious spectator, actually as a master dictating thecourse of liquidation in hand. Neither Cowperwood nor any one elseknew of McKenty's action until too late to interfere with it. Addisonand Videra, when they read about it as sneeringly set forth in the newscolumns of the papers, lifted and then wrinkled their eyebrows. 

"That looks like pretty rough work to me, " commented Addison. "Ithought McKenty had more tact. That's his early Irish training. "

Alexander Rambaud, who was an admirer and follower of Cowperwood's, wondered whether the papers were lying, whether it really could be truethat Cowperwood had a serious political compact with McKenty whichwould allow him to walk rough-shod over public opinion. Rambaudconsidered Cowperwood's proposition so sane and reasonable that hecould not understand why there should be serious opposition, or whyCowperwood and McKenty should have to resort to such methods. 

However, the streets requisite for the loop were granted. The tunnelwas leased for nine hundred and ninety-nine years at the nominal sum offive thousand dollars per year. It was understood that the old bridgesover State, Dearborn, and Clark streets should be put in repair orremoved; but there was "a joker" inserted elsewhere which nullifiedthis. Instantly there were stormy outbursts in the Chronicle, Inquirer, and Globe; but Cowperwood, when he read them, merely smiled. "Let them grumble, " he said to himself. "I put a very reasonableproposition before them. Why should they complain? I'm doing more nowthan the Chicago City Railway. It's jealousy, that's all. IfSchryhart or Merrill had asked for it, there would have been nocomplaint. "

McKenty called at the offices of the Chicago Trust Company tocongratulate Cowperwood. "The boys did as I thought they would, " hesaid. "I had to be there, though, for I heard some one say that aboutten of them intended to ditch us at the last moment. "

"Good work, good work!" replied Cowperwood, cheerfully. "This row willall blow over. It would be the same whenever we asked. The air willclear up. We'll give them such a fine service that they'll forget allabout this, and be glad they gave us the tunnel. "

Just the same, the morning after the enabling ordinances had passed, there was much derogatory comment in influential quarters. Mr. NormanSchryhart, who, through his publisher, had been fulminating defensivelyagainst Cowperwood, stared solemnly at Mr. Ricketts when they met. 

"Well, " said the magnate, who imagined he foresaw a threatened attackon his Chicago City Street Railway preserves, "I see our friend Mr. Cowperwood has managed to get his own way with the council. I ammorally certain he uses money to get what he is after as freely as afireman uses water. He's as slippery as an eel. I should be glad ifwe could establish that there is a community of interest between himand these politicians around City Hall, or between him and Mr. McKenty. I believe he has set out to dominate this city politically as well asfinancially, and he'll need constant watching. If public opinion canbe aroused against him he may be dislodged in the course of time. Chicago may get too uncomfortable for him. I know Mr. McKentypersonally, but he is not the kind of man I care to do business with. "

Mr. Schryhart's method of negotiating at City Hall was through certainreputable but somewhat slow-going lawyers who were in the employ of theSouth Side company. They had never been able to reach Mr. McKenty atall. Ricketts echoed a hearty approval. "You're very right, " he said, with owlish smugness, adjusting a waistcoat button that had come loose, and smoothing his cuffs. "He's a prince of politicians. We'll have tolook sharp if we ever trap him" Mr. Ricketts would have been glad tosell out to Mr. Cowperwood, if he had not been so heavily obligated toMr. Schryhart. He had no especial affection for Cowperwood, but herecognized in him a coming man. 

Young MacDonald, talking to Clifford Du Bois in the office of theInquirer, and reflecting how little his private telephone message hadavailed him, was in a waspish, ironic frame of mind. 

"Well, " he said, "it seems our friend Cowperwood hasn't taken ouradvice. He may make his mark, but the Inquirer isn't through with himby a long shot. He'll be wanting other things from the city in thefuture. "

Clifford Du Bois regarded his acid young superior with a curious eye. He knew nothing of MacDonald's private telephone message to Cowperwood;but he knew how he himself would have dealt with the crafty financierhad he been in MacDonald's position. 

"Yes, Cowperwood is shrewd, " was his comment. "Pritchard, ourpolitical man, says the ways of the City Hall are greased straight upto the mayor and McKenty, and that Cowperwood can have anything hewants at any time. Tom Dowling eats out of his hand, and you know whatthat means. Old General Van Sickle is working for him in some way. Did you ever see that old buzzard flying around if there wasn'tsomething dead in the woods?"

"He's a slick one, " remarked MacDonald. "But as for Cowperwood, hecan't get away with this sort of thing very long. He's going too fast. He wants too much. "

Mr. Du Bois smiled quite secretly. It amused him to see how Cowperwoodhad brushed MacDonald and his objections aside--dispensed for the timebeing with the services of the Inquirer. Du Bois confidently believedthat if the old General had been at home he would have supported thefinancier. 

Within eight months after seizing the La Salle Street tunnel andgobbling four of the principal down-town streets for his loop, Cowperwood turned his eyes toward the completion of the second part ofthe programme--that of taking over the Washington Street tunnel and theChicago West Division Company, which was still drifting along under itsold horse-car regime. It was the story of the North Side company allover again. Stockholders of a certain type--the average--are extremelynervous, sensitive, fearsome. They are like that peculiar bivalve, theclam, which at the slightest sense of untoward pressure withdraws intoits shell and ceases all activity. The city tax department began byinstituting proceedings against the West Division company, compellingthem to disgorge various unpaid street-car taxes which had hithertobeen conveniently neglected. The city highway department wasconstantly jumping on them for neglect of street repairs. The citywater department, by some hocus-pocus, made it its business to discoverthat they had been stealing water. On the other hand were the smilingrepresentatives of Cowperwood, Kaifrath, Addison, Videra, and others, approaching one director or stockholder after another with glisteningaccounts of what a splendid day would set in for the Chicago WestDivision Company if only it would lease fifty-one per cent. Of itsholdings--fifty-one per cent. Of twelve hundred and fifty shares, parvalue two hundred dollars--for the fascinating sum of six hundreddollars per share, and thirty per cent. Interest on all stock notassumed. 

Who could resist? Starve and beat a dog on the one hand; wheedle, pet, and hold meat in front of it on the other, and it can soon be broughtto perform. Cowperwood knew this. His emissaries for good and evilwere tireless. In the end--and it was not long in coming--thedirectors and chief stockholders of the Chicago West Division Companysuccumbed; and then, ho! the sudden leasing by the Chicago WestDivision Company of all its property--to the North Chicago StreetRailway Company, lessee in turn of the Chicago City Passenger Railway, a line which Cowperwood had organized to take over the WashingtonStreet tunnel. How had he accomplished it? The question was on the tipof every financial tongue. Who were the men or the organizationproviding the enormous sums necessary to pay six hundred dollars pershare for six hundred and fifty shares of the twelve hundred and fiftybelonging to the old West Division company, and thirty per cent. Peryear on all the remainder? Where was the money coming from to cable allthese lines? It was simple enough if they had only thought. Cowperwoodwas merely capitalizing the future. 

Before the newspapers or the public could suitably protest, crowds ofmen were at work day and night in the business heart of the city, theirflaring torches and resounding hammers making a fitful bedlamic worldof that region; they were laying the first great cable loop andrepairing the La Salle Street tunnel. It was the same on the North andWest Sides, where concrete conduits were being laid, new grip andtrailer cars built, new car-barns erected, and large, shiningpower-houses put up. The city, so long used to the old bridge delays, the straw-strewn, stoveless horse-cars on their jumping rails, was agogto see how fine this new service would be. The La Salle Street tunnelwas soon aglow with white plaster and electric lights. The longstreets and avenues of the North Side were threaded with concrete-linedconduits and heavy street-rails. The powerhouses were completed andthe system was started, even while the contracts for the changes on theWest Side were being let. 

Schryhart and his associates were amazed at this swiftness of action, this dizzy phantasmagoria of financial operations. It looked very muchto the conservative traction interests of Chicago as if this younggiant out of the East had it in mind to eat up the whole city. TheChicago Trust Company, which he, Addison, McKenty, and others hadorganized to manipulate the principal phases of the local bond issues, and of which he was rumored to be in control, was in a flourishingcondition. Apparently he could now write his check for millions, andyet he was not beholden, so far as the older and more conservativemultimillionaires of Chicago were concerned, to any one of them. Theworst of it was that this Cowperwood--an upstart, a jail-bird, astranger whom they had done their best to suppress financially andostracize socially, had now become an attractive, even a sparklingfigure in the eyes of the Chicago public. His views and opinions onalmost any topic were freely quoted; the newspapers, even the mostantagonistic, did not dare to neglect him. Their owners were now fullyalive to the fact that a new financial rival had appeared who wasworthy of their steel. 

Chapter XXVII

A Financier Bewitched

It was interesting to note how, able though he was, and bound up withthis vast street-railway enterprise which was beginning to affectseveral thousand men, his mind could find intense relief andsatisfaction in the presence and actions of Stephanie Platow. It is nottoo much to say that in her, perhaps, he found revivified the spiritand personality of Rita Sohlberg. Rita, however, had not contemplateddisloyalty--it had never occurred to her to be faithless to Cowperwoodso long as he was fond of her any more than for a long time it had beenpossible for her, even after all his philanderings, to be faithless toSohlberg. Stephanie, on the other hand, had the strange feeling thataffection was not necessarily identified with physical loyalty, andthat she could be fond of Cowperwood and still deceive him--a factwhich was based on her lack as yet of a true enthusiasm for him. Sheloved him and she didn't. Her attitude was not necessarily identifiedwith her heavy, lizardish animality, though that had something to dowith it; but rather with a vague, kindly generosity which permitted herto feel that it was hard to break with Gardner Knowles and Lane Crossafter they had been so nice to her. Gardner Knowles had sung herpraises here, there, and everywhere, and was attempting to spread herfame among the legitimate theatrical enterprises which came to the cityin order that she might be taken up and made into a significant figure. Lane Cross was wildly fond of her in an inadequate way which made ithard to break with him, and yet certain that she would eventually. There was still another man--a young playwright and poet by the name ofForbes Gurney--tall, fair, passionate--who had newly arrived on thescene and was courting her, or, rather, being courted by her at oddmoments, for her time was her own. In her artistically errant way shehad refused to go to school like her sister, and was idling about, developing, as she phrased it, her artistic possibilities. 

Cowperwood, as was natural, heard much of her stage life. At first hetook all this palaver with a grain of salt, the babbling of an ardentnature interested in the flighty romance of the studio world. Bydegrees, however, he became curious as to the freedom of her actions, the ease with which she drifted from place to place--Lane Cross'sstudio; Bliss Bridge's bachelor rooms, where he appeared always to bereceiving his theatrical friends of the Garrick Players; Mr. GardnerKnowles's home on the near North Side, where he was frequentlyentertaining a party after the theater. It seemed to Cowperwood, to saythe least, that Stephanie was leading a rather free and inconsequentialexistence, and yet it reflected her exactly--the color of her soul. But he began to doubt and wonder. 

"Where were you, Stephanie, yesterday?" he would ask, when they met forlunch, or in the evenings early, or when she called at his new officeson the North Side, as she sometimes did to walk or drive with him. 

"Oh, yesterday morning I was at Lane Cross's studio trying on some ofhis Indian shawls and veils. He has such a lot of those things--someof the loveliest oranges and blues. You just ought to see me in them. I wish you might. "

"Alone?"

"For a while. I thought Ethel Tuckerman and Bliss Bridge would bethere, but they didn't come until later. Lane Cross is such a dear. He's sort of silly at times, but I like him. His portraits are sobizarre. "

She went off into a description of his pretentious but insignificantart. 

Cowperwood marveled, not at Lane Cross's art nor his shawls, but atthis world in which Stephanie moved. He could not quite make her out. He had never been able to make her explain satisfactorily that firstsingle relationship with Gardner Knowles, which she declared had endedso abruptly. Since then he had doubted, as was his nature; but thisgirl was so sweet, childish, irreconcilable with herself, like awandering breath of air, or a pale-colored flower, that he scarcelyknew what to think. The artistically inclined are not prone to quarrelwith an enticing sheaf of flowers. She was heavenly to him, coming in, as she did at times when he was alone, with bland eyes and yieldingherself in a kind of summery ecstasy. She had always somethingartistic to tell of storms, winds, dust, clouds, smoke forms, theoutline of buildings, the lake, the stage. She would cuddle in hisarms and quote long sections from "Romeo and Juliet, " "Paolo andFrancesca, " "The Ring and the Book, " Keats's "Eve of St. Agnes. " Hehated to quarrel with her, because she was like a wild rose or some artform in nature. Her sketch-book was always full of new things. Hermuff, or the light silk shawl she wore in summer, sometimes concealed amodeled figure of some kind which she would produce with a look likethat of a doubting child, and if he wanted it, if he liked it, he couldhave it. Cowperwood meditated deeply. He scarcely knew what to think. 

The constant atmosphere of suspicion and doubt in which he wascompelled to remain, came by degrees to distress and anger him. Whileshe was with him she was clinging enough, but when she was away she wasardently cheerful and happy. Unlike the station he had occupied in somany previous affairs, he found himself, after the first little while, asking her whether she loved him instead of submitting to the samequestion from her. 

He thought that with his means, his position, his future possibilitieshe had the power to bind almost any woman once drawn to hispersonality; but Stephanie was too young and too poetic to be greatlyimpaired by wealth and fame, and she was not yet sufficiently grippedby the lure of him. She loved him in her strange way; but she wasinterested also by the latest arrival, Forbes Gurney. This tall, melancholy youth, with brown eyes and pale-brown hair, was very poor. He hailed from southern Minnesota, and what between a penchant forjournalism, verse-writing, and some dramatic work, was somewhatundecided as to his future. His present occupation was that of aninstalment collector for a furniture company, which set him free, as arule, at three o'clock in the afternoon. He was trying, in a mooningway, to identify himself with the Chicago newspaper world, and was adiscovery of Gardner Knowles. 

Stephanie had seen him about the rooms of the Garrick Players. She hadlooked at his longish face with its aureole of soft, crinkly hair, hisfine wide mouth, deep-set eyes, and good nose, and had been touched byan atmosphere of wistfulness, or, let us say, life-hunger. GardnerKnowles brought a poem of his once, which he had borrowed from him, andread it to the company, Stephanie, Ethel Tuckerman, Lane Cross, andIrma Ottley assembled. 

"Listen to this, " Knowles had suddenly exclaimed, taking it out of hispocket. 

It concerned a garden of the moon with the fragrance of pale blossoms, a mystic pool, some ancient figures of joy, a quavered Lucidian tune. 

"With eerie flute and rhythmic thrum Of muted strings and beaten drum. "

Stephanie Platow had sat silent, caught by a quality that was akin toher own. She asked to see it, and read it in silence. 

"I think it's charming, " she said. 

Thereafter she hovered in the vicinity of Forbes Gurney. Why, shecould scarcely say. It was not coquetry. She just drew near, talkedto him of stage work and her plays and her ambitions. She sketched himas she had Cowperwood and others, and one day Cowperwood found threestudies of Forbes Gurney in her note-book idyllicly done, a note ofromantic feeling about them. 

"Who is this?" he asked. 

"Oh, he's a young poet who comes up to the Players--Forbes Gurney. He'sso charming; he's so pale and dreamy. "

Cowperwood contemplated the sketches curiously. His eyes clouded. 

"Another one of Stephanie's adherents, " he commented, teasingly. "It'sa long procession I've joined. Gardner Knowles, Lane Cross, BlissBridge, Forbes Gurney. "

Stephanie merely pouted moodily. 

"How you talk! Bliss Bridge, Gardner Knowles! I admit I like them all, but that's all I do do. They're just sweet and dear. You'd like LaneCross yourself; he's such a foolish old Polly. As for Forbes Gurney, he just drifts up there once in a while as one of the crowd. Iscarcely know him. "

"Exactly, " said Cowperwood, dolefully; "but you sketch him. " For somereason Cowperwood did not believe this. Back in his brain he did notbelieve Stephanie at all, he did not trust her. Yet he was intenselyfond of her--the more so, perhaps, because of this. 

"Tell me truly, Stephanie, " he said to her one day, urgently, and yetvery diplomatically. "I don't care at all, so far as your past isconcerned. You and I are close enough to reach a perfectunderstanding. But you didn't tell me the whole truth about you andKnowles, did you? Tell me truly now. I sha'n't mind. I can understandwell enough how it could have happened. It doesn't make the least bitof difference to me, really. "

Stephanie was off her guard for once, in no truly fencing mood. She wastroubled at times about her various relations, anxious to put herselfstraight with Cowperwood or with any one whom she truly liked. Compared to Cowperwood and his affairs, Cross and Knowles were trivial, and yet Knowles was interesting to her. Compared to Cowperwood, ForbesGurney was a stripling beggar, and yet Gurney had what Cowperwood didnot have--a sad, poetic lure. He awakened her sympathies. He was sucha lonely boy. Cowperwood was so strong, brilliant, magnetic. 

Perhaps it was with some idea of clearing up her moral status generallythat she finally said: "Well, I didn't tell you the exact truth aboutit, either. I was a little ashamed to. "

At the close of her confession, which involved only Knowles, and wasincomplete at that, Cowperwood burned with a kind of angry resentment. Why trifle with a lying prostitute? That she was an inconsequentialfree lover at twenty-one was quite plain. And yet there was somethingso strangely large about the girl, so magnetic, and she was sobeautiful after her kind, that he could not think of giving her up. She reminded him of himself. 

"Well, Stephanie, " he said, trampling under foot an impulse to insultor rebuke and dismiss her, "you are strange. Why didn't you tell methis before? I have asked and asked. Do you really mean to say thatyou care for me at all?"

"How can you ask that?" she demanded, reproachfully, feeling that shehad been rather foolish in confessing. Perhaps she would lose him now, and she did not want to do that. Because his eyes blazed with ajealous hardness she burst into tears. "Oh, I wish I had never toldyou! There is nothing to tell, anyhow. I never wanted to. "

Cowperwood was nonplussed. He knew human nature pretty well, and womannature; his common sense told him that this girl was not to be trusted, and yet he was drawn to her. Perhaps she was not lying, and thesetears were real. 

"And you positively assure me that this was all--that there wasn't anyone else before, and no one since?"

Stephanie dried her eyes. They were in his private rooms in RandolphStreet, the bachelor rooms he had fitted for himself as a changingplace for various affairs. 

"I don't believe you care for me at all, " she observed, dolefully, reproachfully. "I don't believe you understand me. I don't think youbelieve me. When I tell you how things are you don't understand. Idon't lie. I can't. If you are so doubting now, perhaps you hadbetter not see me any more. I want to be frank with you, but if youwon't let me--"

She paused heavily, gloomily, very sorrowfully, and Cowperwood surveyedher with a kind of yearning. What an unreasoning pull she had for him!He did not believe her, and yet he could not let her go. 

"Oh, I don't know what to think, " he commented, morosely. "I certainlydon't want to quarrel with you, Stephanie, for telling me the truth. Please don't deceive me. You are a remarkable girl. I can do so muchfor you if you will let me. You ought to see that. "

"But I'm not deceiving you, " she repeated, wearily. "I should thinkyou could see. "

"I believe you, " he went on, trying to deceive himself against hisbetter judgment. "But you lead such a free, unconventional life. "

"Ah, " thought Stephanie, "perhaps I talk too much. "

"I am very fond of you. You appeal to me so much. I love you, really. Don't deceive me. Don't run with all these silly simpletons. They arereally not worthy of you. I shall be able to get a divorce one ofthese days, and then I would be glad to marry you. "

"But I'm not running with them in the sense that you think. They'renot anything to me beyond mere entertainment. Oh, I like them, ofcourse. Lane Cross is a dear in his way, and so is Gardner Knowles. They have all been nice to me. "

Cowperwood's gorge rose at her calling Lane Cross dear. It incensedhim, and yet he held his peace. 

"Do give me your word that there will never be anything between you andany of these men so long as you are friendly with me?" he almostpleaded--a strange role for him. "I don't care to share you with anyone else. I won't. I don't mind what you have done in the past, but Idon't want you to be unfaithful in the future. "

"What a question! Of course I won't. But if you don't believe me--oh, dear--"

Stephanie sighed painfully, and Cowperwood's face clouded with angrythough well-concealed suspicion and jealousy. 

"Well, I'll tell you, Stephanie, I believe you now. I'm going to takeyour word. But if you do deceive me, and I should find it out, I willquit you the same day. I do not care to share you with any one else. What I can't understand, if you care for me, is how you can take somuch interest in all these affairs? It certainly isn't devotion to yourart that's impelling you, is it?"

"Oh, are you going to go on quarreling with me?" asked Stephanie, naively. "Won't you believe me when I say that I love you? Perhaps--"But here her histrionic ability came to her aid, and she sobbedviolently. 

Cowperwood took her in his arms. "Never mind, " he soothed. "I dobelieve you. I do think you care for me. Only I wish you weren't sucha butterfly temperament, Stephanie. "

So this particular lesion for the time being was healed. 

Chapter XXVIII

The Exposure of Stephanie

At the same time the thought of readjusting her relations so that theywould avoid disloyalty to Cowperwood was never further from Stephanie'smind. Let no one quarrel with Stephanie Platow. She was an unstablechemical compound, artistic to her finger-tips, not understood orproperly guarded by her family. Her interest in Cowperwood, his forceand ability, was intense. So was her interest in Forbes Gurney--theatmosphere of poetry that enveloped him. She studied him curiously onthe various occasions when they met, and, finding him bashful andrecessive, set out to lure him. She felt that he was lonely anddepressed and poor, and her womanly capacity for sympathy naturallybade her be tender. 

Her end was easily achieved. One night, when they were all out inBliss Bridge's single-sticker--a fast-sailing saucer--Stephanie andForbes Gurney sat forward of the mast looking at the silver moon trackwhich was directly ahead. The rest were in the cockpit "cuttingup"--laughing and singing. It was very plain to all that Stephanie wasbecoming interested in Forbes Gurney; and since he was charming and shewilful, nothing was done to interfere with them, except to throw anoccasional jest their way. Gurney, new to love and romance, scarcelyknew how to take his good fortune, how to begin. He told Stephanie ofhis home life in the wheat-fields of the Northwest, how his family hadmoved from Ohio when he was three, and how difficult were the labors hehad always undergone. He had stopped in his plowing many a day to standunder a tree and write a poem--such as it was--or to watch the birds orto wish he could go to college or to Chicago. She looked at him withdreamy eyes, her dark skin turned a copper bronze in the moonlight, herblack hair irradiated with a strange, luminous grayish blue. ForbesGurney, alive to beauty in all its forms, ventured finally to touch herhand--she of Knowles, Cross, and Cowperwood--and she thrilled from headto toe. This boy was so sweet. His curly brown hair gave him a kindof Greek innocence and aspect. She did not move, but waited, hoping hewould do more. 

"I wish I might talk to you as I feel, " he finally said, hoarsely, acatch in his throat. 

She laid one hand on his. 

"You dear!" she said. 

He realized now that he might. A great ecstasy fell upon him. Hesmoothed her hand, then slipped his arm about her waist, then venturedto kiss the dark cheek turned dreamily from him. Artfully her headsunk to his shoulder, and he murmured wild nothings--how divine shewas, how artistic, how wonderful! With her view of things, it couldonly end one way. She manoeuvered him into calling on her at her home, into studying her books and plays on the top-floor sitting-room, intohearing her sing. Once fully in his arms, the rest was easy bysuggestion. He learned she was no longer innocent, and then-- In themean time Cowperwood mingled his speculations concerning largepower-houses, immense reciprocating engines, the problem of a wagescale for his now two thousand employees, some of whom were threateningto strike, the problem of securing, bonding, and equipping the La SalleStreet tunnel and a down-town loop in La Salle, Munroe, Dearborn, andRandolph streets, with mental inquiries and pictures as to whatpossibly Stephanie Platow might be doing. He could only makeappointments with her from time to time. He did not fail to note that, after he began to make use of information she let drop as to herwhereabouts from day to day and her free companionship, he heard lessof Gardner Knowles, Lane Cross, and Forbes Gurney, and more of GeorgiaTimberlake and Ethel Tuckerman. Why this sudden reticence? On oneoccasion she did say of Forbes Gurney "that he was having such a hardtime, and that his clothes weren't as nice as they should be, poordear!" Stephanie herself, owing to gifts made to her by Cowperwood, wasresplendent these days. She took just enough to complete her wardrobeaccording to her taste. 

"Why not send him to me?" Cowperwood asked. "I might find something todo for him. " He would have been perfectly willing to put him in someposition where he could keep track of his time. However, Mr. Gurneynever sought him for a position, and Stephanie ceased to speak of hispoverty. A gift of two hundred dollars, which Cowperwood made her inJune, was followed by an accidental meeting with her and Gurney inWashington Street. Mr. Gurney, pale and pleasant, was very welldressed indeed. He wore a pin which Cowperwood knew had once belongedto Stephanie. She was in no way confused. Finally Stephanie let itout that Lane Cross, who had gone to New Hampshire for the summer, hadleft his studio in her charge. Cowperwood decided to have this studiowatched. 

There was in Cowperwood's employ at this time a young newspaper man, anambitious spark aged twenty-six, by the name of Francis Kennedy. Hehad written a very intelligent article for the Sunday Inquirer, describing Cowperwood and his plans, and pointing out what a remarkableman he was. This pleased Cowperwood. When Kennedy called one day, announcing smartly that he was anxious to get out of reportorial work, and inquiring whether he couldn't find something to do in thestreet-railway world, Cowperwood saw in him a possibly useful tool. 

"I'll try you out as secretary for a while, " he said, pleasantly. "There are a few special things I want done. If you succeed in those, I may find something else for you later. "

Kennedy had been working for him only a little while when he said tohim one day: "Francis, did you ever hear of a young man by the name ofForbes Gurney in the newspaper world?"

They were in Cowperwood's private office. 

"No, sir, " replied Francis, briskly. 

"You have heard of an organization called the Garrick Players, haven'tyou?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Well, Francis, do you suppose you could undertake a little piece ofdetective work for me, and handle it intelligently and quietly?"

"I think so, " said Francis, who was the pink of perfection this morningin a brown suit, garnet tie, and sard sleeve-links. His shoes wereimmaculately polished, and his young, healthy face glistened. 

"I'll tell you what I want you to do. There is a young actress, oramateur actress, by the name of Stephanie Platow, who frequents thestudio of an artist named Cross in the New Arts Building. She may evenoccupy it in his absence--I don't know. I want you to find out for mewhat the relations of Mr. Gurney and this woman are. I have certainbusiness reasons for wanting to know. "

Young Kennedy was all attention. 

"You couldn't tell me where I could find out anything about this Mr. Gurney to begin with, could you?" he asked. 

"I think he is a friend of a critic here by the name of GardnerKnowles. You might ask him. I need not say that you must nevermention me. 

"Oh, I understand that thoroughly, Mr. Cowperwood. " Young Kennedydeparted, meditating. How was he to do this? With true journalisticskill he first sought other newspaper men, from whom he learned--a bitfrom one and a scrap from another--of the character of the GarrickPlayers, and of the women who belonged to it. He pretended to bewriting a one-act play, which he hoped to have produced. 

He then visited Lane Cross's studio, posing as a newspaper interviewer. Mr. Cross was out of town, so the elevator man said. His studio wasclosed. 

Mr. Kennedy meditated on this fact for a moment. 

"Does any one use his studio during the summer months?" he asked. 

"I believe there is a young woman who comes here--yes. "

"You don't happen to know who it is?"

"Yes, I do. Her name is Platow. What do you want to know for?"

"Looky here, " exclaimed Kennedy, surveying the rather shabby attendantwith a cordial and persuasive eye, "do you want to make somemoney--five or ten dollars, and without any trouble to you?"

The elevator man, whose wages were exactly eight dollars a week, pricked up his ears. 

"I want to know who comes here with this Miss Platow, when theycome--all about it. I'll make it fifteen dollars if I find out what Iwant, and I'll give you five right now. "

The elevator factotum had just sixty-five cents in his pocket at thetime. He looked at Kennedy with some uncertainty and much desire. 

"Well, what can I do?" he repeated. "I'm not here after six. Thejanitor runs this elevator from six to twelve. "

"There isn't a room vacant anywhere near this one, is there?" Kennedyasked, speculatively. 

The factotum thought. "Yes, there is. One just across the hall. "

"What time does she come here as a rule?"

"I don't know anything about nights. In the day she sometimes comesmornings, sometimes in the afternoon. "

"Anybody with her?"

"Sometimes a man, sometimes a girl or two. I haven't really paid muchattention to her, to tell you the truth. "

Kennedy walked away whistling. 

From this day on Mr. Kennedy became a watcher over this veryunconventional atmosphere. He was in and out, principally observingthe comings and goings of Mr. Gurney. He found what he naturallysuspected, that Mr. Gurney and Stephanie spent hours here at peculiartimes--after a company of friends had jollified, for instance, and allhad left, including Gurney, when the latter would quietly return, withStephanie sometimes, if she had left with the others, alone if she hadremained behind. The visits were of varying duration, and Kennedy, tobe absolutely accurate, kept days, dates, the duration of the hours, which he left noted in a sealed envelope for Cowperwood in the morning. Cowperwood was enraged, but so great was his interest in Stephanie thathe was not prepared to act. He wanted to see to what extent herduplicity would go. 

The novelty of this atmosphere and its effect on him was astonishing. Although his mind was vigorously employed during the day, neverthelesshis thoughts kept returning constantly. Where was she? What was shedoing? The bland way in which she could lie reminded him of himself. To think that she should prefer any one else to him, especially at thistime when he was shining as a great constructive factor in the city, was too much. It smacked of age, his ultimate displacement by youth. It cut and hurt. 

One morning, after a peculiarly exasperating night of thoughtconcerning her, he said to young Kennedy: "I have a suggestion for you. I wish you would get this elevator man you are working with down thereto get you a duplicate key to this studio, and see if there is a bolton the inside. Let me know when you do. Bring me the key. The nexttime she is there of an evening with Mr. Gurney step out and telephoneme. "

The climax came one night several weeks after this discouraginginvestigation began. There was a heavy yellow moon in the sky, and awarm, sweet summer wind was blowing. Stephanie had called onCowperwood at his office about four to say that instead of stayingdown-town with him, as they had casually planned, she was going to herhome on the West Side to attend a garden-party of some kind at GeorgiaTimberlake's. Cowperwood looked at her with--for him--a morbid eye. He was all cheer, geniality, pleasant badinage; but he was thinking allthe while what a shameless enigma she was, how well she played herpart, what a fool she must take him to be. He gave her youth, herpassion, her attractiveness, her natural promiscuity of soul duecredit; but he could not forgive her for not loving him perfectly, ashad so many others. She had on a summery black-and-white frock and afetching brown Leghorn hat, which, with a rich-red poppy ornamenting aflare over her left ear and a peculiar ruching of white-and-black silkabout the crown, made her seem strangely young, debonair, a study inHebraic and American origins. 

"Going to have a nice time, are you?" he asked, genially, politically, eying her in his enigmatic and inscrutable way. "Going to shine amongthat charming company you keep! I suppose all the standbys will bethere--Bliss Bridge, Mr. Knowles, Mr. Cross--dancing attendance on you?"

He failed to mention Mr. Gurney. 

Stephanie nodded cheerfully. She seemed in an innocent outing mood. 

Cowperwood smiled, thinking how one of these days--very shortly, perhaps--he was certain to take a signal revenge. He would catch herin a lie, in a compromising position somewhere--in this studio, perhaps--and dismiss her with contempt. In an elder day, if they hadlived in Turkey, he would have had her strangled, sewn in a sack, andthrown into the Bosporus. As it was, he could only dismiss her. Hesmiled and smiled, smoothing her hand. "Have a good time, " he called, as she left. Later, at his own home--it was nearly midnight--Mr. Kennedy called him up. 

"Mr. Cowperwood?"

"Yes. "

"You know the studio in the New Arts Building?"

"Yes. "

"It is occupied now. "

Cowperwood called a servant to bring him his runabout. He had had adown-town locksmith make a round keystem with a bored clutch at the endof it--a hollow which would fit over the end of such a key as he had tothe studio and turn it easily from the outside. He felt in his pocketfor it, jumped in his runabout, and hurried away. When he reached theNew Arts Building he found Kennedy in the hall and dismissed him. "Thanks, " he observed, brusquely. "I will take care of this. "

He hurried up the stairs, avoiding the elevator, to the vacant roomopposite, and thence reconnoitered the studio door. It was as Kennedyhad reported. Stephanie was there, and with Gurney. The pale poet hadbeen brought there to furnish her an evening of delight. Because ofthe stillness of the building at this hour he could hear their muffledvoices speaking alternately, and once Stephanie singing the refrain ofa song. He was angry and yet grateful that she had, in her genial way, taken the trouble to call and assure him that she was going to a summerlawn-party and dance. He smiled grimly, sarcastically, as he thoughtof her surprise. Softly he extracted the clutch-key and inserted it, covering the end of the key on the inside and turning it. It gavesolidly without sound. He next tried the knob and turned it, feelingthe door spring slightly as he did so. Then inaudibly, because of agurgled laugh with which he was thoroughly familiar, he opened it andstepped in. 

At his rough, firm cough they sprang up--Gurney to a hiding positionbehind a curtain, Stephanie to one of concealment behind draperies onthe couch. She could not speak, and could scarcely believe that hereyes did not deceive her. Gurney, masculine and defiant, but by nomeans well composed, demanded: "Who are you? What do you want here?"Cowperwood replied very simply and smilingly: "Not very much. PerhapsMiss Platow there will tell you. " He nodded in her direction. 

Stephanie, fixed by his cold, examining eye, shrank nervously, ignoringGurney entirely. The latter perceived on the instant that he had aprevious liaison to deal with--an angry and outraged lover--and he wasnot prepared to act either wisely or well. 

"Mr. Gurney, " said Cowperwood, complacently, after staring at Stephaniegrimly and scorching her with his scorn, "I have no concern with you, and do not propose to do anything to disturb you or Miss Platow after avery few moments. I am not here without reason. This young woman hasbeen steadily deceiving me. She has lied to me frequently, andpretended an innocence which I did not believe. To-night she told meshe was to be at a lawn-party on the West Side. She has been mymistress for months. I have given her money, jewelry, whatever shewanted. Those jade ear-rings, by the way, are one of my gifts. " Henodded cheerfully in Stephanie's direction. "I have come here simplyto prove to her that she cannot lie to me any more. Heretofore, everytime I have accused her of things like this she has cried and lied. Ido not know how much you know of her, or how fond you are of her. Imerely wish her, not you, to know"--and he turned and stared atStephanie--"that the day of her lying to me is over. "

During this very peculiar harangue Stephanie, who, nervous, fearful, fixed, and yet beautiful, remained curled up in the corner of thesuggestive oriental divan, had been gazing at Cowperwood in a way whichplainly attested, trifle as she might with others, that she wasnevertheless fond of him--intensely so. His strong, solid figure, confronting her so ruthlessly, gripped her imagination, of which shehad a world. She had managed to conceal her body in part, but herbrown arms and shoulders, her bosom, trim knees, and feet were exposedin part. Her black hair and naive face were now heavy, distressed, sad. She was frightened really, for Cowperwood at bottom had alwaysoverawed her--a strange, terrible, fascinating man. Now she sat andlooked, seeking still to lure him by the pathetic cast of her face andsoul, while Cowperwood, scornful of her, and almost openly contemptuousof her lover, and his possible opposition, merely stood smiling beforethem. It came over her very swiftly now just what it was she waslosing--a grim, wonderful man. Beside him Gurney, the pale poet, wasrather thin--a mere breath of romance. She wanted to say something, tomake a plea; but it was so plain Cowperwood would have none of it, and, besides, here was Gurney. Her throat clogged, her eyes filled, evenhere, and a mystical bog-fire state of emotion succeeded the primaryone of opposition. Cowperwood knew the look well. It gave him theonly sense of triumph he had. 

"Stephanie, " he remarked, "I have just one word to say to you now. Wewill not meet any more, of course. You are a good actress. Stick toyour profession. You may shine in it if you do not merge it toocompletely with your loves. As for being a free lover, it isn'tincompatible with what you are, perhaps, but it isn't sociallyadvisable for you. Good night. "

He turned and walked quickly out. 

"Oh, Frank, " called Stephanie, in a strange, magnetized, despairingway, even in the face of her astonished lover. Gurney stared with hismouth open. 

Cowperwood paid no heed. Out he went through the dark hall and downthe stairs. For once the lure of a beautiful, enigmatic, immoral, andpromiscuous woman--poison flower though she was--was haunting him. "D-- her!" he exclaimed. "D-- the little beast, anyhow! The ----! The----!" He used terms so hard, so vile, so sad, all because he knew foronce what it was to love and lose--to want ardently in his way and notto have--now or ever after. He was determined that his path and thatof Stephanie Platow should never be allowed to cross again. 

Chapter XXIX

A Family Quarrel

It chanced that shortly before this liaison was broken off, sometroubling information was quite innocently conveyed to Aileen byStephanie Platow's own mother. One day Mrs. Platow, in calling on Mrs. Cowperwood, commented on the fact that Stephanie was graduallyimproving in her art, that the Garrick Players had experienced a greatdeal of trouble, and that Stephanie was shortly to appear in a newrole--something Chinese. 

"That was such a charming set of jade you gave her, " she volunteered, genially. "I only saw it the other day for the first time. She nevertold me about it before. She prizes it so very highly, that I feel asthough I ought to thank you myself. "

Aileen opened her eyes. "Jade!" she observed, curiously. "Why, Idon't remember. " Recalling Cowperwood's proclivities on the instant, she was suspicious, distraught. Her face showed her perplexity. 

"Why, yes, " replied Mrs. Platow, Aileen's show of surprise troublingher. "The ear-rings and necklet, you know. She said you gave them toher. "

"To be sure, " answered Aileen, catching herself as by a hair. "I dorecall it now. But it was Frank who really gave them. I hope shelikes them. "

She smiled sweetly. 

"She thinks they're beautiful, and they do become her, " continued Mrs. Platow, pleasantly, understanding it all, as she fancied. The truth wasthat Stephanie, having forgotten, had left her make-up box open one dayat home, and her mother, rummaging in her room for something, haddiscovered them and genially confronted her with them, for she knew thevalue of jade. Nonplussed for the moment, Stephanie had lost hermental, though not her outward, composure and referred them backcasually to an evening at the Cowperwood home when Aileen had beenpresent and the gauds had been genially forced upon her. 

Unfortunately for Aileen, the matter was not to be allowed to rest justso, for going one afternoon to a reception given by Rhees Crier, ayoung sculptor of social proclivities, who had been introduced to herby Taylor Lord, she was given a taste of what it means to be aneglected wife from a public point of view. As she entered on thisoccasion she happened to overhear two women talking in a corner behinda screen erected to conceal wraps. "Oh, here comes Mrs. Cowperwood, "said one. "She's the street-railway magnate's wife. Last winter andspring he was running with that Platow girl--of the Garrick Players, you know. "

The other nodded, studying Aileen's splendiferous green--velvet gownwith envy. 

"I wonder if she's faithful to him?" she queried, while Aileen strainedto hear. "She looks daring enough. "

Aileen managed to catch a glimpse of her observers later, when theywere not looking, and her face showed her mingled resentment andfeeling; but it did no good. The wretched gossipers had wounded her inthe keenest way. She was hurt, angry, nonplussed. To think thatCowperwood by his variability should expose her to such gossip as this!

One day not so long after her conversation with Mrs. Platow, Aileenhappened to be standing outside the door of her own boudoir, thelanding of which commanded the lower hall, and there overheard two ofher servants discussing the Cowperwood menage in particular and Chicagolife in general. One was a tall, angular girl of perhaps twenty-sevenor eight, a chambermaid, the other a short, stout woman of forty whoheld the position of assistant housekeeper. They were pretending todust, though gossip conducted in a whisper was the matter for whichthey were foregathered. The tall girl had recently been employed inthe family of Aymar Cochrane, the former president of the Chicago WestDivision Railway, and now a director of the new West Chicago StreetRailway Company. 

"And I was that surprised, " Aileen heard this girl saying, "to think Ishould be coming here. I cud scarcely believe me ears when they toldme. Why, Miss Florence was runnin' out to meet him two and three timesin the week. The wonder to me was that her mother never guessed. "

"Och, " replied the other, "he's the very divil and all when it comes tothe wimmin. " (Aileen did not see the upward lift of the hand thataccompanied this). "There was a little girl that used to come here. Her father lives up the street here. Haguenin is his name. He ownsthat morning paper, the Press, and has a fine house up the street herea little way. Well, I haven't seen her very often of late, but morethan once I saw him kissing her in this very room. Sure his wife knowsall about it. Depend on it. She had an awful fight with some womanhere onct, so I hear, some woman that he was runnin' with and bringin'here to the house. I hear it's somethin' terrible the way she beat herup--screamin' and carryin' on. Oh, they're the divil, these men, whenit comes to the wimmin. "

A slight rustling sound from somewhere sent the two gossipers on theirseveral ways, but Aileen had heard enough to understand. What was sheto do? How was she to learn more of these new women, of whom she hadnever heard at all? She at once suspected Florence Cochrane, for sheknew that this servant had worked in the Cochrane family. And thenCecily Haguenin, the daughter of the editor with whom they were on thefriendliest terms! Cowperwood kissing her! Was there no end to hisliaisons--his infidelity?

She returned, fretting and grieving, to her room, where she meditatedand meditated, wondering whether she should leave him, wonderingwhether she should reproach him openly, wondering whether she shouldemploy more detectives. What good would it do? She had employeddetectives once. Had it prevented the Stephanie Platow incident? Notat all. Would it prevent other liaisons in the future? Very likelynot. Obviously her home life with Cowperwood was coming to a completeand disastrous end. Things could not go on in this way. She had donewrong, possibly, in taking him away from Mrs. Cowperwood number one, though she could scarcely believe that, for Mrs. Lillian Cowperwood wasso unsuited to him--but this repayment! If she had been at allsuperstitious or religious, and had known her Bible, which she didn't, she might have quoted to herself that very fatalistic statement of theNew Testament, "With what measure ye mete it shall be measured unto youagain. "

The truth was that Cowperwood's continued propensity to rove at libertyamong the fair sex could not in the long run fail of some results of anunsatisfactory character. Coincident with the disappearance ofStephanie Platow, he launched upon a variety of episodes, the charmingdaughter of so worthy a man as Editor Haguenin, his sincerest and mostsympathetic journalistic supporter; and the daughter of Aymar Cochrane, falling victims, among others, to what many would have called hiswiles. As a matter of fact, in most cases he was as much sinnedagainst as sinning, since the provocation was as much offered as given. 

The manner in which he came to get in with Cecily Haguenin was simpleenough. Being an old friend of the family, and a frequent visitor ather father's house, he found this particular daughter of desire an easyvictim. She was a vigorous blonde creature of twenty at this time, very full and plump, with large, violet eyes, and with considerablealertness of mind--a sort of doll girl with whom Cowperwood found itpleasant to amuse himself. A playful gamboling relationship hadexisted between them when she was a mere child attending school, andhad continued through her college years whenever she happened to be athome on a vacation. In these very latest days when Cowperwood onoccasion sat in the Haguenin library consulting with thejournalist-publisher concerning certain moves which he wished to haveput right before the public he saw considerably more of Cecily. Onenight, when her father had gone out to look up the previous action ofthe city council in connection with some matter of franchises, a seriesof more or less sympathetic and understanding glances suddenlyculminated in Cecily's playfully waving a new novel, which she happenedto have in her hand, in Cowperwood's face; and he, in reply, laid holdcaressingly of her arms. 

"You can't stop me so easily, " she observed, banteringly. 

"Oh yes, I can, " he replied. 

A slight struggle ensued, in which he, with her semiwilful connivance, managed to manoeuver her into his arms, her head backward against hisshoulder. 

"Well, " she said, looking up at him with a semi-nervous, semi-provocative glance, "now what? You'll just have to let me go. "

"Not very soon, though. "

"Oh yes, you will. My father will be here in a moment. "

"Well, not until then, anyhow. You're getting to be the sweetest girl. "

She did not resist, but remained gazing half nervously, half dreamilyat him, whereupon he smoothed her cheek, and then kissed her. Herfather's returning step put an end to this; but from this point onascent or descent to a perfect understanding was easily made. 

In the matter of Florence Cochrane, the daughter of Aymar Cochrane, thepresident of the Chicago West Division Company--a second affair of theperiod--the approach was only slightly different, the result the same. This girl, to furnish only a brief impression, was a blonde of adifferent type from Cecily--delicate, picturesque, dreamy. She wasmildly intellectual at this time, engaged in reading Marlowe andJonson; and Cowperwood, busy in the matter of the West Chicago StreetRailway, and conferring with her father, was conceived by her as agreat personage of the Elizabethan order. In a tentative way she was inrevolt against an apple-pie order of existence which was being forcedupon her. Cowperwood recognized the mood, trifled with her spiritedly, looked into her eyes, and found the response he wanted. Neither oldAymar Cochrane nor his impeccably respectable wife ever discovered. 

Subsequently Aileen, reflecting upon these latest developments, wasfrom one point of view actually pleased or eased. There is alwayssafety in numbers, and she felt that if Cowperwood were going to go onlike this it would not be possible for him in the long run to take adefinite interest in any one; and so, all things considered, and otherthings being equal, he would probably just as leave remain married toher as not. 

But what a comment, she could not help reflecting, on her own charms!What an end to an ideal union that had seemed destined to last alltheir days! She, Aileen Butler, who in her youth had deemed herself thepeer of any girl in charm, force, beauty, to be shoved aside thus earlyin her life--she was only forty--by the younger generation. And suchsilly snips as they were--Stephanie Platow! and Cecily Haguenin! andFlorence Cochrane, in all likelihood another pasty-faced beginner! Andhere she was--vigorous, resplendent, smooth of face and body, herforehead, chin, neck, eyes without a wrinkle, her hair a rich goldenreddish glow, her step springing, her weight no more than one hundredand fifty pounds for her very normal height, with all the advantages ofa complete toilet cabinet, jewels, clothing, taste, and skill inmaterial selection--being elbowed out by these upstarts. It was almostunbelievable. It was so unfair. Life was so cruel, Cowperwood sotemperamentally unbalanced. Dear God! to think that this should betrue! Why should he not love her? She studied her beauty in the mirrorfrom time to time, and raged and raged. Why was her body notsufficient for him? Why should he deem any one more beautiful? Whyshould he not be true to his reiterated protestations that he cared forher? Other men were true to other women. Her father had been faithfulto her mother. At the thought of her own father and his opinion of herconduct she winced, but it did not change her point of view as to herpresent rights. See her hair! See her eyes! See her smooth, resplendent arms! Why should Cowperwood not love her? Why, indeed?

One night, shortly afterward, she was sitting in her boudoir reading, waiting for him to come home, when the telephone-bell sounded and heinformed her that he was compelled to remain at the office late. Afterward he said he might be obliged to run on to Pittsburg forthirty-six hours or thereabouts; but he would surely be back on thethird day, counting the present as one. Aileen was chagrined. Hervoice showed it. They had been scheduled to go to dinner with theHoecksemas, and afterward to the theater. Cowperwood suggested that sheshould go alone, but Aileen declined rather sharply; she hung up thereceiver without even the pretense of a good-by. And then at teno'clock he telephoned again, saying that he had changed his mind, andthat if she were interested to go anywhere--a later supper, or thelike--she should dress, otherwise he would come home expecting toremain. 

Aileen immediately concluded that some scheme he had had to amusehimself had fallen through. Having spoiled her evening, he was cominghome to make as much hay as possible out of this bit of sunshine. Thisinfuriated her. The whole business of uncertainty in the matter of hisaffections was telling on her nerves. A storm was in order, and it hadcome. He came bustling in a little later, slipped his arms around heras she came forward and kissed her on the mouth. He smoothed her armsin a make-believe and yet tender way, and patted her shoulders. Seeingher frown, he inquired, "What's troubling Babykins?"

"Oh, nothing more than usual, " replied Aileen, irritably. "Let's nottalk about that. Have you had your dinner?"

"Yes, we had it brought in. " He was referring to McKenty, Addison, andhimself, and the statement was true. Being in an honest position foronce, he felt called upon to justify himself a little. "It couldn't beavoided to-night. I'm sorry that this business takes up so much of mytime, but I'll get out of it some day soon. Things are bound to easeup. "

Aileen withdrew from his embrace and went to her dressing-table. Aglance showed her that her hair was slightly awry, and she smoothed itinto place. She looked at her chin, and then went back to herbook--rather sulkily, he thought. 

"Now, Aileen, what's the trouble?" he inquired. "Aren't you glad tohave me up here? I know you have had a pretty rough road of it of late, but aren't you willing to let bygones be bygones and trust to thefuture a little?"

"The future! The future! Don't talk to me about the future. It'slittle enough it holds in store for me, " she replied. 

Cowperwood saw that she was verging on an emotional storm, but hetrusted to his powers of persuasion, and her basic affection for him, to soothe and quell her. 

"I wish you wouldn't act this way, pet, " he went on. "You know I havealways cared for you. You know I always shall. I'll admit that thereare a lot of little things which interfere with my being at home asmuch as I would like at present; but that doesn't alter the fact thatmy feeling is the same. I should think you could see that. "

"Feeling! Feeling!" taunted Aileen, suddenly. "Yes, I know how muchfeeling you have. You have feeling enough to give other women sets ofjade and jewels, and to run around with every silly little snip youmeet. You needn't come home here at ten o'clock, when you can't goanywhere else, and talk about feeling for me. I know how much feelingyou have. Pshaw!"

She flung herself irritably back in her chair and opened her book. Cowperwood gazed at her solemnly, for this thrust in regard toStephanie was a revelation. This woman business could grow peculiarlyexasperating at times. 

"What do you mean, anyhow?" he observed, cautiously and with muchseeming candor. "I haven't given any jade or jewels to any one, norhave I been running around with any 'little snips, ' as you call them. I don't know what you are talking about, Aileen. "

"Oh, Frank, " commented Aileen, wearily and incredulously, "you lie so!Why do you stand there and lie? I'm so tired of it; I'm so sick of itall. How should the servants know of so many things to talk of here ifthey weren't true? I didn't invite Mrs. Platow to come and ask me whyyou had given her daughter a set of jade. I know why you lie; you wantto hush me up and keep quiet. You're afraid I'll go to Mr. Haguenin orMr. Cochrane or Mr. Platow, or to all three. Well, you can rest yoursoul on that score. I won't. I'm sick of you and your lies. Stephanie Platow--the thin stick! Cecily Haguenin--the little piece ofgum! And Florence Cochrane--she looks like a dead fish!" (Aileen had agenius for characterization at times. ) "If it just weren't for the wayI acted toward my family in Philadelphia, and the talk it would create, and the injury it would do you financially, I'd act to-morrow. I'dleave you--that's what I'd do. And to think that I should ever havebelieved that you really loved me, or could care for any womanpermanently. Bosh! But I don't care. Go on! Only I'll tell you onething. You needn't think I'm going to go on enduring all this as Ihave in the past. I'm not. You're not going to deceive me always. I'm not going to stand it. I'm not so old yet. There are plenty ofmen who will be glad to pay me attention if you won't. I told you oncethat I wouldn't be faithful to you if you weren't to me, and I won'tbe. I'll show you. I'll go with other men. I will! I will! I swearit. "

"Aileen, " he asked, softly, pleadingly, realizing the futility ofadditional lies under such circumstances, "won't you forgive me thistime? Bear with me for the present. I scarcely understand myself attimes. I am not like other men. You and I have run together a longtime now. Why not wait awhile? Give me a chance! See if I do notchange. I may. "

"Oh yes, wait! Change. You may change. Haven't I waited? Haven't Iwalked the floor night after night! when you haven't been here? Bearwith you--yes, yes! Who's to bear with me when my heart is breaking?Oh, God!" she suddenly added, with passionate vigor, "I'm miserable!I'm miserable! My heart aches! It aches!"

She clutched her breast and swung from the room, moving with thatvigorous stride that had once appealed to him so, and still did. Alas, alas! it touched him now, but only as a part of a very shifty and cruelworld. He hurried out of the room after her, and (as at the time ofthe Rita Sohlberg incident) slipped his arm about her waist; but shepulled away irritably. "No, no!" she exclaimed. "Let me alone. I'mtired of that. "

"You're really not fair to me, Aileen, " with a great show of feelingand sincerity. "You're letting one affair that came between us blindyour whole point of view. I give you my word I haven't been unfaithfulto you with Stephanie Platow or any other woman. I may have flirtedwith them a little, but that is really nothing. Why not be sensible?I'm not as black as you paint me. I'm moving in big matters that areas much for your concern and future as for mine. Be sensible, beliberal. "

There was much argument--the usual charges and countercharges--but, finally, because of her weariness of heart, his petting, theunsolvability of it all, she permitted him for the time being topersuade her that there were still some crumbs of affection left. Shewas soul-sick, heartsick. Even he, as he attempted to soothe her, realized clearly that to establish the reality of his love in herbelief he would have to make some much greater effort to entertain andcomfort her, and that this, in his present mood, and with his leaningtoward promiscuity, was practically impossible. For the time being apeace might be patched up, but in view of what she expected of him--herpassion and selfish individuality--it could not be. He would have togo on, and she would have to leave him, if needs be; but he could notcease or go back. He was too passionate, too radiant, too individualand complex to belong to any one single individual alone. 

Chapter XXX

Obstacles

The impediments that can arise to baffle a great and swelling careerare strange and various. In some instances all the cross-waves of lifemust be cut by the strong swimmer. With other personalities there is achance, or force, that happily allies itself with them; or they quiteunconsciously ally themselves with it, and find that there is a tidethat bears them on. Divine will? Not necessarily. There is nounderstanding of it. Guardian spirits? There are many who so believe, to their utter undoing. (Witness Macbeth). An unconscious drift in thedirection of right, virtue, duty? These are banners of mortalmanufacture. Nothing is proved; all is permitted. 

Not long after Cowperwood's accession to control on the West Side, forinstance, a contest took place between his corporation and a citizen bythe name of Redmond Purdy--real-estate investor, property-trader, andmoney-lender--which set Chicago by the ears. The La Salle andWashington Street tunnels were now in active service, but because ofthe great north and south area of the West Side, necessitating thecabling of Van Buren Street and Blue Island Avenue, there was need of athird tunnel somewhere south of Washington Street, preferably at VanBuren Street, because the business heart was thus more directlyreached. Cowperwood was willing and anxious to build this tunnel, though he was puzzled how to secure from the city a right of way underVan Buren Street, where a bridge loaded with heavy traffic now swung. There were all sorts of complications. In the first place, the consentof the War Department at Washington had to be secured in order totunnel under the river at all. Secondly, the excavation, if directlyunder the bridge, might prove an intolerable nuisance, necessitatingthe closing or removal of the bridge. Owing to the critical, not tosay hostile, attitude of the newspapers which, since the La Salle andWashington tunnel grants, were following his every move with asearchlight, Cowperwood decided not to petition the city for privilegesin this case, but instead to buy the property rights of sufficient landjust north of the bridge, where the digging of the tunnel could proceedwithout interference. 

The piece of land most suitable for this purpose, a lot 150 x 150, lying a little way from the river-bank, and occupied by a seven-storyloft-building, was owned by the previously mentioned Redmond Purdy, along, thin, angular, dirty person, who wore celluloid collars and cuffsand spoke with a nasal intonation. 

Cowperwood had the customary overtures made by seemingly disinterestedparties endeavoring to secure the land at a fair price. But Purdy, whowas as stingy as a miser and as incisive as a rat-trap, had caught windof the proposed tunnel scheme. He was all alive for a fine profit. "No, no, no, " he declared, over and over, when approached by therepresentatives of Mr. Sylvester Toomey, Cowperwood's ubiquitousland-agent. "I don't want to sell. Go away. "

Mr. Sylvester Toomey was finally at his wit's end, and complained toCowperwood, who at once sent for those noble beacons of dark and stormywaters, General Van Sickle and the Hon. Kent Barrows McKibben. TheGeneral was now becoming a little dolty, and Cowperwood was thinking ofpensioning him; but McKibben was in his prime--smug, handsome, deadly, smooth. After talking it over with Mr. Toomey they returned toCowperwood's office with a promising scheme. The Hon. NahumDickensheets, one of the judges of the State Court of Appeals, and aman long since attached, by methods which need not here be described, to Cowperwood's star, had been persuaded to bring his extensivetechnical knowledge to bear on the emergency. At his suggestion thework of digging the tunnel was at once begun--first at the east orFranklin Street end; then, after eight months' digging, at the west orCanal Street end. A shaft was actually sunk some thirty feet back ofMr. Purdy's building--between it and the river--while that gentlemanwatched with a quizzical gleam in his eye this defiant procedure. Hewas sure that when it came to the necessity of annexing his propertythe North and West Chicago Street Railways would be obliged to paythrough the nose. 

"Well, I'll be cussed, " he frequently observed to himself, for he couldnot see how his exaction of a pound of flesh was to be evaded, and yethe felt strangely restless at times. Finally, when it becameabsolutely necessary for Cowperwood to secure without further delaythis coveted strip, he sent for its occupant, who called in pleasantanticipation of a profitable conversation; this should be worth a smallfortune to him. 

"Mr. Purdy, " observed Cowperwood, glibly, "you have a piece of land onthe other side of the river that I need. Why don't you sell it to me?Can't we fix this up now in some amicable way?"

He smiled while Purdy cast shrewd, wolfish glances about the place, wondering how much he could really hope to exact. The building, withall its interior equipment, land, and all, was worth in theneighborhood of two hundred thousand dollars. 

"Why should I sell? The building is a good building. It's as useful tome as it would be to you. I'm making money out of it. "

"Quite true, " replied Cowperwood, "but I am willing to pay you a fairprice for it. A public utility is involved. This tunnel will be agood thing for the West Side and any other land you may own over there. With what I will pay you you can buy more land in that neighborhood orelsewhere, and make a good thing out of it. We need to put this tunneljust where it is, or I wouldn't trouble to argue with you. 

"That's just it, " replied Purdy, fixedly. "You've gone ahead and dugyour tunnel without consulting me, and now you expect me to get out ofthe way. Well, I don't see that I'm called on to get out of there justto please you. "

"But I'll pay you a fair price. "

"How much will you pay me?"

"How much do you want?"

Mr. Purdy scratched a fox-like ear. "One million dollars. "

"One million dollars!" exclaimed Cowperwood. "Don't you think that's alittle steep, Mr. Purdy?"

"No, " replied Purdy, sagely. "It's not any more than it's worth. "

Cowperwood sighed. 

"I'm sorry, " he replied, meditatively, "but this is really too much. Wouldn't you take three hundred thousand dollars in cash now andconsider this thing closed?"

"One million, " replied Purdy, looking sternly at the ceiling. "Verywell, Mr. Purdy, " replied Cowperwood. "I'm very sorry. It's plain tome that we can't do business as I had hoped. I'm willing to pay you areasonable sum; but what you ask is far too much--preposterous! Don'tyou think you'd better reconsider? We might move the tunnel even yet. "

"One million dollars, " said Purdy. 

"It can't be done, Mr. Purdy. It isn't worth it. Why won't you befair? Call it three hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars cash, andmy check to-night. "

"I wouldn't take five or six hundred thousand dollars if you were tooffer it to me, Mr. Cowperwood, to-night or any other time. I know myrights. "

"Very well, then, " replied Cowperwood, "that's all I can say. If youwon't sell, you won't sell. Perhaps you'll change your mind later. "

Mr. Purdy went out, and Cowperwood called in his lawyers and hisengineers. One Saturday afternoon, a week or two later, when thebuilding in question had been vacated for the day, a company of threehundred laborers, with wagons, picks, shovels, and dynamite sticks, arrived. By sundown of the next day (which, being Sunday, was a legalholiday, with no courts open or sitting to issue injunctions) thiscomely structure, the private property of Mr. Redmond Purdy, wascompletely razed and a large excavation substituted in its stead. Thegentleman of the celluloid cuffs and collars, when informed about nineo'clock of this same Sunday morning that his building had been almostcompletely removed, was naturally greatly perturbed. A portion of thewall was still standing when he arrived, hot and excited, and thepolice were appealed to. 

But, strange to say, this was of little avail, for they were shown awrit of injunction issued by the court of highest jurisdiction, presided over by the Hon. Nahum Dickensheets, which restrained all andsundry from interfering. (Subsequently on demand of another court thisremarkable document was discovered to have disappeared; the contentionwas that it had never really existed or been produced at all. )

The demolition and digging proceeded. Then began a scurrying oflawyers to the door of one friendly judge after another. There wereapoplectic cheeks, blazing eyes, and gasps for breath while theenormity of the offense was being noised abroad. Law is law, however. Procedure is procedure, and no writ of injunction was either issuableor returnable on a legal holiday, when no courts were sitting. Nevertheless, by three o'clock in the afternoon an obliging magistratewas found who consented to issue an injunction staying this terriblecrime. By this time, however, the building was gone, the excavationcomplete. It remained merely for the West Chicago Street RailwayCompany to secure an injunction vacating the first injunction, prayingthat its rights, privileges, liberties, etc. , be not interfered with, and so creating a contest which naturally threw the matter into theState Court of Appeals, where it could safely lie. For several yearsthere were numberless injunctions, writs of errors, doubts, motions toreconsider, threats to carry the matter from the state to the federalcourts on a matter of constitutional privilege, and the like. Theaffair was finally settled out of court, for Mr. Purdy by this time wasa more sensible man. In the mean time, however, the newspapers hadbeen given full details of the transaction, and a storm of wordsagainst Cowperwood ensued. 

But more disturbing than the Redmond Purdy incident was the rivalry ofa new Chicago street-railway company. It appeared first as an idea inthe brain of one James Furnivale Woolsen, a determined young Westernerfrom California, and developed by degrees into consents and petitionsfrom fully two-thirds of the residents of various streets in theextreme southwest section of the city where it was proposed the newline should be located. This same James Furnivale Woolsen, being anambitious person, was not to be so easily put down. Besides theconsent and petitions, which Cowperwood could not easily get away fromhim, he had a new form of traction then being tried out in severalminor cities--a form of electric propulsion by means of an overheadwire and a traveling pole, which was said to be very economical, and togive a service better than cables and cheaper even than horses. 

Cowperwood had heard all about this new electric system some timebefore, and had been studying it for several years with the greatestinterest, since it promised to revolutionize the whole business ofstreet-railroading. However, having but so recently completed hisexcellent cable system, he did not see that it was advisable to throwit away. The trolley was as yet too much of a novelty; certainly itwas not advisable to have it introduced into Chicago until he was readyto introduce it himself--first on his outlying feeder lines, hethought, then perhaps generally. 

But before he could take suitable action against Woolsen, that engagingyoung upstart, who was possessed of a high-power imagination and a giftof gab, had allied himself with such interested investors as TrumanLeslie MacDonald, who saw here a heaven-sent opportunity of mulctingCowperwood, and Jordan Jules, once the president of the North ChicagoGas Company, who had lost money through Cowperwood in the gas war. Twobetter instruments for goading a man whom they considered an enemycould not well be imagined--Truman Leslie with his dark, waspish, mistrustful, jealous eyes, and his slim, vital body; and Jordan Jules, short, rotund, sandy, a sickly crop of thin, oily, light hair growingdown over his coat-collar, his forehead and crown glisteningly bald, his eyes a seeking, searching, revengeful blue. They in turn broughtin Samuel Blackman, once president of the South Side Gas Company;Sunderland Sledd, of local railroad management and stock-investmentfame; and Norrie Simms, president of the Douglas Trust Company, who, however, was little more than a fiscal agent. The general feeling wasthat Cowperwood's defensive tactics--which consisted in having the citycouncil refuse to act--could be easily met. 

"Well, I think we can soon fix that, " exclaimed young MacDonald, onemorning at a meeting. "We ought to be able to smoke them out. A littlepublicity will do it. "

He appealed to his father, the editor of the Inquirer, but the latterrefused to act for the time being, seeing that his son was interested. MacDonald, enraged at the do-nothing attitude of the council, invadedthat body and demanded of Alderman Dowling, still leader, why thismatter of the Chicago general ordinances was still lying unconsidered. Mr. Dowling, a large, mushy, placid man with blue eyes, an iron frame, and a beefy smile, vouchsafed the information that, although he waschairman of the committee on streets and alleys, he knew nothing aboutit. "I haven't been payin' much attention to things lately, " hereplied. 

Mr. MacDonald went to see the remaining members of this same committee. They were non-committal. They would have to look into the matter. Somebody claimed that there was a flaw in the petitions. 

Evidently there was crooked work here somewhere. Cowperwood was toblame, no doubt. MacDonald conferred with Blackman and Jordan Jules, and it was determined that the council should be harried into doing itsduty. This was a legitimate enterprise. A new and better system oftraction was being kept out of the city. Schryhart, since he wasoffered an interest, and since there was considerable chance of hisbeing able to dominate the new enterprise, agreed that the ordinancesought to be acted upon. In consequence there was a renewed hubbub inthe newspapers. 

It was pointed out through Schryhart's Chronicle, through Hyssop's andMerrill's papers, and through the Inquirer that such a situation wasintolerable. If the dominant party, at the behest of so sinister aninfluence as Cowperwood, was to tie up all outside tractionlegislation, there could be but one thing left--an appeal to the votersof the city to turn the rascals out. No party could survive such arecord of political trickery and financial jugglery. McKenty, Dowling, Cowperwood, and others were characterized as unreasonableobstructionists and debasing influences. But Cowperwood merely smiled. These were the caterwaulings of the enemy. Later, when young MacDonaldthreatened to bring legal action to compel the council to do its duty, Cowperwood and his associates were not so cheerful. A mandamusproceeding, however futile, would give the newspapers great opportunityfor chatter; moreover, a city election was drawing near. However, McKenty and Cowperwood were by no means helpless. They had offices, jobs, funds, a well-organized party system, the saloons, the dives, andthose dark chambers where at late hours ballot-boxes are incontinentlystuffed. 

Did Cowperwood share personally in all this? Not at all. Or McKenty?No. In good tweed and fine linen they frequently conferred in theoffices of the Chicago Trust Company, the president's office of theNorth Chicago Street Railway System, and Mr. Cowperwood's library. Nodark scenes were ever enacted there. But just the same, when the timecame, the Schryhart-Simms-MacDonald editorial combination did not win. Mr. McKenty's party had the votes. A number of the most flagrantlydebauched aldermen, it is true, were defeated; but what is an aldermanhere and there? The newly elected ones, even in the face ofpre-election promises and vows, could be easily suborned or convinced. So the anti-Cowperwood element was just where it was before; but thefeeling against him was much stronger, and considerable sentimentgenerated in the public at large that there was something wrong withthe Cowperwood method of street-railway control. 

Chapter XXXI

Untoward Disclosures

Coincident with these public disturbances and of subsequent hearingupon them was the discovery by Editor Haguenin of Cowperwood'srelationship with Cecily. It came about not through Aileen, who was nolonger willing to fight Cowperwood in this matter, but throughHaguenin's lady society editor, who, hearing rumors in the socialworld, springing from heaven knows where, and being beholden toHaguenin for many favors, had carried the matter to him in a verydirect way. Haguenin, a man of insufficient worldliness in spite ofhis journalistic profession, scarcely believed it. Cowperwood was sosuave, so commercial. He had heard many things concerning him--hispast--but Cowperwood's present state in Chicago was such, it seemed tohim, as to preclude petty affairs of this kind. Still, the name of hisdaughter being involved, he took the matter up with Cecily, who underpressure confessed. She made the usual plea that she was of age, andthat she wished to live her own life--logic which she had gatheredlargely from Cowperwood's attitude. Haguenin did nothing about it atfirst, thinking to send Cecily off to an aunt in Nebraska; but, findingher intractable, and fearing some counter-advice or reprisal on thepart of Cowperwood, who, by the way, had indorsed paper to the extentof one hundred thousand dollars for him, he decided to discuss mattersfirst. It meant a cessation of relations and some inconvenientfinancial readjustments; but it had to be. He was just on the point ofcalling on Cowperwood when the latter, unaware as yet of the latestdevelopment in regard to Cecily, and having some variation of hiscouncil programme to discuss with Haguenin, asked him over the 'phoneto lunch. Haguenin was much surprised, but in a way relieved. "I ambusy, " he said, very heavily, "but cannot you come to the office sometime to-day? There is something I would like to see you about. "

Cowperwood, imagining that there was some editorial or local politicaldevelopment on foot which might be of interest to him, made anappointment for shortly after four. He drove to the publisher's officein the Press Building, and was greeted by a grave and almost despondentman. 

"Mr. Cowperwood, " began Haguenin, when the financier entered, smart andtrig, his usual air of genial sufficiency written all over him, "I haveknown you now for something like fourteen years, and during this time Ihave shown you nothing but courtesy and good will. It is true thatquite recently you have done me various financial favors, but that wasmore due, I thought, to the sincere friendship you bore me than toanything else. Quite accidentally I have learned of the relationshipthat exists between you and my daughter. I have recently spoken toher, and she admitted all that I need to know. Common decency, itseems to me, might have suggested to you that you leave my child out ofthe list of women you have degraded. Since it has not, I merely wishto say to you"--and Mr. Haguenin's face was very tense and white--"thatthe relationship between you and me is ended. The one hundred thousanddollars you have indorsed for me will be arranged for otherwise as soonas possible, and I hope you will return to me the stock of this paperthat you hold as collateral. Another type of man, Mr. Cowperwood, might attempt to make you suffer in another way. I presume that youhave no children of your own, or that if you have you lack the parentalinstinct; otherwise you could not have injured me in this fashion. Ibelieve that you will live to see that this policy does not pay inChicago or anywhere else. "

Haguenin turned slowly on his heel toward his desk. Cowperwood, whohad listened very patiently and very fixedly, without a tremor of aneyelash, merely said: "There seems to be no common intellectual ground, Mr. Haguenin, upon which you and I can meet in this matter. You cannotunderstand my point of view. I could not possibly adopt yours. However, as you wish it, the stock will be returned to you upon receiptof my indorsements. I cannot say more than that. "

He turned and walked unconcernedly out, thinking that it was too bad tolose the support of so respectable a man, but also that he could dowithout it. It was silly the way parents insisted on their daughtersbeing something that they did not wish to be. 

Haguenin stood by his desk after Cowperwood had gone, wondering wherehe should get one hundred thousand dollars quickly, and also what heshould do to make his daughter see the error of her ways. It was anastonishing blow he had received, he thought, in the house of a friend. It occurred to him that Walter Melville Hyssop, who was succeedingmightily with his two papers, might come to his rescue, and that laterhe could repay him when the Press was more prosperous. He went out tohis house in a quandary concerning life and chance; while Cowperwoodwent to the Chicago Trust Company to confer with Videra, and later outto his own home to consider how he should equalize this loss. Thestate and fate of Cecily Haguenin was not of so much importance as manyother things on his mind at this time. 

Far more serious were his cogitations with regard to a liaison he hadrecently ventured to establish with Mrs. Hosmer Hand, wife of aneminent investor and financier. Hand was a solid, phlegmatic, heavy-thinking person who had some years before lost his first wife, towhom he had been eminently faithful. After that, for a period of yearshe had been a lonely speculator, attending to his vast affairs; butfinally because of his enormous wealth, his rather presentableappearance and social rank, he had been entrapped by much socialattention on the part of a Mrs. Jessie Drew Barrett into marrying herdaughter Caroline, a dashing skip of a girl who was clever, incisive, calculating, and intensely gay. Since she was socially ambitious, andwithout much heart, the thought of Hand's millions, and howadvantageous would be her situation in case he should die, had enabledher to overlook quite easily his heavy, unyouthful appearance and tosee him in the light of a lover. There was criticism, of course. Handwas considered a victim, and Caroline and her mother designing minxesand cats; but since the wealthy financier was truly ensnared itbehooved friends and future satellites to be courteous, and so theywere. The wedding was very well attended. Mrs. Hand began to givehouse-parties, teas, musicales, and receptions on a lavish scale. 

Cowperwood never met either her or her husband until he was welllaunched on his street-car programme. Needing two hundred and fiftythousand dollars in a hurry, and finding the Chicago Trust Company, theLake City Bank, and other institutions heavily loaded with hissecurities, he turned in a moment of inspirational thought to Hand. Cowperwood was always a great borrower. His paper was out in largequantities. He introduced himself frequently to powerful men in thisway, taking long or short loans at high or low rates of interest, asthe case might be, and sometimes finding some one whom he could workwith or use. In the case of Hand, though the latter was ostensibly ofthe enemies' camp--the Schryhart-Union-Gas-Douglas-Trust-Companycrowd--nevertheless Cowperwood had no hesitation in going to him. Hewished to overcome or forestall any unfavorable impression. ThoughHand, a solemn man of shrewd but honest nature, had heard a number ofunfavorable rumors, he was inclined to be fair and think the best. Perhaps Cowperwood was merely the victim of envious rivals. 

When the latter first called on him at his office in the RookeryBuilding, he was most cordial. "Come in, Mr. Cowperwood, " he said. "Ihave heard a great deal about you from one person and another--mostlyfrom the newspapers. What can I do for you?"

Cowperwood exhibited five hundred thousand dollars' worth of WestChicago Street Railway stock. "I want to know if I can get two hundredand fifty thousand dollars on those by to-morrow morning. "

Hand, a placid man, looked at the securities peacefully. "What's thematter with your own bank?" He was referring to the Chicago TrustCompany. "Can't it take care of them for you?"

"Loaded up with other things just now, " smiled Cowperwood, ingratiatingly. 

"Well, if I can believe all the papers say, you're going to wreck theseroads or Chicago or yourself; but I don't live by the papers. How longwould you want it for?"

"Six months, perhaps. A year, if you choose. "

Hand turned over the securities, eying their gold seals. "Five hundredthousand dollars' worth of six per cent. West Chicago preferred, " hecommented. "Are you earning six per cent. ?"

"We're earning eight right now. You'll live to see the day when theseshares will sell at two hundred dollars and pay twelve per cent. Atthat. "

"And you've quadrupled the issue of the old company? Well, Chicago'sgrowing. Leave them here until to-morrow or bring them back. Send overor call me, and I'll tell you. "

They talked for a little while on street-railway and corporationmatters. Hand wanted to know something concerning West Chicago land--aregion adjoining Ravenswood. Cowperwood gave him his best advice. 

The next day he 'phoned, and the stocks, so Hand informed him, wereavailable. He would send a check over. So thus a tentative friendshipbegan, and it lasted until the relationship between Cowperwood and Mrs. Hand was consummated and discovered. 

In Caroline Barrett, as she occasionally preferred to sign herself, Cowperwood encountered a woman who was as restless and fickle ashimself, but not so shrewd. Socially ambitious, she was anything butsocially conventional, and she did not care for Hand. Once married, she had planned to repay herself in part by a very gay existence. Theaffair between her and Cowperwood had begun at a dinner at themagnificent residence of Hand on the North Shore Drive overlooking thelake. Cowperwood had gone to talk over with her husband variousChicago matters. Mrs. Hand was excited by his risque reputation. Alittle woman in stature, with intensely white teeth, red lips which shedid not hesitate to rouge on occasion, brown hair, and small brown eyeswhich had a gay, searching, defiant twinkle in them, she did her bestto be interesting, clever, witty, and she was. 

"I know Frank Cowperwood by reputation, anyhow, " she exclaimed, holdingout a small, white, jeweled hand, the nails of which at their juncturewith the flesh were tinged with henna, and the palms of which wereslightly rouged. Her eyes blazed, and her teeth gleamed. "One canscarcely read of anything else in the Chicago papers. "

Cowperwood returned his most winning beam. "I'm delighted to meet you, Mrs. Hand. I have read of you, too. But I hope you don't believe allthe papers say about me. "

"And if I did it wouldn't hurt you in my estimation. To do is to betalked about in these days. "

Cowperwood, because of his desire to employ the services of Hand, wasat his best. He kept the conversation within conventional lines; butall the while he was exchanging secret, unobserved smiles with Mrs. Hand, whom he realized at once had married Hand for his money, and wasbent, under a somewhat jealous espionage, to have a good time anyhow. There is a kind of eagerness that goes with those who are watched andwish to escape that gives them a gay, electric awareness and sparkle inthe presence of an opportunity for release. Mrs. Hand had this. Cowperwood, a past master in this matter of femininity, studied herhands, her hair, her eyes, her smile. After some contemplation hedecided, other things being equal, that Mrs. Hand would do, and that hecould be interested if she were very much interested in him. Hertelling eyes and smiles, the heightened color of her cheeks indicatedafter a time that she was. 

Meeting him on the street one day not long after they had first met, she told him that she was going for a visit to friends at Oconomowoc, in Wisconsin. 

"I don't suppose you ever get up that far north in summer, do you?" sheasked, with an air, and smiled. 

"I never have, " he replied; "but there's no telling what I might do ifI were bantered. I suppose you ride and canoe?"

"Oh yes; and play tennis and golf, too. "

"But where would a mere idler like me stay?"

"Oh, there are several good hotels. There's never any trouble aboutthat. I suppose you ride yourself?"

"After a fashion, " replied Cowperwood, who was an expert. 

Witness then the casual encounter on horseback, early one Sundaymorning in the painted hills of Wisconsin, of Frank Algernon Cowperwoodand Caroline Hand. A jaunty, racing canter, side by side; idle talkconcerning people, scenery, conveniences; his usual direct suggestionsand love-making, and then, subsequently--

The day of reckoning, if such it might be called, came later. 

Caroline Hand was, perhaps, unduly reckless. She admired Cowperwoodgreatly without really loving him. He found her interesting, principally because she was young, debonair, sufficient--a new type. They met in Chicago after a time instead of in Wisconsin, then inDetroit (where she had friends), then in Rockford, where a sister hadgone to live. It was easy for him with his time and means. Finally, Duane Kingsland, wholesale flour merchant, religious, moral, conventional, who knew Cowperwood and his repute, encountered Mrs. Handand Cowperwood first near Oconomowoc one summer's day, and later inRandolph Street, near Cowperwood's bachelor rooms. Being the man thathe was and knowing old Hand well, he thought it was his duty to ask thelatter if his wife knew Cowperwood intimately. There was an explosionin the Hand home. Mrs. Hand, when confronted by her husband, denied, of course, that there was anything wrong between her and Cowperwood. Her elderly husband, from a certain telltale excitement and resentmentin her manner, did not believe this. He thought once of confrontingCowperwood; but, being heavy and practical, he finally decided to severall business relationships with him and fight him in other ways. Mrs. Hand was watched very closely, and a suborned maid discovered an oldnote she had written to Cowperwood. An attempt to persuade her toleave for Europe--as old Butler had once attempted to send Aileen yearsbefore--raised a storm of protest, but she went. Hand, from beingneutral if not friendly, became quite the most dangerous and forcefulof all Cowperwood's Chicago enemies. He was a powerful man. His wrathwas boundless. He looked upon Cowperwood now as a dark and dangerousman--one of whom Chicago would be well rid. 

Chapter XXXII

A Supper Party

Since the days in which Aileen had been left more or less lonely byCowperwood, however, no two individuals had been more faithful in theirattentions than Taylor Lord and Kent McKibben. Both were fond of herin a general way, finding her interesting physically andtemperamentally; but, being beholden to the magnate for many favors, they were exceedingly circumspect in their attitude toward her, particularly during those early years in which they knew thatCowperwood was intensely devoted to her. Later they were not socareful. 

It was during this latter period that Aileen came gradually, throughthe agency of these two men, to share in a form of mid-world life thatwas not utterly dull. In every large city there is a kind of socialhalf world, where artists and the more adventurous of the sociallyunconventional and restless meet for an exchange of things which cannotbe counted mere social form and civility. It is the age-old world ofBohemia. Hither resort those "accidentals" of fancy that make thestage, the drawing-room, and all the schools of artistic endeavorinteresting or peculiar. In a number of studios in Chicago such asthose of Lane Cross and Rhees Crier, such little circles were to befound. Rhees Crier, for instance, a purely parlor artist, with all theairs, conventions, and social adaptability of the tribe, had quite afollowing. Here and to several other places by turns Taylor Lord andKent McKibben conducted Aileen, both asking and obtaining permission tobe civil to her when Cowperwood was away. 

Among the friends of these two at this time was a certain Polk Lynde, an interesting society figure, whose father owned an immense reaperworks, and whose time was spent in idling, racing, gambling, socializing--anything, in short, that it came into his head to do. Hewas tall, dark, athletic, straight, muscular, with a small darkmustache, dark, black-brown eyes, kinky black hair, and a fine, almostmilitary carriage--which he clothed always to the best advantage. Aclever philanderer, it was quite his pride that he did not boast of hisconquests. One look at him, however, by the initiated, and the storywas told. Aileen first saw him on a visit to the studio of RheesGrier. Being introduced to him very casually on this occasion, she wasnevertheless clearly conscious that she was encountering a fascinatingman, and that he was fixing her with a warm, avid eye. For the momentshe recoiled from him as being a little too brazen in his stare, andyet she admired the general appearance of him. He was of that smartworld that she admired so much, and from which now apparently she washopelessly debarred. That trig, bold air of his realized for her atlast the type of man, outside of Cowperwood, whom she would preferwithin limits to admire her. If she were going to be "bad, " as shewould have phrased it to herself, she would be "bad" with a man such ashe. He would be winsome and coaxing, but at the same time strong, direct, deliciously brutal, like her Frank. He had, too, whatCowperwood could not have, a certain social air or swagger which camewith idleness, much loafing, a sense of social superiority andsecurity--a devil-may-care insouciance which recks little of otherpeople's will or whims. 

When she next saw him, which was several weeks later at an affair ofthe Courtney Tabors, friends of Lord's, he exclaimed:

"Oh yes. By George! You're the Mrs. Cowperwood I met several weeks agoat Rhees Grier's studio. I've not forgotten you. I've seen you in myeye all over Chicago. Taylor Lord introduced me to you. Say, butyou're a beautiful woman!"

He leaned ingratiatingly, whimsically, admiringly near. 

Aileen realized that for so early in the afternoon, and considering thecrowd, he was curiously enthusiastic. The truth was that because ofsome rounds he had made elsewhere he was verging toward too muchliquor. His eye was alight, his color coppery, his air swagger, devil-may-care, bacchanal. This made her a little cautious; but sherather liked his brown, hard face, handsome mouth, and crisp Joviancurls. His compliment was not utterly improper; but she neverthelessattempted coyly to avoid him. 

"Come, Polk, here's an old friend of yours over here--SadieBoutwell--she wants to meet you again, " some one observed, catching himby the arm. 

"No, you don't, " he exclaimed, genially, and yet at the same time alittle resentfully--the kind of disjointed resentment a man who has hadthe least bit too much is apt to feel on being interrupted. "I'm notgoing to walk all over Chicago thinking of a woman I've seen somewhereonly to be carried away the first time I do meet her. I'm going totalk to her first. "

Aileen laughed. "It's charming of you, but we can meet again, perhaps. Besides, there's some one here"--Lord was tactfully directing herattention to another woman. Rhees Grier and McKibben, who were presentalso, came to her assistance. In the hubbub that ensued Aileen wastemporarily extricated and Lynde tactfully steered out of her way. Butthey had met again, and it was not to be the last time. Subsequent tothis second meeting, Lynde thought the matter over quite calmly, anddecided that he must make a definite effort to become more intimatewith Aileen. Though she was not as young as some others, she suitedhis present mood exactly. She was rich physically--voluptuous andsentient. She was not of his world precisely, but what of it? She wasthe wife of an eminent financier, who had been in society once, and sheherself had a dramatic record. He was sure of that. He could win herif he wanted to. It would be easy, knowing her as he did, and knowingwhat he did about her. 

So not long after, Lynde ventured to invite her, with Lord, McKibben, Mr. And Mrs. Rhees Grier, and a young girl friend of Mrs. Grier who wasrather attractive, a Miss Chrystobel Lanman, to a theater and supperparty. The programme was to hear a reigning farce at Hooley's, then tosup at the Richelieu, and finally to visit a certain exclusivegambling-parlor which then flourished on the South Side--the resort ofactors, society gamblers, and the like--where roulette, trente-et-quarante, baccarat, and the honest game of poker, to saynothing of various other games of chance, could be played amidexceedingly recherche surroundings. 

The party was gay, especially after the adjournment to the Richelieu, where special dishes of chicken, lobster, and a bucket of champagnewere served. Later at the Alcott Club, as the gambling resort wasknown, Aileen, according to Lynde, was to be taught to play baccarat, poker, and any other game that she wished. "You follow my advice, Mrs. Cowperwood, " he observed, cheerfully, at dinner--being host, he had puther between himself and McKibben--"and I'll show you how to get yourmoney back anyhow. That's more than some others can do, " he added, spiritedly, recalling by a look a recent occasion when he and McKibben, being out with friends, the latter had advised liberally and had seenhis advice go wrong. 

"Have you been gambling, Kent?" asked Aileen, archly, turning to herlong-time social mentor and friend. 

"No, I can honestly say I haven't, " replied McKibben, with a blandsmile. "I may have thought I was gambling, but I admit I don't knowhow. Now Polk, here, wins all the time, don't you, Polk? Just followhim. "

A wry smile spread over Lynde's face at this, for it was on record incertain circles that he had lost as much as ten and even fifteenthousand in an evening. He also had a record of winning twenty-fivethousand once at baccarat at an all-night and all-day sitting, and thenlosing it. 

Lynde all through the evening had been casting hard, meaning glancesinto Aileen's eyes. She could not avoid this, and she did not feelthat she wanted to. He was so charming. He was talking to her halfthe time at the theater, without apparently addressing or even seeingher. Aileen knew well enough what was in his mind. At times, quite asin those days when she had first met Cowperwood, she felt an unwilledtitillation in her blood. Her eyes brightened. It was just possiblethat she could come to love a man like this, although it would be hard. It would serve Cowperwood right for neglecting her. Yet even now theshadow of Cowperwood was over her, but also the desire for love and afull sex life. 

In the gambling-rooms was gathered an interested and fairly smartthrong--actors, actresses, clubmen, one or two very emancipated womenof the high local social world, and a number of more or lessgentlemanly young gamblers. Both Lord and McKibben began suggestingcolumn numbers for first plays to their proteges, while Lynde leanedcaressingly over Aileen's powdered shoulders. "Let me put this onquatre premier for you, " he suggested, throwing down a twenty-dollargold piece. 

"Oh, but let it be my money, " complained Aileen. "I want to play withmy money. I won't feel that it's mine if I don't. "

"Very well, but you can't just now. You can't play with bills. " Shewas extracting a crisp roll from her purse. "I'll have to exchangethem later for you for gold. You can pay me then. He's going to callnow, anyhow. There you are. He's done it. Wait a moment. You maywin. " And he paused to study the little ball as it circled round andround above the receiving pockets. 

"Let me see. How much do I get if I win quatre premier?" She wastrying to recall her experiences abroad. 

"Ten for one, " replied Lynde; "but you didn't get it. Let's try itonce more for luck. It comes up every so often--once in ten or twelve. I've made it often on a first play. How long has it been since thelast quatre premier?" he asked of a neighbor whom he recognized. 

"Seven, I think, Polk. Six or seven. How's tricks?"

"Oh, so so. " He turned again to Aileen. "It ought to come up now soon. I always make it a rule to double my plays each time. It gets you backall you've lost, some time or other. " He put down two twenties. 

"Goodness, " she exclaimed, "that will be two hundred! I had forgottenthat. "

Just then the call came for all placements to cease, and Aileendirected her attention to the ball. It circled and circled in itsdizzy way and then suddenly dropped. 

"Lost again, " commented Lynde. "Well, now we'll make it eighty, " andhe threw down four twenties. "Just for luck we'll put something onthirty-six, and thirteen, and nine. " With an easy air he laid onehundred dollars in gold on each number. 

Aileen liked his manner. This was like Frank. Lynde had the coolspirit of a plunger. His father, recognizing his temperament, had setover a large fixed sum to be paid to him annually. She recognized, asin Cowperwood, the spirit of adventure, only working out in anotherway. Lynde was perhaps destined to come to some startlingly recklessend, but what of it? He was a gentleman. His position in life wassecure. That had always been Aileen's sad, secret thought. Hers hadnot been and might never be now. 

"Oh, I'm getting foozled already, " she exclaimed, gaily reverting to agirlhood habit of clapping her hands. "How much will I win if I win?"The gesture attracted attention even as the ball fell. 

"By George, you have it!" exclaimed Lynde, who was watching thecroupier. "Eight hundred, two hundred, two hundred"--he was countingto himself--"but we lose thirteen. Very good, that makes us nearly onethousand ahead, counting out what we put down. Rather nice for abeginning, don't you think? Now, if you'll take my advice you'll notplay quatre premier any more for a while. Suppose you double athirteen--you lost on that--and play Bates's formula. I'll show youwhat that is. "

Already, because he was known to be a plunger, Lynde was gathering afew spectators behind him, and Aileen, fascinated, and not knowingthese mysteries of chance, was content to watch him. At one stage ofthe playing Lynde leaned over and, seeing her smile, whispered:

"What adorable hair and eyes you have! You glow like a great rose. Youhave a radiance that is wonderful. "

"Oh, Mr. Lynde! How you talk! Does gambling always affect you this way?"

"No, you do. Always, apparently!" And he stared hard into her upturnedeyes. Still playing ostensibly for Aileen's benefit, he now doubledthe cash deposit on his system, laying down a thousand in gold. Aileenurged him to play for himself and let her watch. "I'll just put alittle money on these odd numbers here and there, and you play anysystem you want. How will that do?"

"No, not at all, " he replied, feelingly. "You're my luck. I play withyou. You keep the gold for me. I'll make you a fine present if I win. The losses are mine. "

"Just as you like. I don't know really enough about it to play. But Isurely get the nice present if you win?"

"You do, win or lose, " he murmured. "And now you put the money on thenumbers I call. Twenty on seven. Eighty on thirteen. Eighty onthirty. Twenty on nine. Fifty on twenty-four. " He was following asystem of his own, and in obedience Aileen's white, plump arm reachedhere and there while the spectators paused, realizing that heavierplaying was being done by this pair than by any one else. Lynde wasplunging for effect. He lost a thousand and fifty dollars at one clip. 

"Oh, all that good money!" exclaimed Aileen, mock-pathetically, as thecroupier raked it in. 

"Never mind, we'll get it back, " exclaimed Lynde, throwing twoone-thousand-dollar bills to the cashier. "Give me gold for those. "

The man gave him a double handful, which he put down between Aileen'swhite arms. 

"One hundred on two. One hundred on four. One hundred on six. Onehundred on eight. "

The pieces were five-dollar gold pieces, and Aileen quickly built upthe little yellow stacks and shoved them in place. Again the otherplayers stopped and began to watch the odd pair. Aileen's red-goldhead, and pink cheeks, and swimming eyes, her body swathed in silks andrich laces; and Lynde, erect, his shirt bosom snowy white, his facedark, almost coppery, his eyes and hair black--they were indeed astrikingly assorted pair. 

"What's this? What's this?" asked Grier, coming up. "Who's plunging?You, Mrs. Cowperwood?"

"Not plunging, " replied Lynde, indifferently. "We're merely workingout a formula--Mrs. Cowperwood and I. We're doing it together. "

Aileen smiled. She was in her element at last. She was beginning toshine. She was attracting attention. 

"One hundred on twelve. One hundred on eighteen. One hundred ontwenty-six. "

"Good heavens, what are you up to, Lynde?" exclaimed Lord, leaving Mrs. Rhees and coming over. She followed. Strangers also were gathering. The business of the place was at its topmost toss--it being two o'clockin the morning--and the rooms were full. 

"How interesting!" observed Miss Lanman, at the other end of the table, pausing in her playing and staring. McKibben, who was beside her, alsopaused. "They're plunging. Do look at all the money! Goodness, isn'tshe daring-looking--and he?" Aileen's shining arm was moving deftly, showily about. 

"Look at the bills he's breaking!" Lynde was taking out a thick layerof fresh, yellow bills which he was exchanging for gold. "They make astriking pair, don't they?"

The board was now practically covered with Lynde's gold in quaintlittle stacks. He had followed a system called Mazarin, which shouldgive him five for one, and possibly break the bank. Quite a crowdswarmed about the table, their faces glowing in the artificial light. The exclamation "plunging!" "plunging!" was to be heard whispered hereand there. Lynde was delightfully cool and straight. His lithe bodywas quite erect, his eyes reflective, his teeth set over an unlightedcigarette. Aileen was excited as a child, delighted to be once morethe center of comment. Lord looked at her with sympathetic eyes. Heliked her. Well, let her he amused. It was good for her now and then;but Lynde was a fool to make a show of himself and risk so much money. 

"Table closed!" called the croupier, and instantly the little ballbegan to spin. All eyes followed it. Round and round it went--Aileenas keen an observer as any. Her face was flushed, her eyes bright. 

"If we lose this, " said Lynde, "we will make one more bet double, andthen if we don't win that we'll quit. " He was already out nearly threethousand dollars. 

"Oh yes, indeed! Only I think we ought to quit now. Here goes twothousand if we don't win. Don't you think that's quite enough? Ihaven't brought you much luck, have I?"

"You are luck, " he whispered. "All the luck I want. One more. Standby me for one more try, will you? If we win I'll quit. "

The little ball clicked even as she nodded, and the croupier, payingout on a few small stacks here and there, raked all the rest solemnlyinto the receiving orifice, while murmurs of sympatheticdissatisfaction went up here and there. 

"How much did they have on the board?" asked Miss Lanman of McKibben, in surprise. "It must have been a great deal, wasn't it?"

"Oh, two thousand dollars, perhaps. That isn't so high here, though. People do plunge for as much as eight or ten thousand. It all depends. "McKibben was in a belittling, depreciating mood. 

"Oh yes, but not often, surely. "

"For the love of heavens, Polk!" exclaimed Rhees Grier, coming up andplucking at his sleeve; "if you want to give your money away give it tome. I can gather it in just as well as that croupier, and I'll go geta truck and haul it home, where it will do some good. It's perfectlyterrible the way you are carrying on. "

Lynde took his loss with equanimity. "Now to double it, " he observed, "and get all our losses back, or go downstairs and have a rarebit andsome champagne. What form of a present would please you best?--butnever mind. I know a souvenir for this occasion. "

He smiled and bought more gold. Aileen stacked it up showily, if alittle repentantly. She did not quite approve of this--hisplunging--and yet she did; she could not help sympathizing with theplunging spirit. In a few moments it was on the board--the samecombination, the same stacks, only doubled--four thousand all told. The croupier called, the ball rolled and fell. Barring three hundreddollars returned, the bank took it all. 

"Well, now for a rarebit, " exclaimed Lynde, easily, turning to Lord, who stood behind him smiling. "You haven't a match, have you? We'vehad a run of bad luck, that's sure. "

Lynde was secretly the least bit disgruntled, for if he had won he hadintended to take a portion of the winnings and put it in a necklace orsome other gewgaw for Aileen. Now he must pay for it. Yet there wassome satisfaction in having made an impression as a calm andindifferent, though heavy loser. He gave Aileen his arm. 

"Well, my lady, " he observed, "we didn't win; but we had a little funout of it, I hope? That combination, if it had come out, would have setus up handsomely. Better luck next time, eh?"

He smiled genially. 

"Yes, but I was to have been your luck, and I wasn't, " replied Aileen. 

"You are all the luck I want, if you're willing to be. Come to theRichelieu to-morrow with me for lunch--will you?"

"Let me see, " replied Aileen, who, observing his ready and somewhatiron fervor, was doubtful. "I can't do that, " she said, finally, "Ihave another engagement. "

"How about Tuesday, then?"

Aileen, realizing of a sudden that she was making much of a situationthat ought to be handled with a light hand, answered readily: "Verywell--Tuesday! Only call me up before. I may have to change my mind orthe time. " And she smiled good-naturedly. 

After this Lynde had no opportunity to talk to Aileen privately; but insaying good night he ventured to press her arm suggestively. Shesuffered a peculiar nervous thrill from this, but decided curiouslythat she had brought it upon herself by her eagerness for life andrevenge, and must make up her mind. Did she or did she not wish to goon with this? This was the question uppermost, and she felt that shemust decide. However, as in most such cases, circumstances were tohelp decide for her, and, unquestionably, a portion of this truth wasin her mind as she was shown gallantly to her door by Taylor Lord. 

Chapter XXXIII

Mr. Lynde to the Rescue

The interested appearance of a man like Polk Lynde at this stage ofAileen's affairs was a bit of fortuitous or gratuitous humor on thepart of fate, which is involved with that subconscious chemistry ofthings of which as yet we know nothing. Here was Aileen brooding overher fate, meditating over her wrongs, as it were; and here was PolkLynde, an interesting, forceful Lothario of the city, who was perhapsas well suited to her moods and her tastes at this time as any maleoutside of Cowperwood could be. 

In many respects Lynde was a charming man. He was comparativelyyoung--not more than Aileen's own age--schooled, if not educated, atone of the best American colleges, of excellent taste in the matter ofclothes, friends, and the details of living with which he chose tosurround himself, but at heart a rake. He loved, and had from hisyouth up, to gamble. He was in one phase of the word a HARD and yet byno means a self-destructive drinker, for he had an iron constitutionand could consume spirituous waters with the minimum of ill effect. Hehad what Gibbon was wont to call "the most amiable of our vices, " apassion for women, and he cared no more for the cool, patient, almostpenitent methods by which his father had built up the immense reaperbusiness, of which he was supposedly the heir, than he cared for themysteries or sacred rights of the Chaldees. He realized that thebusiness itself was a splendid thing. He liked on occasion to think ofit with all its extent of ground-space, plain red-brick buildings, tallstacks and yelling whistles; but he liked in no way to have anything todo with the rather commonplace routine of its manipulation. 

The principal difficulty with Aileen under these circumstances, ofcourse, was her intense vanity and self-consciousness. Never was therea vainer or more sex-troubled woman. Why, she asked herself, shouldshe sit here in loneliness day after day, brooding about Cowperwood, eating her heart out, while he was flitting about gathering the sweetsof life elsewhere? Why should she not offer her continued charms as asolace and a delight to other men who would appreciate them? Would notsuch a policy have all the essentials of justice in it? Yet even now, so precious had Cowperwood been to her hitherto, and so wonderful, thatshe was scarcely able to think of serious disloyalty. He was socharming when he was nice--so splendid. When Lynde sought to hold herto the proposed luncheon engagement she at first declined. And there, under slightly differing conditions, the matter might easily havestood. But it so happened that just at this time Aileen was beingalmost daily harassed by additional evidence and reminders ofCowperwood's infidelity. 

For instance, going one day to call on the Haguenins--for she wasperfectly willing to keep up the pretense of amity in so long as theyhad not found out the truth--she was informed that Mrs. Haguenin was"not at home. " Shortly thereafter the Press, which had always beenfavorable to Cowperwood, and which Aileen regularly read because of itsfriendly comment, suddenly veered and began to attack him. There weresolemn suggestions at first that his policy and intentions might not bein accord with the best interests of the city. A little later Hagueninprinted editorials which referred to Cowperwood as "the wrecker, " "thePhiladelphia adventurer, " "a conscienceless promoter, " and the like. Aileen guessed instantly what the trouble was, but she was toodisturbed as to her own position to make any comment. She could notresolve the threats and menaces of Cowperwood's envious world any morethan she could see her way through her own grim difficulties. 

One day, in scanning the columns of that faithful chronicle of Chicagosocial doings, the Chicago Saturday Review, she came across an itemwhich served as a final blow. "For some time in high social circles, "the paragraph ran, "speculation has been rife as to the amours andliaisons of a certain individual of great wealth and pseudo socialprominence, who once made a serious attempt to enter Chicago society. It is not necessary to name the man, for all who are acquainted withrecent events in Chicago will know who is meant. The latest rumor toaffect his already nefarious reputation relates to two women--one thedaughter, and the other the wife, of men of repute and standing in thecommunity. In these latest instances it is more than likely that hehas arrayed influences of the greatest importance socially andfinancially against himself, for the husband in the one case and thefather in the other are men of weight and authority. The suggestionhas more than once been made that Chicago should and eventually wouldnot tolerate his bucaneering methods in finance and social matters; butthus far no definite action has been taken to cast him out. Thecrowning wonder of all is that the wife, who was brought here from theEast, and who--so rumor has it--made a rather scandalous sacrifice ofher own reputation and another woman's heart and home in order toobtain the privilege of living with him, should continue so to do. "

Aileen understood perfectly what was meant. "The father" of theso-called "one" was probably Haguenin or Cochrane, more than likelyHaguenin. "The husband of the other"--but who was the husband of theother? She had not heard of any scandal with the wife of anybody. Itcould not be the case of Rita Sohlberg and her husband--that was toofar back. It must be some new affair of which she had not the leastinkling, and so she sat and reflected. Now, she told herself, if shereceived another invitation from Lynde she would accept it. 

It was only a few days later that Aileen and Lynde met in the gold-roomof the Richelieu. Strange to relate, for one determined to beindifferent she had spent much time in making a fetching toilet. Itbeing February and chill with glittering snow on the ground, she hadchosen a dark-green broadcloth gown, quite new, with lapis-lazulibuttons that worked a "Y" pattern across her bosom, a seal turban withan emerald plume which complemented a sealskin jacket with immensewrought silver buttons, and bronze shoes. To perfect it all, Aileenhad fastened lapis-lazuli ear-rings of a small flower-form in her ears, and wore a plain, heavy gold bracelet. Lynde came up with a look ofkeen approval written on his handsome brown face. "Will you let metell you how nice you look?" he said, sinking into the chair opposite. "You show beautiful taste in choosing the right colors. Your ear-ringsgo so well with your hair. "

Although Aileen feared because of his desperateness, she was caught byhis sleek force--that air of iron strength under a parlor mask. Hislong, brown, artistic hands, hard and muscular, indicated an idle forcethat might be used in many ways. They harmonized with his teeth andchin. 

"So you came, didn't you?" he went on, looking at her steadily, whileshe fronted his gaze boldly for a moment, only to look evasively down. 

He still studied her carefully, looking at her chin and mouth andpiquant nose. In her colorful cheeks and strong arms and shoulders, indicated by her well-tailored suit, he recognized the human vigor hemost craved in a woman. By way of diversion he ordered anold-fashioned whisky cocktail, urging her to join him. Finding herobdurate, he drew from his pocket a little box. 

"We agreed when we played the other night on a memento, didn't we?" hesaid. "A sort of souvenir? Guess?"

Aileen looked at it a little nonplussed, recognizing the contents ofthe box to be jewelry. "Oh, you shouldn't have done that, " sheprotested. "The understanding was that we were to win. You lost, andthat ended the bargain. I should have shared the losses. I haven'tforgiven you for that yet, you know. "

"How ungallant that would make me!" he said, smilingly, as he trifledwith the long, thin, lacquered case. "You wouldn't want to make meungallant, would you? Be a good fellow--a good sport, as they say. Guess, and it's yours. "

Aileen pursed her lips at this ardent entreaty. 

"Oh, I don't mind guessing, " she commented, superiorly, "though Isha'n't take it. It might be a pin, it might be a set of ear-rings, itmight be a bracelet--"

He made no comment, but opened it, revealing a necklace of gold wroughtinto the form of a grape-vine of the most curious workmanship, with acluster of leaves artistically carved and arranged as a breastpiece, the center of them formed by a black opal, which shone with an enticingluster. Lynde knew well enough that Aileen was familiar with manyjewels, and that only one of ornate construction and value would appealto her sense of what was becoming to her. He watched her face closelywhile she studied the details of the necklace. 

"Isn't it exquisite!" she commented. "What a lovely opal--what an odddesign. " She went over the separate leaves. "You shouldn't be sofoolish. I couldn't take it. I have too many things as it is, andbesides--" She was thinking of what she would say if Cowperwood chancedto ask her where she got it. He was so intuitive. 

"And besides?" he queried. 

"Nothing, " she replied, "except that I mustn't take it, really. " "Won'tyou take it as a souvenir even if--our agreement, you know. "

"Even if what?" she queried. 

"Even if nothing else comes of it. A memento, then--truly--you know. "

He laid hold of her fingers with his cool, vigorous ones. A yearbefore, even six months, Aileen would have released her hand smilingly. Now she hesitated. Why should she be so squeamish with other men whenCowperwood was so unkind to her?

"Tell me something, " Lynde asked, noting the doubt and holding herfingers gently but firmly, "do you care for me at all?"

"I like you, yes. I can't say that it is anything more than that. "

She flushed, though, in spite of herself. 

He merely gazed at her with his hard, burning eyes. The materialitythat accompanies romance in so many temperaments awakened in her, andquite put Cowperwood out of her mind for the moment. It was anastonishing and revolutionary experience for her. She quite burned inreply, and Lynde smiled sweetly, encouragingly. 

"Why won't you be friends with me, my sweetheart? I know you're nothappy--I can see that. Neither am I. I have a wreckless, wretcheddisposition that gets me into all sorts of hell. I need some one tocare for me. Why won't you? You're just my sort. I feel it. Do youlove him so much"--he was referring to Cowperwood--"that you can't loveany one else?"

"Oh, him!" retorted Aileen, irritably, almost disloyally. "He doesn'tcare for me any more. He wouldn't mind. It isn't him. "

"Well, then, what is it? Why won't you? Am I not interesting enough?Don't you like me? Don't you feel that I'm really suited to you?" Hishand sought hers softly. 

Aileen accepted the caress. 

"Oh, it isn't that, " she replied, feelingly, running back in her mindover her long career with Cowperwood, his former love, his keenprotestations. She had expected to make so much out of her life withhim, and here she was sitting in a public restaurant flirting with andextracting sympathy from a comparative stranger. It cut her to thequick for the moment and sealed her lips. Hot, unbidden tears welledto her eyes. 

Lynde saw them. He was really very sorry for her, though her beautymade him wish to take advantage of her distress. "Why should you cry, dearest?" he asked, softly, looking at her flushed cheeks and colorfuleyes. "You have beauty; you are young; you're lovely. He's not theonly man in the world. Why should you be faithful when he isn'tfaithful to you? This Hand affair is all over town. When you meet someone that really would care for you, why shouldn't you? If he doesn'twant you, there are others. "

At the mention of the Hand affair Aileen straightened up. "The Handaffair?" she asked, curiously. "What is that?"

"Don't you know?" he replied, a little surprised. "I thought you did, or I certainly wouldn't have mentioned it. "

"Oh, I know about what it is, " replied Aileen, wisely, and with a touchof sardonic humor. "There have been so many or the same kind. Isuppose it must be the case the Chicago Review was referring to--thewife of the prominent financier. Has he been trifling with Mrs. Hand?"

"Something like that, " replied Lynde. "I'm sorry that I spoke, though?really I am. I didn't mean to be carrying tales. "

"Soldiers in a common fight, eh?" taunted Aileen, gaily. 

"Oh, not that, exactly. Please don't be mean. I'm not so bad. It'sjust a principle with me. We all have our little foibles. "

"Yes, I know, " replied Aileen; but her mind was running on Mrs. Hand. So she was the latest. "Well, I admire his taste, anyway, in thiscase, " she said, archly. "There have been so many, though. She is justone more. "

Lynde smiled. He himself admired Cowperwood's taste. Then he droppedthe subject. 

"But let's forget that, " he said. "Please don't worry about him anymore. You can't change that. Pull yourself together. " He squeezed herfingers. "Will you?" he asked, lifting his eyebrows in inquiry. 

"Will I what?" replied Aileen, meditatively. 

"Oh, you know. The necklace for one thing. Me, too. " His eyes coaxedand laughed and pleaded. 

Aileen smiled. "You're a bad boy, " she said, evasively. Thisrevelation in regard to Mrs. Hand had made her singularly retaliatoryin spirit. "Let me think. Don't ask me to take the necklace to-day. I couldn't. I couldn't wear it, anyhow. Let me see you another time. "She moved her plump hand in an uncertain way, and he smoothed her wrist. 

"I wonder if you wouldn't like to go around to the studio of a friendof mine here in the tower?" he asked, quite nonchalantly. "He has sucha charming collection of landscapes. You're interested in pictures, Iknow. Your husband has some of the finest. "

Instantly Aileen understood what was meant--quite by instinct. Thealleged studio must be private bachelor quarters. 

"Not this afternoon, " she replied, quite wrought up and disturbed. "Notto-day. Another time. And I must be going now. But I will see you. "

"And this?" he asked, picking up the necklace. 

"You keep it until I do come, " she replied. "I may take it then. "

She relaxed a little, pleased that she was getting safely away; but hermood was anything but antagonistic, and her spirits were as shredded aswind-whipped clouds. It was time she wanted--a little time--that wasall. 

Chapter XXXIV

Enter Hosmer Hand

It is needless to say that the solemn rage of Hand, to say nothing ofthe pathetic anger of Haguenin, coupled with the wrath of RedmondPurdy, who related to all his sad story, and of young MacDonald and hisassociates of the Chicago General Company, constituted an atmospherehighly charged with possibilities and potent for dramatic results. Themost serious element in this at present was Hosmer Hand, who, beingexceedingly wealthy and a director in a number of the principalmercantile and financial institutions of the city, was in a position todo Cowperwood some real financial harm. Hand had been extremely fondof his young wife. Being a man of but few experiences with women, itastonished and enraged him that a man like Cowperwood should dare toventure on his preserves in this reckless way, should take his dignityso lightly. He burned now with a hot, slow fire of revenge. 

Those who know anything concerning the financial world and its greatadventures know how precious is that reputation for probity, solidarity, and conservatism on which so many of the successfulenterprises of the world are based. If men are not absolutely honestthemselves they at least wish for and have faith in the honesty ofothers. No set of men know more about each other, garner morecarefully all the straws of rumor which may affect the financial andsocial well being of an individual one way or another, keep a tightermouth concerning their own affairs and a sharper eye on that of theirneighbors. Cowperwood's credit had hitherto been good because it wasknown that he had a "soft thing" in the Chicago street-railway field, that he paid his interest charges promptly, that he had organized thegroup of men who now, under him, controlled the Chicago Trust Companyand the North and West Chicago Street Railways, and that the Lake CityBank, of which Addison was still president, considered his collateralsound. Nevertheless, even previous to this time there had been aprotesting element in the shape of Schryhart, Simms, and others ofconsiderable import in the Douglas Trust, who had lost no chance to sayto one and all that Cowperwood was an interloper, and that his coursewas marked by political and social trickery and chicanery, if not byfinancial dishonesty. As a matter of fact, Schryhart, who had oncebeen a director of the Lake City National along with Hand, Arneel, andothers, had resigned and withdrawn all his deposits sometime beforebecause he found, as he declared, that Addison was favoring Cowperwoodand the Chicago Trust Company with loans, when there was no need of sodoing--when it was not essentially advantageous for the bank so to do. Both Arneel and Hand, having at this time no personal quarrel withCowperwood on any score, had considered this protest as biased. Addison had maintained that the loans were neither unduly large nor outof proportion to the general loans of the bank. The collateral offeredwas excellent. "I don't want to quarrel with Schryhart, " Addison hadprotested at the time; "but I am afraid his charge is unfair. He istrying to vent a private grudge through the Lake National. That is notthe way nor this the place to do it. "

Both Hand and Arneel, sober men both, agreed with this--admiringAddison--and so the case stood. Schryhart, however, frequentlyintimated to them both that Cowperwood was merely building up theChicago Trust Company at the expense of the Lake City National, inorder to make the former strong enough to do without any aid, at whichtime Addison would resign and the Lake City would be allowed to shiftfor itself. Hand had never acted on this suggestion but he had thought. 

It was not until the incidents relating to Cowperwood and Mrs. Hand hadcome to light that things financial and otherwise began to darken up. Hand, being greatly hurt in his pride, contemplated only severereprisal. Meeting Schryhart at a directors' meeting one day not longafter his difficulty had come upon him, he remarked:

"I thought a few years ago, Norman, when you talked to me about thisman Cowperwood that you were merely jealous--a dissatisfied businessrival. Recently a few things have come to my notice which cause me tothink differently. It is very plain to me now that the man isthoroughly bad--from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet. It's a pity the city has to endure him. "

"So you're just beginning to find that out, are you, Hosmer?" answeredSchryhart. "Well, I'll not say I told you so. Perhaps you'll agreewith me now that the responsible people of Chicago ought to dosomething about it. "

Hand, a very heavy, taciturn man, merely looked at him. "I'll be readyenough to do, " he said, "when I see how and what's to be done. "

A little later Schryhart, meeting Duane Kingsland, learned the truesource of Hand's feeling against Cowperwood, and was not slow intransferring this titbit to Merrill, Simms, and others. Merrill, who, though Cowperwood had refused to extend his La Salle Street tunnel loopabout State Street and his store, had hitherto always liked him after afashion--remotely admired his courage and daring--was now appropriatelyshocked. 

"Why, Anson, " observed Schryhart, "the man is no good. He has theheart of a hyena and the friendliness of a scorpion. You heard how hetreated Hand, didn't you?"

"No, " replied Merrill, "I didn't. "

"Well, it's this way, so I hear. " And Schryhart leaned over andconfidentially communicated considerable information into Mr. Merrill'sleft ear. 

The latter raised his eyebrows. "Indeed!" he said. 

"And the way he came to meet her, " added Schryhart, contemptuously, "was this. He went to Hand originally to borrow two hundred and fiftythousand dollars on West Chicago Street Railway. Angry? The word is noname for it. "

"You don't say so, " commented Merrill, dryly, though privatelyinterested and fascinated, for Mrs. Hand had always seemed veryattractive to him. "I don't wonder. "

He recalled that his own wife had recently insisted on invitingCowperwood once. 

Similarly Hand, meeting Arneel not so long afterward, confided to himthat Cowperwood was trying to repudiate a sacred agreement. Arneel wasgrieved and surprised. It was enough for him to know that Hand hadbeen seriously injured. Between the two of them they now decided toindicate to Addison, as president of the Lake City Bank, that allrelations with Cowperwood and the Chicago Trust Company must cease. The result of this was, not long after, that Addison, very suave andgracious, agreed to give Cowperwood due warning that all his loanswould have to be taken care of and then resigned--to become, sevenmonths later, president of the Chicago Trust Company. This desertioncreated a great stir at the time, astonishing the very men who hadsuspected that it might come to pass. The papers were full of it. 

"Well, let him go, " observed Arneel to Hand, sourly, on the day thatAddison notified the board of directors of the Lake City of hiscontemplated resignation. "If he wants to sever his connection with abank like this to go with a man like that, it's his own lookout. Hemay live to regret it. "

It so happened that by now another election was pending Chicago, andHand, along with Schryhart and Arneel--who joined their forces becauseof his friendship for Hand--decided to try to fight Cowperwood throughthis means. 

Hosmer Hand, feeling that he had the burden of a great duty upon him, was not slow in acting. He was always, when aroused, a determined andable fighter. Needing an able lieutenant in the impending politicalconflict, he finally bethought himself of a man who had recently cometo figure somewhat conspicuously in Chicago politics--one PatrickGilgan, the same Patrick Gilgan of Cowperwood's old Hyde Park gas-wardays. Mr. Gilgan was now a comparatively well-to-do man. Owing to agenial capacity for mixing with people, a close mouth, and absolutelyno understanding of, and consequently no conscience in matters of largepublic import (in so far as they related to the so-called rights of themass), he was a fit individual to succeed politically. His saloon wasthe finest in all Wentworth Avenue. It fairly glittered with the newlyintroduced incandescent lamp reflected in a perfect world of beveledand faceted mirrors. His ward, or district, was full of low, rain-beaten cottages crowded together along half-made streets; butPatrick Gilgan was now a state senator, slated for Congress at the nextCongressional election, and a possible successor of the Hon. John J. McKenty as dictator of the city, if only the Republican party shouldcome into power. (Hyde Park, before it had been annexed to the city, had always been Republican, and since then, although the larger citywas normally Democratic, Gilgan could not conveniently change. ) Hearingfrom the political discussion which preceded the election that Gilganwas by far the most powerful politician on the South Side, Hand sentfor him. Personally, Hand had far less sympathy with the politemoralistic efforts of men like Haguenin, Hyssop, and others, who werecontent to preach morality and strive to win by the efforts of the uncogood, than he had with the cold political logic of a man likeCowperwood himself. If Cowperwood could work through McKenty to such apowerful end, he, Hand, could find some one else who could be made aspowerful as McKenty. 

"Mr. Gilgan, " said Hand, when the Irishman came in, medium tall, beefy, with shrewd, twinkling gray eyes and hairy hands, "you don't know me--"

"I know of you well enough, " smiled the Irishman, with a soft brogue. "You don't need an introduction to talk to me. "

"Very good, " replied Hand, extending his hand. "I know of you, too. Then we can talk. It's the political situation here in Chicago I'dlike to discuss with you. I'm not a politician myself, but I take someinterest in what's going on. I want to know what you think will be theprobable outcome of the present situation here in the city. "

Gilgan, having no reason for laying his private political convictionsbare to any one whose motive he did not know, merely replied: "Oh, Ithink the Republicans may have a pretty good show. They have all butone or two of the papers with them, I see. I don't know much outsideof what I read and hear people talk. "

Mr. Hand knew that Gilgan was sparring, and was glad to find his mancanny and calculating. 

"I haven't asked you to come here just to be talking over politics ingeneral, as you may imagine, Mr. Gilgan. I want to put a particularproblem before you. Do you happen to know either Mr. McKenty or Mr. Cowperwood?"

"I never met either of them to talk to, " replied Gilgan. "I know Mr. McKenty by sight, and I've seen Mr. Cowperwood once. " He said no more. 

"Well, " said Mr. Hand, "suppose a group of influential men here inChicago were to get together and guarantee sufficient funds for acity-wide campaign; now, if you had the complete support of thenewspapers and the Republican organization in the bargain, could youorganize the opposition here so that the Democratic party could bebeaten this fall? I'm not talking about the mayor merely and theprincipal city officers, but the council, too--the aldermen. I want tofix things so that the McKenty-Cowperwood crowd couldn't get analderman or a city official to sell out, once they are elected. I wantthe Democratic party beaten so thoroughly that there won't be anyquestion in anybody's mind as to the fact that it has been done. Therewill be plenty of money forthcoming if you can prove to me, or, rather, to the group of men I am thinking of, that the thing can be done. "

Mr. Gilgan blinked his eyes solemnly. He rubbed his knees, put histhumbs in the armholes of his vest, took out a cigar, lit it, and gazedpoetically at the ceiling. He was thinking very, very hard. Mr. Cowperwood and Mr. McKenty, as he knew, were very powerful men. He hadalways managed to down the McKenty opposition in his ward, and severalothers adjacent to it, and in the Eighteenth Senatorial District, whichhe represented. But to be called upon to defeat him in Chicago, thatwas different. Still, the thought of a large amount of cash to bedistributed through him, and the chance of wresting the city leadershipfrom McKenty by the aid of the so-called moral forces of the city, wasvery inspiring. Mr. Gilgan was a good politician. He loved to schemeand plot and make deals--as much for the fun of it as anything else. Just now he drew a solemn face, which, however, concealed a very lightheart. 

"I have heard, " went on Hand, "that you have built up a strongorganization in your ward and district. "

"I've managed to hold me own, " suggested Gilgan, archly. "But thiswinning all over Chicago, " he went on, after a moment, "now, that's apretty large order. There are thirty-one wards in Chicago thiselection, and all but eight of them are nominally Democratic. I knowmost of the men that are in them now, and some of them are prettyshrewd men, too. This man Dowling in council is nobody's fool, let metell you that. Then there's Duvanicki and Ungerich and Tiernan andKerrigan--all good men. " He mentioned four of the most powerful andcrooked aldermen in the city. "You see, Mr. Hand, the way things arenow the Democrats have the offices, and the small jobs to give out. That gives them plenty of political workers to begin with. Then theyhave the privilege of collecting money from those in office to helpelect themselves. That's another great privilege. " He smiled. "Thenthis man Cowperwood employs all of ten thousand men at present, and anyward boss that's favorable to him can send a man out of work to him andhe'll find a place for him. That's a gre-a-eat help in building up aparty following. Then there's the money a man like Cowperwood andothers can contribute at election time. Say what you will, Mr. Hand, but it's the two, and five, and ten dollar bills paid out at the lastmoment over the saloon bars and at the polling-places that do the work. Give me enough money"--and at this noble thought Mr. Gilganstraightened up and slapped one fist lightly in the other, adjusting atthe same time his half-burned cigar so that it should not burn hishand--"and I can carry every ward in Chicago, bar none. If I havemoney enough, " he repeated, emphasizing the last two words. He put hiscigar back in his mouth, blinked his eyes defiantly, and leaned back inhis chair. 

"Very good, " commented Hand, simply; "but how much money?"

"Ah, that's another question, " replied Gilgan, straightening up oncemore. "Some wards require more than others. Counting out the eightthat are normally Republican as safe, you would have to carry eighteenothers to have a majority in council. I don't see how anything underten to fifteen thousand dollars to a ward would be safe to go on. Ishould say three hundred thousand dollars would be safer, and thatwouldn't be any too much by any means. "

Mr. Gilgan restored his cigar and puffed heavily the while he leanedback and lifted his eyes once more. 

"And how would that money be distributed exactly?" inquired Mr. Hand. 

"Oh, well, it's never wise to look into such matters too closely, "commented Mr. Gilgan, comfortably. "There's such a thing as cuttingyour cloth too close in politics. There are ward captains, leaders, block captains, workers. They all have to have money to do with--towork up sentiment--and you can't be too inquiring as to just how theydo it. It's spent in saloons, and buying coal for mother, and gettingJohnnie a new suit here and there. Then there are torch-lightprocessions and club-rooms and jobs to look after. Sure, there's plentyof places for it. Some men may have to be brought into these wards tolive--kept in boarding-houses for a week or ten days. " He waved a handdeprecatingly. 

Mr. Hand, who had never busied himself with the minutiae of politics, opened his eyes slightly. This colonizing idea was a little liberal, he thought. 

"Who distributes this money?" he asked, finally. 

"Nominally, the Republican County Committee, if it's in charge;actually, the man or men who are leading the fight. In the case of theDemocratic party it's John J. McKenty, and don't you forget it. In mydistrict it's me, and no one else. "

Mr. Hand, slow, solid, almost obtuse at times, meditated under loweringbrows. He had always been associated with a more or less silk-stockingcrew who were unused to the rough usage of back-room saloon politics, yet every one suspected vaguely, of course, at times that ballot-boxeswere stuffed and ward lodging-houses colonized. Every one (at leastevery one of any worldly intelligence) knew that political capital wascollected from office-seekers, office-holders, beneficiaries of allsorts and conditions under the reigning city administration. Mr. Handhad himself contributed to the Republican party for favors received orabout to be. As a man who had been compelled to handle large affairsin a large way he was not inclined to quarrel with this. Three hundredthousand dollars was a large sum, and he was not inclined to subscribeit alone, but fancied that at his recommendation and with his advice itcould be raised. Was Gilgan the man to fight Cowperwood? He looked himover and decided--other things being equal--that he was. And forthwiththe bargain was struck. Gilgan, as a Republican centralcommitteeman--chairman, possibly--was to visit every ward, connect upwith every available Republican force, pick strong, suitableanti-Cowperwood candidates, and try to elect them, while he, Hand, organized the money element and collected the necessary cash. Gilganwas to be given money personally. He was to have the undivided ifsecret support of all the high Republican elements in the city. Hisbusiness was to win at almost any cost. And as a reward he was to havethe Republican support for Congress, or, failing that, the practicalRepublican leadership in city and county. 

"Anyhow, " said Hand, after Mr. Gilgan finally took his departure, "things won't be so easy for Mr. Cowperwood in the future as they werein the past. And when it comes to getting his franchises renewed, ifI'm alive, we'll see whether he will or not. "

The heavy financier actually growled a low growl as he spoke out loudto himself. He felt a boundless rancor toward the man who had, as hesupposed, alienated the affections of his smart young wife. 

Chapter XXXV

A Political Agreement

In the first and second wards of Chicago at this time--wards includingthe business heart, South Clark Street, the water-front, theriver-levee, and the like--were two men, Michael (alias Smiling Mike)Tiernan and Patrick (alias Emerald Pat) Kerrigan, who, forpicturequeness of character and sordidness of atmosphere, could not beequaled elsewhere in the city, if in the nation at large. "Smiling"Mike Tiernan, proud possessor of four of the largest and filthiestsaloons of this area, was a man of large and genial mold--perhaps sixfeet one inch in height, broad-shouldered in proportion, with a bovinehead, bullet-shaped from one angle, and big, healthy, hairy hands andlarge feet. He had done many things from digging in a ditch tooccupying a seat in the city council from this his beloved ward, whichhe sold out regularly for one purpose and another; but his chiefpresent joy consisted in sitting behind a solid mahogany railing at arosewood desk in the back portion of his largest Clark Streethostelry--"The Silver Moon. " Here he counted up the returns from hisvarious properties--salons, gambling resorts, and houses ofprostitution--which he manipulated with the connivance or blinkingcourtesy of the present administration, and listened to the pleas anddemands of his henchmen and tenants. 

The character of Mr. Kerrigan, Mr. Tiernan's only rival in this ratherdifficult and sordid region, was somewhat different. He was a smallman, quite dapper, with a lean, hollow, and somewhat haggard face, butby no means sickly body, a large, strident mustache, a wealth ofcoal-black hair parted slickly on one side, and a shrewd, genialbrown-black eye--constituting altogether a rather pleasing and ornatefigure whom it was not at all unsatisfactory to meet. His ears werelarge and stood out bat-wise from his head; and his eyes gleamed with asmart, evasive light. He was cleverer financially than Tiernan, richer, and no more than thirty-five, whereas Mr. Tiernan wasforty-five years of age. Like Mr. Tiernan in the first ward, Mr. Kerrigan was a power in the second, and controlled a most useful anddangerous floating vote. His saloons harbored the largest floatingelement that was to be found in the city--longshoremen, railroad hands, stevedores, tramps, thugs, thieves, pimps, rounders, detectives, andthe like. He was very vain, considered himself handsome, a "killer"with the ladies. Married, and with two children and a sedate youngwife, he still had his mistress, who changed from year to year, and hisintermediate girls. His clothes were altogether noteworthy, but it washis pride to eschew jewelry, except for one enormous emerald, valuefourteen thousand dollars, which he wore in his necktie on occasions, and the wonder of which, pervading all Dearborn Street and the citycouncil, had won him the soubriquet of "Emerald Pat. " At first herejoiced heartily in this title, as he did in a gold and diamond medalawarded him by a Chicago brewery for selling the largest number ofbarrels of beer of any saloon in Chicago. More recently, thenewspapers having begun to pay humorous attention to both himself andMr. Tiernan, because of their prosperity and individuality, he resentedit. 

The relation of these two men to the present political situation waspeculiar, and, as it turned out, was to constitute the weak spot in theCowperwood-McKenty campaign. Tiernan and Kerrigan, to begin with, being neighbors and friends, worked together in politics and business, on occasions pooling their issues and doing each other favors. Theenterprises in which they were engaged being low and shabby, theyneeded counsel and consolation. Infinitely beneath a man like McKentyin understanding and a politic grasp of life, they were, nevertheless, as they prospered, somewhat jealous of him and his high estate. Theysaw with speculative and somewhat jealous eyes how, after his unionwith Cowperwood, he grew and how he managed to work his will in manyways--by extracting tolls from the police department, and heavy annualcampaign contributions from manufacturers favored by the city gas andwater departments. McKenty--a born manipulator in this respect--knewwhere political funds were to be had in an hour of emergency, and hedid not hesitate to demand them. Tiernan and Kerrigan had always beenfairly treated by him as politics go; but they had never as yet beenincluded in his inner council of plotters. When he was down-town onone errand or another, he stopped in at their places to shake handswith them, to inquire after business, to ask if there was any favor hecould do them; but never did he stoop to ask a favor of them orpersonally to promise any form of reward. That was the business ofDowling and others through whom he worked. 

Naturally men of strong, restive, animal disposition, finding nocomplete outlet for all their growing capacity, Tiernan and Kerriganwere both curious to see in what way they could add to their honors andemoluments. Their wards, more than any in the city, were increasing inwhat might be called a vote-piling capacity, the honest, legitimatevote not being so large, but the opportunities afforded for colonizing, repeating, and ballot-box stuffing being immense. In a doubtfulmayoralty campaign the first and second wards alone, coupled with aportion of the third adjoining them, would register sufficientillegitimate votes (after voting-hours, if necessary) to completelychange the complexion of the city as to the general officers nominated. Large amounts of money were sent to Tiernan and Kerrigan aroundelection time by the Democratic County Committee to be disposed of asthey saw fit. They merely sent in a rough estimate of how much theywould need, and always received a little more than they asked for. They never made nor were asked to make accounting afterward. Tiernanwould receive as high as fifteen and eighteen, Kerrigan sometimes asmuch as twenty to twenty-five thousand dollars, his being the pivotalward under such circumstances. 

McKenty had recently begun to recognize that these two men would soonhave to be given fuller consideration, for they were becoming more orless influential. But how? Their personalities, let alone thereputation of their wards and the methods they employed, were not suchas to command public confidence. In the mean time, owing to thetremendous growth of the city, the growth of their own privatebusiness, and the amount of ballot-box stuffing, repeating, and thelike which was required of them, they were growing more and morerestless. Why should not they be slated for higher offices? they nowfrequently asked themselves. Tiernan would have been delighted to havebeen nominated for sheriff or city treasurer. He considered himselfeminently qualified. Kerrigan at the last city convention hadprivately urged on Dowling the wisdom of nominating him for theposition of commissioner of highways and sewers, which office he wasanxious to obtain because of its reported commercial perquisites; butthis year, of all times, owing to the need of nominating an unblemishedticket to defeat the sharp Republican opposition, such a nomination wasnot possible. It would have drawn the fire of all the respectableelements in the city. As a result both Tiernan and Kerrigan, thinkingover their services, past and future, felt very much disgruntled. Theywere really not large enough mentally to understand howdangerous--outside of certain fields of activity--they were to theparty. 

After his conference with Hand, Gilgan, going about the city with thepromise of ready cash on his lips, was able to arouse considerableenthusiasm for the Republican cause. In the wards and sections wherethe so-called "better element" prevailed it seemed probable, because ofthe heavy moral teaching of the newspapers, that the respectable votewould array itself almost solidly this time against Cowperwood. In thepoorer wards it would not be so easy. True, it was possible, by asufficient outlay of cash, to find certain hardy bucaneers who could beinduced to knife their own brothers, but the result was not certain. Having heard through one person and another of the disgruntled mood ofboth Kerrigan and Tiernan, and recognizing himself, even if he was aRepublican, to be a man much more of their own stripe than eitherMcKenty or Dowling, Gilgan decided to visit that lusty pair and seewhat could be done by way of alienating them from the present center ofpower. 

After due reflection he first sought out "Emerald Pat" Kerrigan, whomhe knew personally but with whom he was by no means intimatepolitically, at his "Emporium Bar" in Dearborn Street. This particularsaloon, a feature of political Chicago at this time, was a large affaircontaining among other marvelous saloon fixtures a circular bar ofcherry wood twelve feet in diameter, which glowed as a small mountainwith the customary plain and colored glasses, bottles, labels, andmirrors. The floor was a composition of small, shaded red-and-greenmarbles; the ceiling a daub of pinky, fleshy nudes floating amongdiaphanous clouds; the walls were alternate panels of cerise and brownset in rosewood. Mr. Kerrigan, when other duties were not pressing, was usually to be found standing chatting with several friends andsurveying the wonders of his bar trade, which was very large. On theday of Mr. Gilgan's call he was resplendent in a dark-brown suit with afine red stripe in it, Cordovan leather shoes, a wine-colored tieornamented with the emerald of so much renown, and a straw hat offlaring proportions and novel weave. About his waist, in lieu of awaistcoat, was fastened one of the eccentricities of the day, amanufactured silk sash. He formed an interesting contrast with Mr. Gilgan, who now came up very moist, pink, and warm, in a fine, lighttweed of creamy, showy texture, straw hat, and yellow shoes. 

"How are you, Kerrigan?" he observed, genially, there being nopolitical enmity between them. "How's the first, and how's trade? Isee you haven't lost the emerald yet?"

"No. No danger of that. Oh, trade's all right. And so's the first. How's Mr. Gilgan?" Kerrigan extended his hand cordially. 

"I have a word to say to you. Have you any time to spare?"

For answer Mr. Kerrigan led the way into the back room. Already he hadheard rumors of a strong Republican opposition at the coming election. 

Mr. Gilgan sat down. "It's about things this fall I've come to seeyou, of course, " he began, smilingly. "You and I are supposed to be onopposite sides of the fence, and we are as a rule, but I am wonderingwhether we need be this time or not?"

Mr. Kerrigan, shrewd though seemingly simple, fixed him with an amiableeye. "What's your scheme?" he said. "I'm always open to a good idea. "

"Well, it's just this, " began Mr. Gilgan, feeling his way. "You have afine big ward here that you carry in your vest pocket, and so hasTiernan, as we all know; and we all know, too, that if it wasn't forwhat you and him can do there wouldn't always be a Democratic mayorelected. Now, I have an idea, from looking into the thing, thatneither you nor Tiernan have got as much out of it so far as you mighthave. "

Mr. Kerrigan was too cautious to comment as to that, though Mr. Gilganpaused for a moment. 

"Now, I have a plan, as I say, and you can take it or leave it, just asyou want, and no hard feelings one way or the other. I think theRepublicans are going to win this fall--McKenty or no McKenty--first, second, and third wards with us or not, as they choose. The doings ofthe big fellow"--he was referring to McKenty--"with the other fellow inNorth Clark Street"--Mr. Gilgan preferred to be a little enigmatic attimes--"are very much in the wind just now. You see how the papersstand. I happen to know where there's any quantity of money cominginto the game from big financial quarters who have no use for thisrailroad man. It's a solid La Salle and Dearborn Street line-up, sofar as I can see. Why, I don't know. But so it is. Maybe you knowbetter than I do. Anyhow, that's the way it stands now. Add to thatthe fact that there are eight naturally Republican wards as it is, andten more where there is always a fighting chance, and you begin to seewhat I'm driving at. Count out these last ten, though, and bet only onthe eight that are sure to stand. That leaves twenty-three wards thatwe Republicans always conceded to you people; but if we manage to carrythirteen of them along with the eight I'm talking about, we'll have amajority in council, and"--flick! he snapped his fingers--"out yougo--you, McKenty, Cowperwood, and all the rest. No more franchises, nomore street-paving contracts, no more gas deals. Nothing--for twoyears, anyhow, and maybe longer. If we win we'll take the jobs and thefat deals. " He paused and surveyed Kerrigan cheerfully but defiantly. 

"Now, I've just been all over the city, " he continued, "in every wardand precinct, so I know something of what I am talking about. I havethe men and the cash to put up a fight all along the line this time. This fall we win--me and the big fellows over there in La Salle Street, and all the Republicans or Democrats or Prohibitionists, or whoeverelse comes in with us--do you get me? We're going to put up the biggestpolitical fight Chicago has ever seen. I'm not naming any names justyet, but when the time comes you'll see. Now, what I want to ask ofyou is this, and I'll not mince me words nor beat around the bush. Will you and Tiernan come in with me and Edstrom to take over the cityand run it during the next two years? If you will, we can win handsdown. It will be a case of share and share alike oneverything--police, gas, water, highways, street-railways, everything--or we'll divide beforehand and put it down in black andwhite. I know that you and Tiernan work together, or I wouldn't talkabout this. Edstrom has the Swedes where he wants them, and he'll polltwenty thousand of them this fall. There's Ungerich with his Germans;one of us might make a deal with him afterward, give him most anyoffice he wants. If we win this time we can hold the city for six oreight years anyhow, most likely, and after that--well, there's no uselookin' too far in the future--Anyhow we'd have a majority of thecouncil and carry the mayor along with it. "

"If--" commented Mr. Kerrigan, dryly. 

"If, " replied Mr. Gilgan, sententiously. "You're very right. There's abig 'if' in there, I'll admit. But if these two wards--yours andTiernan's--could by any chance be carried for the Republicans they'd beequal to any four or five of the others. "

"Very true, " replied Mr. Kerrigan, "if they could be carried for theRepublicans. But they can't be. What do you want me to do, anyhow?Lose me seat in council and be run out of the Democratic party? What'syour game? You don't take me for a plain damn fool, do you?"

"Sorry the man that ever took 'Emerald Pat' for that, " answered Gilgan, with honeyed compliment. "I never would. But no one is askin' ye tolose your seat in council and be run out of the Democratic party. What's to hinder you from electin' yourself and droppin' the rest ofthe ticket?" He had almost said "knifing. "

Mr. Kerrigan smiled. In spite of all his previous dissatisfaction withthe Chicago situation he had not thought of Mr. Gilgan's talk asleading to this. It was an interesting idea. He had "knifed" peoplebefore--here and there a particular candidate whom it was desirable toundo. If the Democratic party was in any danger of losing this fall, and if Gilgan was honest in his desire to divide and control, it mightnot be such a bad thing. Neither Cowperwood, McKenty, nor Dowling hadever favored him in any particular way. If they lost through him, andhe could still keep himself in power, they would have to make termswith him. There was no chance of their running him out. Why shouldn'the knife the ticket? It was worth thinking over, to say the least. 

"That's all very fine, " he observed, dryly, after his meditations hadrun their course; "but how do I know that you wouldn't turn around and'welch' on the agreement afterward?" (Mr. Gilgan stirred irritably atthe suggestion. ) "Dave Morrissey came to me four years ago to help himout, and a lot of satisfaction I got afterward. " Kerrigan was referringto a man whom he had helped make county clerk, and who had turned onhim when he asked for return favors and his support for the office ofcommissioner of highways. Morrissey had become a prominent politician. 

"That's very easy to say, " replied Gilgan, irritably, "but it's nottrue of me. Ask any man in my district. Ask the men who know me. I'll put my part of the bargain in black and white if you'll put yours. If I don't make good, show me up afterward. I'll take you to thepeople that are backing me. I'll show you the money. I've got thegoods this time. What do you stand to lose, anyhow? They can't run youout for cutting the ticket. They can't prove it. We'll bring policein here to make it look like a fair vote. I'll put up as much money asthey will to carry this district, and more. "

Mr. Kerrigan suddenly saw a grand coup here. He could "draw down" fromthe Democrats, as he would have expressed it, twenty to twenty-fivethousand dollars to do the dirty work here. Gilgan would furnish himas much and more--the situation being so critical. Perhaps fifteen oreighteen thousand would be necessary to poll the number of votesrequired either way. At the last hour, before stuffing the boxes, hewould learn how the city was going. If it looked favorable for theRepublicans it would be easy to complete the victory and complain thathis lieutenants had been suborned. If it looked certain for theDemocrats he could throw Gilgan and pocket his funds. In either casehe would be "in" twenty-five to thirty thousand dollars, and he wouldstill be councilman. 

"All very fine, " replied Mr. Kerrigan, pretending a dullness which hedid not feel; "but it's damned ticklish business at best. I don't knowthat I want anything to do with it even if we could win. It's true theCity Hall crowd have never played into my hands very much; but this isa Democratic district, and I'm a Democrat. If it ever got out that Ihad thrown the party it would be pretty near all day with me. 

"I'm a man of my word, " declared Mr. Gilgan, emphatically, getting up. "I never threw a man or a bet in my life. Look at me record in theeighteenth. Did you ever hear any one say that I had?"

"No, I never did, " returned Kerrigan, mildly. "But it's a pretty largething you're proposing, Mr. Gilgan. I wouldn't want to say what Ithought about it offhand. This ward is supposed to be Democratic. Itcouldn't be swung over into the Republican column without a good bit offuss being made about it. You'd better see Mr. Tiernan first and hearwhat he has to say. Afterward I might be willing to talk about itfurther. Not now, though--not now. "

Mr. Gilgan went away quite jauntily and cheerfully. He was not at alldowncast. 

Chapter XXXVI

An Election Draws Near

Subsequently Mr. Kerrigan called on Mr. Tiernan casually. Mr. Tiernanreturned the call. A little later Messrs. Tiernan, Kerrigan, andGilgan, in a parlor-room in a small hotel in Milwaukee (in order not tobe seen together), conferred. Finally Messrs. Tiernan, Edstrom, Kerrigan, and Gilgan met and mapped out a programme of division far toointricate to be indicated here. Needless to say, it involved thedivision of chief clerks, pro rata, of police graft, of gambling andbawdy-house perquisites, of returns from gas, street-railway, and otherorganizations. It was sealed with many solemn promises. If it couldbe made effective this quadrumvirate was to endure for years. Judges, small magistrates, officers large and small, the shrievalty, the wateroffice, the tax office, all were to come within its purview. It was afine, handsome political dream, and as such worthy of every courtesyand consideration but it was only a political dream in its ultimateaspects, and as such impressed the participants themselves at times. 

The campaign was now in full blast. The summer and fall (September andOctober) went by to the tune of Democratic and Republican marching clubbands, to the sound of lusty political voices orating in parks, atstreet-corners, in wooden "wigwams, " halls, tents, andparlors--wherever a meager handful of listeners could be drummed up andmade by any device to keep still. The newspapers honked and bellowed, as is the way with those profit-appointed advocates and guardians of"right" and "justice. " Cowperwood and McKenty were denounced fromnearly every street-corner in Chicago. Wagons and sign-boards on wheelswere hauled about labeled "Break the partnership between thestreet-railway corporations and the city council. " "Do you want morestreets stolen?" "Do you want Cowperwood to own Chicago?" Cowperwoodhimself, coming down-town of a morning or driving home of an evening, saw these things. He saw the huge signs, listened to speechesdenouncing himself, and smiled. By now he was quite aware as to whencethis powerful uprising had sprung. Hand was back of it, he knew--forso McKenty and Addison had quickly discovered--and with Hand wasSchryhart, Arneel, Merrill, the Douglas Trust Company, the variouseditors, young Truman Leslie MacDonald, the old gas crowd, the ChicagoGeneral Company--all. He even suspected that certain aldermen mightpossibly be suborned to desert him, though all professed loyalty. McKenty, Addison, Videra, and himself were planning the details oftheir defenses as carefully and effectively as possible. Cowperwood wasfully alive to the fact that if he lost this election--the first to bevigorously contested--it might involve a serious chain of events; buthe did not propose to be unduly disturbed, since he could always fightin the courts by money, and by preferment in the council, and with themayor and the city attorney. "There is more than one way to kill acat, " was one of his pet expressions, and it expressed his logic andcourage exactly. Yet he did not wish to lose. 

One of the amusing features of the campaign was that the McKentyorators had been instructed to shout as loudly for reforms as theRepublicans, only instead of assailing Cowperwood and McKenty they wereto point out that Schryhart's Chicago City Railway was far morerapacious, and that this was a scheme to give it a blanket franchise ofall streets not yet covered by either the Cowperwood or theSchryhart-Hand-Arneel lines. It was a pretty argument. The Democratscould point with pride to a uniformly liberal interpretation of sometrying Sunday laws, whereby under Republican and reform administrationsit had been occasionally difficult for the honest working-man to gethis glass or pail of beer on Sunday. On the other hand it was possiblefor the Republican orators to show how "the low dives and gin-mills"were everywhere being operated in favor of McKenty, and that under thehighly respectable administration of the Republican candidate for mayorthis partnership between the city government and vice and crime wouldbe nullified. 

"If I am elected, " declared the Honorable Chaffee Thayer Sluss, theRepublican candidate, "neither Frank Cowperwood nor John McKenty willdare to show his face in the City Hall unless he comes with clean handsand an honest purpose. 

"Hooray!" yelled the crowd. 

"I know that ass, " commented Addison, when he read this in theTranscript. "He used to be a clerk in the Douglas Trust Company. He'smade a little money recently in the paper business. He's a mere toolfor the Arneel-Schryhart interests. He hasn't the courage of atwo-inch fish-worm. "

When McKenty read it he simply observed: "There are other ways of goingto City Hall than by going yourself. " He was depending upon acouncilmanic majority at least. 

However, in the midst of this uproar the goings to and fro of Gilgan, Edstrom, Kerrigan, and Tiernan were nor fully grasped. A more urbanelyshifty pair than these latter were never seen. While fraternizingsecretly with both Gilgan and Edstrom, laying out their politicalprogramme most neatly, they were at the same time conferring withDowling, Duvanicki, even McKenty himself. Seeing that the outcome was, for some reason--he could scarcely see why--looking very uncertain, McKenty one day asked the two of them to come to see him. On gettingthe letter Mr. Tiernan strolled over to Mr. Kerrigan's place to seewhether he also had received a message. 

"Sure, sure! I did!" replied Mr. Kerrigan, gaily. "Here it is now inme outside coat pocket. 'Dear Mr. Kerrigan, '" he read, "'won't you dome the favor to come over to-morrow evening at seven and dine with me?Mr. Ungerich, Mr. Duvanicki, and several others will very likely dropin afterward. I have asked Mr. Tiernan to come at the same time. Sincerely, John J. McKenty. ' That's the way he does it, " added Mr. Kerrigan; "just like that. "

He kissed the letter mockingly and put it back into his pocket. 

"Sure I got one, jist the same way. The very same langwidge, nearly, "commented Mr. Tiernan, sweetly. "He's beginning to wake up, eh? What!The little old first and second are beginning to look purty big justnow, eh? What!"

"Tush!" observed Mr. Kerrigan to Mr. Tiernan, with a marked sardonicemphasis, "that combination won't last forever. They've been gettingtoo big for their pants, I'm thinking. Well, it's a long road, eh?It's pretty near time, what?"

"You're right, " responded Mr. Tiernan, feelingly. "It is a long road. These are the two big wards of the city, and everybody knows it. If weturn on them at the last moment where will they be, eh?"

He put a fat finger alongside of his heavy reddish nose and looked atMr. Kerrigan out of squinted eyes. 

"You're damned right, " replied the little politician, cheerfully. 

They went to the dinner separately, so as not to appear to haveconferred before, and greeted each other on arriving as though they hadnot seen each other for days. 

"How's business, Mike?"

"Oh, fair, Pat. How's things with you?"

"So so. "

"Things lookin' all right in your ward for November?"

Mr. Tiernan wrinkled a fat forehead. "Can't tell yet. " All this wasfor the benefit of Mr. McKenty, who did not suspect rank partydisloyalty. 

Nothing much came of this conference, except that they sat aboutdiscussing in a general way wards, pluralities, what Zeigler was likelyto do with the twelfth, whether Pinski could make it in the sixth, Schlumbohm in the twentieth, and so on. New Republican contestants inold, safe Democratic wards were making things look dubious. 

"And how about the first, Kerrigan?" inquired Ungerich, a thin, reflective German-American of shrewd presence. Ungerich was one whohad hitherto wormed himself higher in McKenty's favor than eitherKerrigan or Tiernan. 

"Oh, the first's all right, " replied Kerrigan, archly. "Of course younever can tell. This fellow Scully may do something, but I don't thinkit will be much. If we have the same police protection--"

Ungerich was gratified. He was having a struggle in his own ward, where a rival by the name of Glover appeared to be pouring out moneylike water. He would require considerably more money than usual towin. It was the same with Duvanicki. 

McKenty finally parted with his lieutenants--more feelingly withKerrigan and Tiernan than he had ever done before. He did not whollytrust these two, and he could not exactly admire them and theirmethods, which were the roughest of all, but they were useful. 

"I'm glad to learn, " he said, at parting, "that things are looking allright with you, Pat, and you, Mike, " nodding to each in turn. "We'regoing to need the most we can get out of everybody. I depend on youtwo to make a fine showing--the best of any. The rest of us will notforget it when the plums are being handed around afterward. "

"Oh, you can depend on me to do the best I can always, " commented Mr. Kerrigan, sympathetically. "It's a tough year, but we haven't failedyet. "

"And me, Chief! That goes for me, " observed Mr. Tiernan, raucously. "Iguess I can do as well as I have. "

"Good for you, Mike!" soothed McKenty, laying a gentle hand on hisshoulder. "And you, too, Kerrigan. Yours are the key wards, and weunderstand that. I've always been sorry that the leaders couldn'tagree on you two for something better than councilmen; but next timethere won't be any doubt of it, if I have any influence then. " He wentin and closed the door. Outside a cool October wind was whipping deadleaves and weed stalks along the pavements. Neither Tiernan norKerrigan spoke, though they had come away together, until they were twohundred feet down the avenue toward Van Buren. 

"Some talk, that, eh?" commented Mr. Tiernan, eying Mr. Kerrigan in theflare of a passing gas-lamp. 

"Sure. That's the stuff they always hand out when they're up againstit. Pretty kind words, eh?"

"And after ten years of about the roughest work that's done, eh? It'sabout time, what? Say, it's a wonder he didn't think of that last Junewhen the convention was in session. 

"Tush! Mikey, " smiled Mr. Kerrigan, grimly. "You're a bad little boy. You want your pie too soon. Wait another two or four or six years, like Paddy Kerrigan and the others. "

"Yes, I will--not, " growled Mr. Tiernan. "Wait'll the sixth. "

"No more, will I, " replied Mr. Kerrigan. "Say, we know a trick thatbeats that next-year business to a pulp. What?"

"You're dead right, " commented Mr. Tiernan. 

And so they went peacefully home. 

Chapter XXXVII

Aileen's Revenge

The interesting Polk Lynde, rising one morning, decided that his affairwith Aileen, sympathetic as it was, must culminate in the one fashionsatisfactory to him here and now--this day, if possible, or the next. Since the luncheon some considerable time had elapsed, and although hehad tried to seek her out in various ways, Aileen, owing to a certainfeeling that she must think and not jeopardize her future, had evadedhim. She realized well enough that she was at the turning of thebalance, now that opportunity was knocking so loudly at her door, andshe was exceedingly coy and distrait. In spite of herself the old gripof Cowperwood was over her--the conviction that he was such atremendous figure in the world--and this made her strangely disturbed, nebulous, and meditative. Another type of woman, having troubled asmuch as she had done, would have made short work of it, particularlysince the details in regard to Mrs. Hand had been added. Not soAileen. She could not quite forget the early vows and promisesexchanged between them, nor conquer the often-fractured illusions thathe might still behave himself. 

On the other hand, Polk Lynde, marauder, social adventurer, a bucaneerof the affections, was not so easily to be put aside, delayed, andgainsaid. Not unlike Cowperwood, he was a man of real force, and hismethods, in so far as women were concerned, were even more daring. Long trifling with the sex had taught him that they were coy, uncertain, foolishly inconsistent in their moods, even with regard towhat they most desired. If one contemplated victory, it had frequentlyto be taken with an iron hand. 

From this attitude on his part had sprung his rather dark fame. Aileenfelt it on the day that she took lunch with him. His solemn, dark eyeswere treacherously sweet. She felt as if she might be paving the wayfor some situation in which she would find herself helpless before hissudden mood--and yet she had come. 

But Lynde, meditating Aileen's delay, had this day decided that heshould get a definite decision, and that it should be favorable. Hecalled her up at ten in the morning and chafed her concerning herindecision and changeable moods. He wanted to know whether she wouldnot come and see the paintings at his friend's studio--whether shecould not make up her mind to come to a barn-dance which some bachelorfriends of his had arranged. When she pleaded being out of sorts heurged her to pull herself together. "You're making things verydifficult for your admirers, " he suggested, sweetly. 

Aileen fancied she had postponed the struggle diplomatically for somelittle time without ending it, when at two o'clock in the afternoon herdoor-bell was rung and the name of Lynde brought up. "He said he wassure you were in, " commented the footman, on whom had been pressed adollar, "and would you see him for just a moment? He would not keep youmore than a moment. "

Aileen, taken off her guard by this effrontery, uncertain as to whetherthere might not be something of some slight import concerning which hewished to speak to her, quarreling with herself because of herindecision, really fascinated by Lynde as a rival for her affections, and remembering his jesting, coaxing voice of the morning, decided togo down. She was lonely, and, clad in a lavender housegown with anermine collar and sleeve cuffs, was reading a book. 

"Show him into the music-room, " she said to the lackey. When sheentered she was breathing with some slight difficulty, for so Lyndeaffected her. She knew she had displayed fear by not going to himbefore, and previous cowardice plainly manifested does not add to one'spower of resistance. 

"Oh!" she exclaimed, with an assumption of bravado which she did notfeel. "I didn't expect to see you so soon after your telephonemessage. You have never been in our house before, have you? Won't youput up your coat and hat and come into the gallery? It's brighterthere, and you might be interested in some of the pictures. "

Lynde, who was seeking for any pretext whereby he might prolong hisstay and overcome her nervous mood, accepted, pretending, however, thathe was merely passing and with a moment to spare. 

"Thought I'd get just one glimpse of you again. Couldn't resist thetemptation to look in. Stunning room, isn't it? Spacious--and thereyou are! Who did that? Oh, I see--Van Beers. And a jolly fine piece ofwork it is, too, charming. "

He surveyed her and then turned back to the picture where, ten yearsyounger, buoyant, hopeful, carrying her blue-and-white striped parasol, she sat on a stone bench against the Dutch background of sky andclouds. Charmed by the picture she presented in both cases, he wasgenially complimentary. To-day she was stouter, ruddier--the fiber ofher had hardened, as it does with so many as the years come on; but shewas still in full bloom--a little late in the summer, but in full bloom. 

"Oh yes; and this Rembrandt--I'm surprised! I did not know yourhusband's collection was so representative. Israels, I see, andGerome, and Meissonier! Gad! It is a representative collection, isn'tit?"

"Some of the things are excellent, " she commented, with an air, apingCowperwood and others, "but a number will be weeded outeventually--that Paul Potter and this Goy--as better examples come intothe market. "

She had heard Cowperwood say as much, over and over. 

Finding that conversation was possible between them in this easy, impersonal way, Aileen became quite natural and interested, pleased andentertained by his discreet and charming presence. Evidently he didnot intend to pay much more than a passing social call. On the otherhand, Lynde was studying her, wondering what effect his light, distantair was having. As he finished a very casual survey of the gallery heremarked:

"I have always wondered about this house. I knew Lord did it, ofcourse, and I always heard it was well done. That is the dining-room, I suppose?"

Aileen, who had always been inordinately vain of the house in spite ofthe fact that it had proved of small use socially, was delighted toshow him the remainder of the rooms. Lynde, who was used, of course, to houses of all degrees of material splendor--that of his own familybeing one of the best--pretended an interest he did not feel. Hecommented as he went on the taste of the decorations and wood-carving, the charm of the arrangement that permitted neat brief vistas, and thelike. 

"Just wait a moment, " said Aileen, as they neared the door of her ownboudoir. "I've forgotten whether mine is in order. I want you to seethat. "

She opened it and stepped in. 

"Yes, you may come, " she called. 

He followed. "Oh yes, indeed. Very charming. Very graceful--thoselittle lacy dancing figures--aren't they? A delightful color scheme. Itharmonizes with you exactly. It is quite like you. "

He paused, looking at the spacious rug, which was of warm blues andcreams, and at the gilt ormolu bed. "Well done, " he said, and then, suddenly changing his mood and dropping his talk of decoration (Aileenwas to his right, and he was between her and the door), he added: "Tellme now why won't you come to the barn-dance to-night? It would becharming. You will enjoy it. "

Aileen saw the sudden change in his mood. She recognized that byshowing him the rooms she had led herself into an easily madedisturbing position. His dark engaging eyes told their own story. 

"Oh, I don't feel in the mood to. I haven't for a number of things forsome time. I--"

She began to move unconcernedly about him toward the door, but hedetained her with his hand. "Don't go just yet, " he said. "Let metalk to you. You always evade me in such a nervous way. Don't youlike me at all?"

"Oh yes, I like you; but can't we talk just as well down in themusic-room as here? Can't I tell you why I evade you down there just aswell as I can here?" She smiled a winning and now fearless smile. 

Lynde showed his even white teeth in two gleaming rows. His eyesfilled with a gay maliciousness. "Surely, surely, " he replied; "butyou're so nice in your own room here. I hate to leave it. "

"Just the same, " replied Aileen, still gay, but now slightly disturbedalso, "I think we might as well. You will find me just as entertainingdownstairs. "

She moved, but his strength, quite as Cowperwood's, was much too greatfor her. He was a strong man. 

"Really, you know, " she said, "you mustn't act this way here. Some onemight come in. What cause have I given you to make you think you coulddo like this with me?"

"What cause?" he asked, bending over her and smoothing her plump armswith his brown hands. "Oh, no definite cause, perhaps. You are acause in yourself. I told you how sweet I thought you were, the nightwe were at the Alcott. Didn't you understand then? I thought you did. "

"Oh, I understood that you liked me, and all that, perhaps. Any onemight do that. But as for anything like--well--taking such libertieswith me--I never dreamed of it. But listen. I think I hear some onecoming. " Aileen, making a sudden vigorous effort to free herself andfailing, added: "Please let me go, Mr. Lynde. It isn't very gallant ofyou, I must say, restraining a woman against her will. If I had givenyou any real cause--I shall be angry in a moment. "

Again the even smiling teeth and dark, wrinkling, malicious eyes. 

"Really! How you go on! You would think I was a perfect stranger. Don'tyou remember what you said to me at lunch? You didn't keep yourpromise. You practically gave me to understand that you would come. Why didn't you? Are you afraid of me, or don't you like me, or both? Ithink you're delicious, splendid, and I want to know. "

He shifted his position, putting one arm about her waist, pulling herclose to him, looking into her eyes. With the other he held her freearm. Suddenly he covered her mouth with his and then kissed hercheeks. "You care for me, don't you? What did you mean by saying youmight come, if you didn't?"

He held her quite firm, while Aileen struggled. It was a new sensationthis--that of the other man, and this was Polk Lynde, the firstindividual outside of Cowperwood to whom she had ever felt drawn. Butnow, here, in her own room--and it was within the range ofpossibilities that Cowperwood might return or the servants enter. 

"Oh, but think what you are doing, " she protested, not really disturbedas yet as to the outcome of the contest with him, and feeling as thoughhe were merely trying to make her be sweet to him without intendinganything more at present--"here in my own room! Really, you're not theman I thought you were at all, if you don't instantly let me go. Mr. Lynde! Mr. Lynde!" (He had bent over and was kissing her). "Oh, youshouldn't do this! Really! I--I said I might come, but that was farfrom doing it. And to have you come here and take advantage of me inthis way! I think you're horrid. If I ever had any interest in you, itis quite dead now, I can assure you. Unless you let me go at once, Igive you my word I will never see you any more. I won't! Really, Iwon't! I mean it! Oh, please let me go! I'll scream, I tell you! I'llnever see you again after this day! Oh--" It was an intense but uselessstruggle. 

Coming home one evening about a week later, Cowperwood found Aileenhumming cheerfully, and yet also in a seemingly deep and reflectivemood. She was just completing an evening toilet, and looked young andcolorful--quite her avid, seeking self of earlier days. 

"Well, " he asked, cheerfully, "how have things gone to-day?" Aileen, feeling somehow, as one will on occasions, that if she had done wrongshe was justified and that sometime because of this she might even winCowperwood back, felt somewhat kindlier toward him. "Oh, very well, "she replied. "I stopped in at the Hoecksemas' this afternoon for alittle while. They're going to Mexico in November. She has thedarlingest new basket-carriage--if she only looked like anything whenshe rode in it. Etta is getting ready to enter Bryn Mawr. She is allfussed up about leaving her dog and cat. Then I went down to one ofLane Cross's receptions, and over to Merrill's"--she was referring tothe great store--"and home. I saw Taylor Lord and Polk Lynde togetherin Wabash Avenue. "

"Polk Lynde?" commented Cowperwood. "Is he interesting?"

"Yes, he is, " replied Aileen. "I never met a man with such perfectmanners. He's so fascinating. He's just like a boy, and yet, Heavenknows, he seems to have had enough worldly experience. "

"So I've heard, " commented Cowperwood. "Wasn't he the one that wasmixed up in that Carmen Torriba case here a few years ago?" Cowperwoodwas referring to the matter of a Spanish dancer traveling in Americawith whom Lynde had been apparently desperately in love. 

"Oh yes, " replied Aileen, maliciously; "but that oughtn't to make anydifference to you. He's charming, anyhow. I like him. "

"I didn't say it did, did I? You don't object to my mentioning a mereincident?"

"Oh, I know about the incident, " replied Aileen, jestingly. "I knowyou. "

"What do you mean by that?" he asked, studying her face. 

"Oh, I know you, " she replied, sweetly and yet defensively. "You thinkI'll stay here and be content while you run about with otherwomen--play the sweet and loving wife? Well, I won't. I know why yousay this about Lynde. It's to keep me from being interested in him, possibly. Well, I will be if I want to. I told you I would be, and Iwill. You can do what you please about that. You don't want me, sowhy should you be disturbed as to whether other men are interested inme or not?"

The truth was that Cowperwood was not clearly thinking of any probablerelation between Lynde and Aileen any more than he was in connectionwith her and any other man, and yet in a remote way he was sensing someone. It was this that Aileen felt in him, and that brought forth herseemingly uncalled-for comment. Cowperwood, under the circumstances, attempted to be as suave as possible, having caught the implicationclearly. 

"Aileen, " he cooed, "how you talk! Why do you say that? You know I carefor you. I can't prevent anything you want to do, and I'm sure youknow I don't want to. It's you that I want to see satisfied. You knowthat I care. "

"Yes, I know how you care, " replied Aileen, her mood changing for themoment. "Don't start that old stuff, please. I'm sick of it. I knowhow you're running around. I know about Mrs. Hand. Even thenewspapers make that plain. You've been home just one evening in thelast eight days, long enough for me to get more than a glimpse of you. Don't talk to me. Don't try to bill and coo. I've always known. Don'tthink I don't know who your latest flame is. But don't begin to whine, and don't quarrel with me if I go about and get interested in othermen, as I certainly will. It will be all your fault if I do, and youknow it. Don't begin and complain. It won't do you any good. I'm notgoing to sit here and be made a fool of. I've told you that over andover. You don't believe it, but I'm not. I told you that I'd findsome one one of these days, and I will. As a matter of fact, I havealready. "

At this remark Cowperwood surveyed her coolly, critically, and yet notunsympathetically; but she swung out of the room with a defiant airbefore anything could be said, and went down to the music-room, fromwhence a few moments later there rolled up to him from the hall belowthe strains of the second Hungarian Rhapsodie, feelingly and for oncemovingly played. Into it Aileen put some of her own wild woe andmisery. Cowperwood hated the thought for the moment that some one assmug as Lynde--so good-looking, so suave a society rake--shouldinterest Aileen; but if it must be, it must be. He could have nohonest reason for complaint. At the same time a breath of real sorrowfor the days that had gone swept over him. He remembered her inPhiladelphia in her red cape as a school-girl--in his father'shouse--out horseback-riding, driving. What a splendid, loving girl shehad been--such a sweet fool of love. Could she really have decided notto worry about him any more? Could it be possible that she might findsome one else who would be interested in her, and in whom she wouldtake a keen interest? It was an odd thought for him. 

He watched her as she came into the dining-room later, arrayed in greensilk of the shade of copper patina, her hair done in a high coil--andin spite of himself he could not help admiring her. She looked veryyoung in her soul, and yet moody--loving (for some one), eager, anddefiant. He reflected for a moment what terrible things passion andlove are--how they make fools of us all. "All of us are in the grip ofa great creative impulse, " he said to himself. He talked of otherthings for a while--the approaching election, a poster-wagon he hadseen bearing the question, "Shall Cowperwood own the city?" "Prettycheap politics, I call that, " he commented. And then he told ofstopping in a so-called Republican wigwam at State and Sixteenthstreets--a great, cheaply erected, unpainted wooden shack with seats, and of hearing himself bitterly denounced by the reigning orator. "Iwas tempted once to ask that donkey a few questions, " he added, "but Idecided I wouldn't. "

Aileen had to smile. In spite of all his faults he was such awonderful man--to set a city thus by the ears. "Yet, what care I howfair he be, if he be not fair to me. "

"Did you meet any one else besides Lynde you liked?" he finally asked, archly, seeking to gather further data without stirring up too muchfeeling. 

Aileen, who had been studying him, feeling sure the subject would comeup again, replied: "No, I haven't; but I don't need to. One is enough. "

"What do you mean by that?" he asked, gently. 

"Oh, just what I say. One will do. "

"You mean you are in love with Lynde?"

"I mean--oh!" She stopped and surveyed him defiantly. "What differencedoes it make to you what I mean? Yes, I am. But what do you care? Whydo you sit there and question me? It doesn't make any difference to youwhat I do. You don't want me. Why should you sit there and try tofind out, or watch? It hasn't been any consideration for you that hasrestrained me so far. Suppose I am in love? What difference would itmake to you?"

"Oh, I care. You know I care. Why do you say that?"

"Yes, you care, " she flared. "I know how you care. Well, I'll justtell you one thing"--rage at his indifference was driving her on--"I amin love with Lynde, and what's more, I'm his mistress. And I'llcontinue to be. But what do you care? Pshaw!"

Her eyes blazed hotly, her color rose high and strong. She breathedheavily. 

At this announcement, made in the heat of spite and rage generated bylong indifference, Cowperwood sat up for a moment, and his eyeshardened with quite that implacable glare with which he sometimesconfronted an enemy. He felt at once there were many things he coulddo to make her life miserable, and to take revenge on Lynde, but hedecided after a moment he would not. It was not weakness, but a senseof superior power that was moving him. Why should he be jealous? Hadhe not been unkind enough? In a moment his mood changed to one ofsorrow for Aileen, for himself, for life, indeed--its tangles of desireand necessity. He could not blame Aileen. Lynde was surely attractive. He had no desire to part with her or to quarrel with him--merely totemporarily cease all intimate relations with her and allow her mood toclear itself up. Perhaps she would want to leave him of her ownaccord. Perhaps, if he ever found the right woman, this might provegood grounds for his leaving her. The right woman--where was she? Hehad never found her yet. 

"Aileen, " he said, quite softly, "I wish you wouldn't feel so bitterlyabout this. Why should you? When did you do this? Will you tell methat?"

"No, I'll not tell you that, " she replied, bitterly. "It's none ofyour affair, and I'll not tell you. Why should you ask? You don'tcare. "

"But I do care, I tell you, " he returned, irritably, almost roughly. "When did you? You can tell me that, at least. " His eyes had a hard, cold look for the moment, dying away, though, into kindly inquiry. 

"Oh, not long ago. About a week, " Aileen answered, as though she werecompelled. 

"How long have you known him?" he asked, curiously. 

"Oh, four or five months, now. I met him last winter. "

"And did you do this deliberately--because you were in love with him, or because you wanted to hurt me?"

He could not believe from past scenes between them that she had ceasedto love him. 

Aileen stirred irritably. "I like that, " she flared. "I did itbecause I wanted to, and not because of any love for you--I can tellyou that. I like your nerve sitting here presuming to question meafter the way you have neglected me. " She pushed back her plate, andmade as if to get up. 

"Wait a minute, Aileen, " he said, simply, putting down his knife andfork and looking across the handsome table where Sevres, silver, fruit, and dainty dishes were spread, and where under silk-shaded lights theysat opposite each other. "I wish you wouldn't talk that way to me. You know that I am not a petty, fourth-rate fool. You know that, whatever you do, I am not going to quarrel with you. I know what thetrouble is with you. I know why you are acting this way, and how youwill feel afterward if you go on. It isn't anything I will do--" Hepaused, caught by a wave of feeling. 

"Oh, isn't it?" she blazed, trying to overcome the emotion that wasrising in herself. The calmness of him stirred up memories of thepast. "Well, you keep your sympathy for yourself. I don't need it. Iwill get along. I wish you wouldn't talk to me. "

She shoved her plate away with such force that she upset a glass inwhich was champagne, the wine making a frayed, yellowish splotch on thewhite linen, and, rising, hurried toward the door. She was chokingwith anger, pain, shame, regret. 

"Aileen! Aileen!" he called, hurrying after her, regardless of thebutler, who, hearing the sound of stirring chairs, had entered. Thesefamily woes were an old story to him. "It's love you want--notrevenge. I know--I can tell. You want to be loved by some onecompletely. I'm sorry. You mustn't be too hard on me. I sha'n't beon you. " He seized her by the arm and detained her as they entered thenext room. By this time Aileen was too ablaze with emotion to talksensibly or understand what he was doing. 

"Let me go!" she exclaimed, angrily, hot tears in her eyes. "Let mego! I tell you I don't love you any more. I tell you I hate you!" Sheflung herself loose and stood erect before him. "I don't want you totalk to me! I don't want you to speak to me! You're the cause of all mytroubles. You're the cause of whatever I do, when I do it, and don'tyou dare to deny it! You'll see! You'll see! I'll show you what I'lldo!"

She twisted and turned, but he held her firmly until, in his stronggrasp, as usual, she collapsed and began to cry. "Oh, I cry, " shedeclared, even in her tears, "but it will be just the same. It's toolate! too late!"

Chapter XXXVIII

An Hour of Defeat

The stoic Cowperwood, listening to the blare and excitement that wentwith the fall campaign, was much more pained to learn of Aileen'sdesertion than to know that he had arrayed a whole social elementagainst himself in Chicago. He could not forget the wonder of thosefirst days when Aileen was young, and love and hope had been thesubstance of her being. The thought ran through all his efforts andcogitations like a distantly orchestrated undertone. In the main, inspite of his activity, he was an introspective man, and art, drama, andthe pathos of broken ideals were not beyond him. He harbored in no wayany grudge against Aileen--only a kind of sorrow over the inevitableconsequences of his own ungovernable disposition, the will to freedomwithin himself. Change! Change! the inevitable passing of things! Whoparts with a perfect thing, even if no more than an unreasoning love, without a touch of self-pity?

But there followed swiftly the sixth of November, with its election, noisy and irrational, and the latter resulted in a resounding defeat. Out of the thirty-two Democratic aldermen nominated only ten wereelected, giving the opposition a full two-thirds majority in council, Messrs. Tiernan and Kerrigan, of course, being safely in their places. With them came a Republican mayor and all his Republican associates onthe ticket, who were now supposed to carry out the theories of therespectable and the virtuous. Cowperwood knew what it meant andprepared at once to make overtures to the enemy. From McKenty andothers he learned by degrees the full story of Tiernan's and Kerrigan'streachery, but he did not store it up bitterly against them. Such waslife. They must be looked after more carefully in future, or caught insome trap and utterly undone. According to their own accounts, theyhad barely managed to scrape through. 

"Look at meself! I only won by three hundred votes, " archly declaredMr. Kerrigan, on divers and sundry occasions. "By God, I almost lostme own ward!"

Mr. Tiernan was equally emphatic. "The police was no good to me, " hedeclared, firmly. "They let the other fellows beat up me men. I onlypolled six thousand when I should have had nine. "

But no one believed them. 

While McKenty meditated as to how in two years he should be able toundo this temporary victory, and Cowperwood was deciding thatconciliation was the best policy for him, Schryhart, Hand, and Arneel, joining hands with young MacDonald, were wondering how they could makesure that this party victory would cripple Cowperwood and permanentlyprevent him from returning to power. It was a long, intricate fightthat followed, but it involved (before Cowperwood could possibly reachthe new aldermen) a proposed reintroduction and passage of themuch-opposed General Electric franchise, the granting of rights andprivileges in outlying districts to various minor companies, and lastand worst--a thing which had not previously dawned on Cowperwood as inany way probable--the projection of an ordinance granting to a certainSouth Side corporation the privilege of erecting and operating anelevated road. This was as severe a blow as any that had yet beendealt Cowperwood, for it introduced a new factor and complication intothe Chicago street-railway situation which had hitherto, for all itstroubles, been comparatively simple. 

In order to make this plain it should be said that some eighteen ortwenty years before in New York there had been devised and erected aseries of elevated roads calculated to relieve the congestion oftraffic on the lower portion of that long and narrow island, and theyhad proved an immense success. Cowperwood had been interested in them, along with everything else which pertained to public street traffic, from the very beginning. In his various trips to New York he had madea careful physical inspection of them. He knew all about theirincorporation, backers, the expense connected with them, their returns, and so forth. Personally, in so far as New York was concerned, heconsidered them an ideal solution of traffic on that crowded island. Here in Chicago, where the population was as yet comparativelysmall--verging now toward a million, and widely scattered over a greatarea--he did not feel that they would be profitable--certainly not forsome years to come. What traffic they gained would be taken from thesurface lines, and if he built them he would be merely doubling hisexpenses to halve his profits. From time to time he had contemplatedthe possibility of their being built by other men--providing they couldsecure a franchise, which previous to the late election had not seemedprobable--and in this connection he had once said to Addison: "Let themsink their money, and about the time the population is sufficient tosupport the lines they will have been driven into the hands ofreceivers. That will simply chase the game into my bag, and I can buythem for a mere song. " With this conclusion Addison had agreed. Butsince this conversation circumstances made the construction of theseelevated roads far less problematic. 

In the first place, public interest in the idea of elevated roads wasincreasing. They were a novelty, a factor in the life of New York; andat this time rivalry with the great cosmopolitan heart was very keen inthe mind of the average Chicago citizen. Public sentiment in thisdirection, however naive or unworthy, was nevertheless sufficient tomake any elevated road in Chicago popular for the time being. In thesecond place, it so happened that because of this swelling tide ofmunicipal enthusiasm, this renaissance of the West, Chicago had finallybeen chosen, at a date shortly preceding the present campaign, as thefavored city for an enormous international fair--quite the largest evergiven in America. Men such as Hand, Schryhart, Merrill, and Arneel, tosay nothing of the various newspaper publishers and editors, had beenenthusiastic supporters of the project, and in this Cowperwood had beenone with them. No sooner, however, had the award actually been grantedthan Cowperwood's enemies made it their first concern to utilize thesituation against him. 

To begin with, the site of the fair, by aid of the new anti-Cowperwoodcouncil, was located on the South Side, at the terminus of theSchryhart line, thus making the whole city pay tribute to thatcorporation. Simultaneously the thought suddenly dawned upon theSchryhart faction that it would be an excellent stroke of business ifthe New York elevated-road idea were now introduced into the city--notso much with the purpose of making money immediately, but in order tobring the hated magnate to an understanding that he had a formidablerival which might invade the territory that he now monopolized, curtailing his and thus making it advisable for him to close out hisholdings and depart. Bland and interesting were the conferences heldby Mr. Schryhart with Mr. Hand, and by Mr. Hand with Mr. Arneel on thissubject. Their plan as first outlined was to build an elevated road onthe South Side--south of the proposed fair-grounds--and once that waspopular--having previously secured franchises which would cover theentire field, West, South, and North--to construct the others at theirleisure, and so to bid Mr. Cowperwood a sweet and smiling adieu. 

Cowperwood, awaiting the assembling of the new city council one monthafter election, did not propose to wait in peace and quiet until theenemy should strike at him unprepared. Calling those familiar agents, his corporation attorneys, around him, he was shortly informed of thenew elevated-road idea, and it gave him a real shock. Obviously Handand Schryhart were now in deadly earnest. At once he dictated a letterto Mr. Gilgan asking him to call at his office. At the same time hehurriedly adjured his advisers to use due diligence in discovering whatinfluences could be brought to bear on the new mayor, the honorableChaffee Thayer Sluss, to cause him to veto the ordinances in case theycame before him--to effect in him, indeed, a total change of heart. 

The Hon. Chaffee Thayer Sluss, whose attitude in this instance was toprove crucial, was a tall, shapely, somewhat grandiloquent person whotook himself and his social and commercial opportunities and doings inthe most serious and, as it were, elevated light. You know, perhaps, the type of man or woman who, raised in an atmosphere of comparativecomfort and some small social pretension, and being short of those grayconvolutions in the human brain-pan which permit an individual to seelife in all its fortuitousness and uncertainty, proceed because of anabsence of necessity and the consequent lack of human experience totake themselves and all that they do in the most reverential andProvidence-protected spirit. The Hon. Chaffee Thayer Sluss reasonedthat, because of the splendid ancestry on which he prided himself, hewas an essentially honest man. His father had amassed a small fortunein the wholesale harness business. The wife whom at the age oftwenty-eight he had married--a pretty but inconsequential type ofwoman--was the daughter of a pickle manufacturer, whose wares were insome demand and whose children had been considered good "catches" inthe neighborhood from which the Hon. Chaffee Sluss emanated. There hadbeen a highly conservative wedding feast, and a honeymoon trip to theGarden of the Gods and the Grand Canon. Then the sleek Chaffee, muchin the grace of both families because of his smug determination to risein the world, had returned to his business, which was that of apaper-broker, and had begun with the greatest care to amass acompetence on his own account. 

The Honorable Chaffee, be it admitted, had no particular faults, unlessthose of smugness and a certain over-carefulness as to his ownprospects and opportunities can be counted as such. But he had oneweakness, which, in view of his young wife's stern and somewhatPuritanic ideas and the religious propensities of his father andfather-in-law, was exceedingly disturbing to him. He had an eye forthe beauty of women in general, and particularly for plump, blondewomen with corn-colored hair. Now and then, in spite of the fact thathe had an ideal wife and two lovely children, he would cast ameditative and speculative eye after those alluring forms that crossthe path of all men and that seem to beckon slyly by implication if notby actual, open suggestion. 

However, it was not until several years after Mr. Sluss had married, and when he might have been considered settled in the ways ofrighteousness, that he actually essayed to any extent the role of a gayLothario. An experience or two with the less vigorous and viciousgirls of the streets, a tentative love affair with a girl in his officewho was not new to the practices she encouraged, and he was fairlylaunched. He lent himself at first to the great folly of pretending tolove truly; but this was taken by one and another intelligent youngwoman with a grain of salt. The entertainment and preferment he couldprovide were accepted as sufficient reward. One girl, however, actually seduced, had to be compensated by five thousand dollars--andthat after such terrors and heartaches (his wife, her family, and hisown looming up horribly in the background) as should have cured himforever of a penchant for stenographers and employees generally. Thereafter for a long time he confined himself strictly to suchacquaintances as he could make through agents, brokers, andmanufacturers who did business with him, and who occasionally invitedhim to one form of bacchanalian feast or another. 

As time went on he became wiser, if, alas, a little more eager. Byassociation with merchants and some superior politicians whom hechanced to encounter, and because the ward in which he lived happenedto be a pivotal one, he began to speak publicly on occasion and togather dimly the import of that logic which sees life as a pagan wild, and religion and convention as the forms man puts on or off to suit hisfancy, mood, and whims during the onward drift of the ages. Not forChaffee Thayer Sluss to grasp the true meaning of it all. His brainwas not big enough. Men led dual lives, it was true; but say what youwould, and in the face of his own erring conduct, this was very bad. On Sunday, when he went to church with his wife, he felt that religionwas essential and purifying. In his own business he found himselffrequently confronted by various little flaws of logic relating toundue profits, misrepresentations, and the like; but say what youwould, nevertheless and notwithstanding, God was God, morality wassuperior, the church was important. It was wrong to yield to one'simpulses, as he found it so fascinating to do. One should be betterthan his neighbor, or pretend to be. 

What is to be done with such a rag-bag, moralistic ass as this? Inspite of all his philanderings, and the resultant qualms due to hisfear of being found out, he prospered in business and rose to someeminence in his own community. As he had grown more lax he had becomesomewhat more genial and tolerant, more generally acceptable. He was agood Republican, a follower in the wake of Norrie Simms and youngTruman Leslie MacDonald. His father-in-law was both rich andmoderately influential. Having lent himself to some campaign speaking, and to party work in general, he proved quite an adept. Because of allthese things--his ability, such as it was, his pliability, and histhoroughly respectable savor--he had been slated as candidate for mayoron the Republican ticket, which had subsequently been elected. 

Cowperwood was well aware, from remarks made in the previous campaign, of the derogatory attitude of Mayor Sluss. Already he had discussed itin a conversation with the Hon. Joel Avery (ex-state senator), who wasin his employ at the time. Avery had recently been in all sorts ofcorporation work, and knew the ins and outs of the courts--lawyers, judges, politicians--as he knew his revised statutes. He was a verylittle man--not more than five feet one inch tall--with a wideforehead, saffron hair and brows, brown, cat-like eyes and a mushyunderlip that occasionally covered the upper one as he thought. Afteryears and years Mr. Avery had learned to smile, but it was in astrange, exotic way. Mostly he gazed steadily, folded his lower lipover his upper one, and expressed his almost unchangeable conclusionsin slow Addisonian phrases. In the present crisis it was Mr. Avery whohad a suggestion to make. 

"One thing that I think could be done, " he said to Cowperwood one dayin a very confidential conference, "would be to have a look intothe--the--shall I say the heart affairs--of the Hon. Chaffee ThayerSluss. " Mr. Avery's cat-like eyes gleamed sardonically. "Unless I amgreatly mistaken, judging the man by his personal presence merely, heis the sort of person who probably has had, or if not might readily beinduced to have, some compromising affair with a woman which wouldrequire considerable sacrifice on his part to smooth over. We are allhuman and vulnerable"--up went Mr. Avery's lower lip covering the upperone, and then down again--"and it does not behoove any of us to be tooseverely ethical and self-righteous. Mr. Sluss is a well-meaning man, but a trifle sentimental, as I take it. "

As Mr. Avery paused Cowperwood merely contemplated him, amused no lessby his personal appearance than by his suggestion. 

"Not a bad idea, " he said, "though I don't like to mix heart affairswith politics. "

"Yes, " said Mr. Avery, soulfully, "there may be something in it. Idon't know. You never can tell. "

The upshot of this was that the task of obtaining an account of Mr. Sluss's habits, tastes, and proclivities was assigned to that nowrather dignified legal personage, Mr. Burton Stimson, who in turnassigned it to an assistant, a Mr. Marchbanks. It was an amazingsituation in some respects, but those who know anything concerning theintricacies of politics, finance, and corporate control, as they werepractised in those palmy days, would never marvel at the wells ofsubtlety, sinks of misery, and morasses of disaster which theyrepresented. 

From another quarter, the Hon. Patrick Gilgan was not slow inresponding to Cowperwood's message. Whatever his political connectionsand proclivities, he did not care to neglect so powerful a man. 

"And what can I be doing for you to-day, Mr. Cowperwood?" he inquired, when he arrived looking nice and fresh, very spick and span after hisvictory. 

"Listen, Mr. Gilgan, " said Cowperwood, simply, eying the Republicancounty chairman very fixedly and twiddling his thumbs with fingersinterlocked, "are you going to let the city council jam through theGeneral Electric and that South Side 'L' road ordinance without givingme a chance to say a word or do anything about it?"

Mr. Gilgan, so Cowperwood knew, was only one of a new quadrumviratesetting out to rule the city, but he pretended to believe that he wasthe last word--an all power and authority--after the fashion ofMcKenty. "Me good man, " replied Gilgan, archly, "you flatter me. Ihaven't the city council in me vest pocket. I've been county chairman, it's true, and helped to elect some of these men, but I don't own 'em. Why shouldn't they pass the General Electric ordinance? It's an honestordinance, as far as I know. All the newspapers have been for it. Asfor this 'L' road ordinance, I haven't anything to do with it. Itisn't anything I know much about. Young MacDonald and Mr. Schryhartare looking after that. "

As a matter of fact, all that Mr. Gilgan was saying was decidedly true. A henchman of young MacDonald's who was beginning to learn to playpolitics--an alderman by the name of Klemm--had been scheduled as akind of field-marshal, and it was MacDonald--not Gilgan, Tiernan, Kerrigan, or Edstrom--who was to round up the recalcitrant aldermen, telling them their duty. Gilgan's quadrumvirate had not as yet gottheir machine in good working order, though they were doing their bestto bring this about. "I helped to elect every one of these men, it'strue; but that doesn't mean I'm running 'em by any means, " concludedGilgan. "Not yet, anyhow. "

At the "not yet" Cowperwood smiled. 

"Just the same, Mr. Gilgan, " he went on, smoothly, "you're the nominalhead and front of this whole movement in opposition to me at present, and you're the one I have to look to. You have this present Republicansituation almost entirely in your own fingers, and you can do about asyou like if you're so minded. If you choose you can persuade themembers of council to take considerable more time than they otherwisewould in passing these ordinances--of that I'm sure. I don't knowwhether you know or not, Mr. Gilgan, though I suppose you do, that thiswhole fight against me is a strike campaign intended to drive me out ofChicago. Now you're a man of sense and judgment and considerablebusiness experience, and I want to ask you if you think that is fair. I came here some sixteen or seventeen years ago and went into the gasbusiness. It was an open field, the field I undertook todevelop--outlying towns on the North, South, and West sides. Yet themoment I started the old-line companies began to fight me, though Iwasn't invading their territory at all at the time. "

"I remember it well enough, " replied Gilgan. "I was one of the menthat helped you to get your Hyde Park franchise. You'd never have gotit if it hadn't been for me. That fellow McKibben, " added Gilgan, witha grin, "a likely chap, him. He always walked as if he had on rubbershoes. He's with you yet, I suppose?"

"Yes, he's around here somewhere, " replied Cowperwood, loftily. "But togo back to this other matter, most of the men that are behind thisGeneral Electric ordinance and this 'L' road franchise were in the gasbusiness--Blackman, Jules, Baker, Schryhart, and others--and they areangry because I came into their field, and angrier still because theyhad eventually to buy me out. They're angry because I reorganizedthese old-fashioned street-railway companies here and put them on theirfeet. Merrill is angry because I didn't run a loop around his store, and the others are angry because I ever got a loop at all. They're allangry because I managed to step in and do the things that they shouldhave done long before. I came here--and that's the whole story in anutshell. I've had to have the city council with me to be able to doanything at all, and because I managed to make it friendly and keep itso they've turned on me in that section and gone into politics. I knowwell enough, Mr. Gilgan, " concluded Cowperwood, "who has been behindyou in this fight. I've known all along where the money has beencoming from. You've won, and you've won handsomely, and I for onedon't begrudge you your victory in the least; but what I want to knownow is, are you going to help them carry this fight on against me inthis way, or are you not? Are you going to give me a fighting chance?There's going to be another election in two years. Politics isn't abed of roses that stays made just because you make it once. Thesefellows that you have got in with are a crowd of silk stockings. Theyhaven't any sympathy with you or any one like you. They're willing tobe friendly with you now--just long enough to get something out of youand club me to death. But after that how long do you think they willhave any use for you--how long?"

"Not very long, maybe, " replied Gilgan, simply and contemplatively, "but the world is the world, and we have to take it as we find it. "

"Quite so, " replied Cowperwood, undismayed; "but Chicago is Chicago, and I will be here as long as they will. Fighting me in thisfashion--building elevated roads to cut into my profits and givingfranchises to rival companies--isn't going to get me out or seriouslyinjure me, either. I'm here to stay, and the political situation as itis to-day isn't going to remain the same forever and ever. Now, youare an ambitious man; I can see that. You're not in politics for yourhealth--that I know. Tell me exactly what it is you want and whether Ican't get it for you as quick if not quicker than these other fellows?What is it I can do for you that will make you see that my side is justas good as theirs and better? I am playing a legitimate game inChicago. I've been building up an excellent street-car service. Idon't want to be annoyed every fifteen minutes by a rival companycoming into the field. Now, what can I do to straighten this out?Isn't there some way that you and I can come together without fightingat every step? Can't you suggest some programme we can both follow thatwill make things easier?"

Cowperwood paused, and Gilgan thought for a long time. It was true, asCowperwood said, that he was not in politics for his health. Thesituation, as at present conditioned, was not inherently favorable forthe brilliant programme he had originally mapped out for himself. Tiernan, Kerrigan, and Edstrom were friendly as yet; but they werealready making extravagant demands; and the reformers--those who hadbeen led by the newspapers to believe that Cowperwood was a scoundreland all his works vile--were demanding that a strictly moral programmebe adhered to in all the doings of council, and that no jobs, contracts, or deals of any kind be entered into without the fullknowledge of the newspapers and of the public. Gilgan, even after thefirst post-election conference with his colleagues, had begun to feelthat he was between the devil and the deep sea, but he was feeling hisway, and not inclined to be in too much of a hurry. 

"It's rather a flat proposition you're makin' me, " he said softly, after a time, "askin' me to throw down me friends the moment I've won avictory for 'em. It's not the way I've been used to playin' politics. There may be a lot of truth in what you say. Still, a man can't bejumpin' around like a cat in a bag. He has to be faithful to somebodysometime. " Mr. Gilgan paused, considerably nonplussed by his ownposition. 

"Well, " replied Cowperwood, sympathetically, "think it over. It'sdifficult business, this business of politics. I'm in it, for one, only because I have to be. If you see any way you can help me, or Ican help you, let me know. In the mean time don't take in bad partwhat I've just said. I'm in the position of a man with his hack to thewall. I'm fighting for my life. Naturally, I'm going to fight. Butyou and I needn't be the worse friends for that. We may become thebest of friends yet. "

"It's well I know that, " said Gilgan, "and it's the best of friends I'dlike to be with you. But even if I could take care of the aldermen, which I couldn't alone as yet, there's the mayor. I don't know him atall except to say how-do-ye-do now and then; but he's very much opposedto you, as I understand it. He'll be running around most likely andtalking in the papers. A man like that can do a good deal. "

"I may be able to arrange for that, " replied Cowperwood. "Perhaps Mr. Sluss can be reached. It may be that he isn't as opposed to me as hethinks he is. You never can tell. "

Chapter XXXIX

The New Administration

Oliver Marchbanks, the youthful fox to whom Stimson had assigned thetask of trapping Mr. Sluss in some legally unsanctioned act, had byscurrying about finally pieced together enough of a story to make itexceedingly unpleasant for the Honorable Chaffee in case he were tobecome the too willing tool of Cowperwood's enemies. The principalagent in this affair was a certain Claudia Carlstadt--adventuress, detective by disposition, and a sort of smiling prostitute andhireling, who was at the same time a highly presentable and experiencedindividual. Needless to say, Cowperwood knew nothing of these minorproceedings, though a genial nod from him in the beginning had set inmotion the whole machinery of trespass in this respect. 

Claudia Carlstadt--the instrument of the Honorable Chaffee'sundoing--was blonde, slender, notably fresh as yet, being onlytwenty-six, and as ruthless and unconsciously cruel as only theavaricious and unthinking type--unthinking in the larger philosophicmeaning of the word--can be. To grasp the reason for her being, onewould have had to see the spiritless South Halstead Street world fromwhich she had sprung--one of those neighborhoods of old, cracked, andbattered houses where slatterns trudge to and fro with beer-cans andshutters swing on broken hinges. In her youth Claudia had been made to"rush the growler, " to sell newspapers at the corner of Halstead andHarrison streets, and to buy cocaine at the nearest drug store. Herlittle dresses and underclothing had always been of the poorest andshabbiest material--torn and dirty, her ragged stockings frequentlyshowed the white flesh of her thin little legs, and her shoes were wornand cracked, letting the water and snow seep through in winter. Hercompanions were wretched little street boys of her own neighborhood, from whom she learned to swear and to understand and indulge in vilepractices, though, as is often the case with children, she was notutterly depraved thereby, at that. At eleven, when her mother died, she ran away from the wretched children's home to which she had beencommitted, and by putting up a piteous tale she was harbored on theWest Side by an Irish family whose two daughters were clerks in a largeretail store. Through these Claudia became a cash-girl. Thereafterfollowed an individual career as strange and checkered as anything thathad gone before. Sufficient to say that Claudia's native intelligencewas considerable. At the age of twenty she had managed--through herconnections with the son of a shoe manufacturer and with a richjeweler--to amass a little cash and an extended wardrobe. It was thenthat a handsome young Western Congressman, newly elected, invited herto Washington to take a position in a government bureau. Thisnecessitated a knowledge of stenography and typewriting, which she soonacquired. Later she was introduced by a Western Senator into that formof secret service which has no connection with legitimate government, but which is profitable. She was used to extract secrets by flatteryand cajolery where ordinary bribery would not avail. A matter oftracing the secret financial connections of an Illinois Congressmanfinally brought her back to Chicago, and here young Stimson encounteredher. From him she learned of the political and financial conspiracyagainst Cowperwood, and was in an odd manner fascinated. From herCongressmen friends she already knew something of Sluss. Stimsonindicated that it would be worth two or three thousand dollars andexpenses if the mayor were successfully compromised. Thus ClaudiaCarlstadt was gently navigated into Mr. Sluss's glowing life. 

The matter was not so difficult of accomplishment. Through the Hon. Joel Avery, Marchbanks secured a letter from a political friend of Mr. Sluss in behalf of a young widow--temporarily embarrassed, a competentstenographer, and the like--who wished a place under the newadministration. Thus equipped, Claudia presented herself at themayor's office armed for the fray, as it were, in a fetching black silkof a strangely heavy grain, her throat and fingers ornamented withsimple pearls, her yellow hair arranged about her temples in exquisitecurls. Mr. Sluss was very busy, but made an appointment. The nexttime she appeared a yellow and red velvet rose had been added to hercorsage. She was a shapely, full-bosomed young woman who had acquiredthe art of walking, sitting, standing, and bending after the mostapproved theories of the Washington cocotte. Mr. Sluss was interestedat once, but circumspect and careful. He was now mayor of a greatcity, the cynosure of all eyes. It seemed to him he remembered havingalready met Mrs. Brandon, as the lady styled herself, and she remindedhim where. It had been two years before in the grill of the Richelieu. He immediately recalled details of the interesting occasion. 

"Ah, yes, and since then, as I understand it, you married and yourhusband died. Most unfortunate. "

Mr. Sluss had a large international manner suited, as he thought, to aman in so exalted a position. 

Mrs. Brandon nodded resignedly. Her eyebrows and lashes were carefullydarkened so as to sweeten the lines of her face, and a dimple had beenmade in one cheek by the aid of an orange stick. She was the picture ofdelicate femininity appealingly distressful, and yet to all appearancecommercially competent. 

"At the time I met you you were connected with the government servicein Washington, I believe. "

"Yes, I had a small place in the Treasury Department, but this newadministration put me out. "

She lifted her eyes and leaned forward, thus bringing her torso into aravishing position. She had the air of one who has done many thingsbesides work in the Treasury Department. No least detail, as sheobserved, was lost on Mr. Sluss. He noted her shoes, which were buttonpatent leather with cloth tops; her gloves, which were glace black kidwith white stitching at the back and fastened by dark-gamet buttons;the coral necklace worn on this occasion, and her yellow and red velvetrose. Evidently a trig and hopeful widow, even if so recently bereaved. 

"Let me see, " mused Mr. Sluss, "where are you living? Just let me makea note of your address. This is a very nice letter from Mr. Barry. Suppose you give me a few days to think what I can do? This is Tuesday. Come in again on Friday. I'll see if anything suggests itself. "

He strolled with her to the official door, and noted that her step waslight and springy. At parting she turned a very melting gaze upon him, and at once he decided that if he could he would find her something. She was the most fascinating applicant that had yet appeared. 

The end of Chaffee Thayer Sluss was not far distant after this. Mrs. Brandon returned, as requested, her costume enlivened this time by ared-silk petticoat which contrived to show its ingratiating flouncesbeneath the glistening black broadcloth of her skirt. 

"Say, did you get on to that?" observed one of the doormen, a hold-overfrom the previous regime, to another of the same vintage. "Some styleto the new administration, hey? We're not so slow, do you think?"

He pulled his coat together and fumbled at his collar to give himselfan air of smartness, and gazed gaily at his partner, both of them oversixty and dusty specimens, at that. 

The other poked him in the stomach. "Hold your horses there, Bill. Notso fast. We ain't got a real start yet. Give us another six months, and then watch out. "

Mr. Sluss was pleased to see Mrs. Brandon. He had spoken to JohnBastienelli, the new commissioner of taxes, whose offices were directlyover the way on the same hall, and the latter, seeing that he mightwant favors of the mayor later on, had volubly agreed to take care ofthe lady. 

"I am very glad to be able to give you this letter to Mr. Bastienelli, "commented Mr. Sluss, as he rang for a stenographer, "not only for thesake of my old friend Mr. Barry, but for your own as well. Do you knowMr. Barry very well?" he asked, curiously. 

"Only slightly, " admitted Mrs. Brandon, feeling that Mr. Sluss would beglad to know she was not very intimate with those who were recommendingher. "I was sent to him by a Mr. Amerman. " (She named an entirelyfictitious personage. )

Mr. Sluss was relieved. As he handed her the note she once moresurveyed him with those grateful, persuasive, appealing eyes. They madehim almost dizzy, and set up a chemical perturbation in his blood whichquite dispelled his good resolutions in regard to the strange woman andhis need of being circumspect. 

"You say you are living on the North Side?" he inquired, smilingweakly, almost foolishly. 

"Yes, I have taken such a nice little apartment over-looking LincolnPark. I didn't know whether I was going to be able to keep it up, butnow that I have this position-- You've been so very kind to me, Mr. Sluss, " she concluded, with the same I-need-to-be-cared-for air. "Ihope you won't forget me entirely. If I could be of any personalservice to you at any time--"

Mr. Sluss was rather beside himself at the thought that this charmingbaggage of femininity, having come so close for the minute, was nowpassing on and might disappear entirely. By a great effort of daring, as they walked toward the door, he managed to say: "I shall have tolook into that little place of yours sometime and see how you aregetting along. I live up that way myself. "

"Oh, do!" she exclaimed, warmly. "It would be so kind. I ampractically alone in the world. Perhaps you play cards. I know how tomake a most wonderful punch. I should like you to see how cozily I amsettled. "

At this Mr. Sluss, now completely in tow of his principal weakness, capitulated. "I will, " he said, "I surely will. And that sooner thanyou expect, perhaps. You must let me know how you are getting along. "

He took her hand. She held his quite warmly. "Now I'll hold you toyour promise, " she gurgled, in a throaty, coaxing way. A few dayslater he encountered her at lunch-time in his hall, where she had beenliterally lying in wait for him in order to repeat her invitation. Then he came. 

The hold-over employees who worked about the City Hall in connectionwith the mayor's office were hereafter instructed to note as witnessesthe times of arrival and departure of Mrs. Brandon and Mr. Sluss. Anote that he wrote to Mrs. Brandon was carefully treasured, andsufficient evidence as to their presence at hotels and restaurants wasgarnered to make out a damaging case. The whole affair took about fourmonths; then Mrs. Brandon suddenly received an offer to return toWashington, and decided to depart. The letters that followed her were apart of the data that was finally assembled in Mr. Stimson's office tobe used against Mr. Sluss in case he became too obstreperous in hisopposition to Cowperwood. 

In the mean time the organization which Mr. Gilgan had planned with Mr. Tiernan, Mr. Kerrigan, and Mr. Edstrom was encountering what might becalled rough sledding. It was discovered that, owing to thetemperaments of some of the new aldermen, and to the self-righteousattitude of their political sponsors, no franchises of any kind were tobe passed unless they had the moral approval of such men as Hand, Sluss, and the other reformers; above all, no money of any kind was tobe paid to anybody for anything. 

"Whaddye think of those damn four-flushers and come-ons, anyhow?"inquired Mr. Kerrigan of Mr. Tiernan, shortly subsequent to aconference with Gilgan, from which Tiernan had been unavoidably absent. "They've got an ordinance drawn up covering the whole city in anelevated-road scheme, and there ain't anything in it for anybody. Say, whaddye think they think we are, anyhow? Hey?"

Mr. Tiernan himself, after his own conference with Edstrom, had beenbusy getting the lay of the land, as he termed it; and hisinvestigations led him to believe that a certain alderman by the nameof Klemm, a clever and very respectable German-American from the NorthSide, was to be the leader of the Republicans in council, and that heand some ten or twelve others were determined, because of moralprinciples alone, that only honest measures should be passed. It wasstaggering. 

At this news Mr. Kerrigan, who had been calculating on a number ofthousands of dollars for his vote on various occasions, staredincredulously. "Well, I'll be damned!" he commented. "They've got anerve! What?"

"I've been talking to this fellow Klemm of the twentieth, " said Mr. Tiernan, sardonically. "Say, he's a real one! I met him over at theTremont talkin' to Hvranek. He shakes hands like a dead fish. Whaddyethink he had the nerve to say to me. 'This isn't the Mr. Tiernan ofthe second?' he says. 

"'I'm the same, ' says I. 

"'Well, you don't look as savage as I thought you did, ' says he. Haw-haw! I felt like sayin', 'If you don't go way I'll give you aslight tap on the wrist. ' I'd like just one pass at a stiff like thatup a dark alley. " (Mr. Tiernan almost groaned in anguish. ) "And then hebegins to say he doesn't see how there can be any reasonable objectionto allowin' various new companies to enter the street-car field. 'It'ssufficiently clear, ' he says, 'that the public is against monopolies inany form. '" (Mr. Tiernan was mocking Mr. Klemm's voice and language. )"My eye!" he concluded, sententiously. "Wait till he tries to throwthat dope into Gumble and Pinski and Schlumbohm--haw, haw, haw!"

Mr. Kerrigan, at the thought of these hearty aldermen accustomed to allthe perquisites of graft and rake-off, leaned back and gave vent to aburst of deep-chested laughter. "I'll tell you what it is, Mike, " hesaid, archly, hitching up his tight, very artistic, and almost Englishtrousers, "we're up against a bunch of pikers in this Gilgan crowd, andthey've gotta be taught a lesson. He knows it as well as anybody else. None o' that Christian con game goes around where I am. I believe thisman Cowperwood's right when he says them fellows are a bunch ofsoreheads and jealous. If Cowperwood's willing to put down good hardmoney to keep 'em out of his game, let them do as much to stay in it. This ain't no charity grab-bag. We ought to be able to round up enoughof these new fellows to make Schryhart and MacDonald come down good andplenty for what they want. From what Gilgan said all along, I thoughthe was dealing with live ones. They paid to win the election. Now let'em pay to pull off a swell franchise if they want it, eh?"

"You're damn right, " echoed Tiernan. "I'm with you to a T. "

It was not long after this conversation that Mr. Truman LeslieMacDonald, acting through Alderman Klemm, proceeded to make a count ofnoses, and found to his astonishment that he was not as strong as hehad thought he was. Political loyalty is such a fickle thing. Anumber of aldermen with curious names--Horback, Fogarty, McGrane, Sumulsky--showed signs of being tampered with. He hurried at once toMessrs. Hand, Schryhart, and Arneel with this disconcertinginformation. They had been congratulating themselves that the recentvictory, if it resulted in nothing else, would at least produce ablanket 'L' road franchise, and that this would be sufficient to bringCowperwood to his knees. 

Upon receiving MacDonald's message Hand sent at once for Gilgan. Whenhe inquired as to how soon a vote on the General Electricfranchise--which had been introduced by Mr. Klemm--could reasonably beexpected, Gilgan declared himself much grieved to admit that in onedirection or other considerable opposition seemed to have developed tothe measure. 

"What's that?" said Hand, a little savagely. "Didn't we make a plainbargain in regard to this? You had all the money you asked for, didn'tyou? You said you could give me twenty-six aldermen who would vote aswe agreed. You're not going to go back on your bargain, are you?"

"Bargain! bargain!" retorted Gilgan, irritated because of the spirit ofthe assault. "I agreed to elect twenty-six Republican aldermen, andthat I did. I don't own 'em body and soul. I didn't name 'em in everycase. I made deals with the men in the different wards that had thebest chance, and that the people wanted. I'm not responsible for anycrooked work that's going on behind my back, am I? I'm not responsiblefor men's not being straight if they're not?"

Mr. Gilgan's face was an aggrieved question-mark. 

"But you had the picking of these men, " insisted Mr. Hand, aggressively. "Every one of them had your personal indorsement. Youmade the deals with them. You don't mean to say they're going back ontheir sacred agreement to fight Cowperwood tooth and nail? There can'tbe any misunderstanding on their part as to what they were elected todo. The newspapers have been full of the fact that nothing favorableto Cowperwood was to be put through. "

"That's all true enough, " replied Mr. Gilgan; "but I can't be heldresponsible for the private honesty of everybody. Sure I selectedthese men. Sure I did! But I selected them with the help of the restof the Republicans and some of the Democrats. I had to make the bestterms I could--to pick the men that could win. As far as I can findout most of 'em are satisfied not to do anything for Cowperwood. It'spassing these ordinances in favor of other people that's stirring upthe trouble. "

Mr. Hand's broad forehead wrinkled, and his blue eyes surveyed Mr. Gilgan with suspicion. "Who are these men, anyhow?" he inquired. "I'dlike to get a list of them. "

Mr. Gilgan, safe in his own subtlety, was ready with a toll of thesupposed recalcitrants. They must fight their own battles. Mr. Handwrote down the names, determining meanwhile to bring pressure to bear. He decided also to watch Mr. Gilgan. If there should prove to be ahitch in the programme the newspapers should be informed and commandedto thunder appropriately. Such aldermen as proved unfaithful to thegreat trust imposed on them should be smoked out, followed back to thewards which had elected them, and exposed to the people who were behindthem. Their names should be pilloried in the public press. Thecustomary hints as to Cowperwood's deviltry and trickery should beredoubled. 

But in the mean time Messrs. Stimson, Avery, McKibben, Van Sickle, andothers were on Cowperwood's behalf acting separately upon variousunattached aldermen--those not temperamentally and chronically alliedwith the reform idea--and making them understand that if they couldfind it possible to refrain from supporting anti-Cowperwood measuresfor the next two years, a bonus in the shape of an annual salary of twothousand dollars or a gift in some other form--perhaps a troublesomenote indorsed or a mortgage taken care of--would be forthcoming, together with a guarantee that the general public should never know. In no case was such an offer made direct. Friends or neighbors, orsuave unidentified strangers, brought mysterious messages. By thismethod some eleven aldermen--quite apart from the ten regular Democratswho, because of McKenty and his influence, could be counted upon--hadbeen already suborned. Although Schryhart, Hand, and Arneel did notknow it, their plans--even as they planned--were being thus undermined, and, try as they would, the coveted ordinance for a blanket franchisepersistently eluded them. They had to content themselves for the timebeing with a franchise for a single 'L' road line on the South Side inSchryhart's own territory, and with a franchise to the General Electriccovering only one unimportant line, which it would be easy forCowperwood, if he continued in power, to take over at some later time. 

Chapter XL

A Trip to Louisville

The most serious difficulty confronting Cowperwood from now on wasreally not so much political as financial. In building up andfinancing his Chicago street-railway enterprises he had, in those dayswhen Addison was president of the Lake City National, used that bank ashis chief source of supply. Afterward, when Addison had been forced toretire from the Lake City to assume charge of the Chicago TrustCompany, Cowperwood had succeeded in having the latter designated as acentral reserve and in inducing a number of rural banks to keep theirspecial deposits in its vaults. However, since the war on him and hisinterests had begun to strengthen through the efforts of Hand andArneel--men most influential in the control of the othercentral-reserve banks of Chicago, and in close touch with the moneybarons of New York--there were signs not wanting that some of thecountry banks depositing with the Chicago Trust Company had beeninduced to withdraw because of pressure from outside inimical forces, and that more were to follow. It was some time before Cowperwood fullyrealized to what an extent this financial opposition might be directedagainst himself. In its very beginning it necessitated speedyhurryings to New York, Philadelphia, Cincinnati, Baltimore, Boston--even London at times--on the chance that there would be looseand ready cash in someone's possession. It was on one of theseperegrinations that he encountered a curious personality which led tovarious complications in his life, sentimental and otherwise, which hehad not hitherto contemplated. 

In various sections of the country Cowperwood had met many men ofwealth, some grave, some gay, with whom he did business, and amongthese in Louisville, Kentucky, he encountered a certain Col. NathanielGillis, very wealthy, a horseman, inventor, roue, from whom heoccasionally extracted loans. The Colonel was an interesting figure inKentucky society; and, taking a great liking to Cowperwood, he foundpleasure, during the brief periods in which they were together, inpiloting him about. On one occasion in Louisville he observed:"To-night, Frank, with your permission, I am going to introduce you toone of the most interesting women I know. She isn't good, but she'sentertaining. She has had a troubled history. She is the ex-wife oftwo of my best friends, both dead, and the ex-mistress of another. Ilike her because I knew her father and mother, and because she was aclever little girl and still is a nice woman, even if she is gettingalong. She keeps a sort of house of convenience here in Louisville fora few of her old friends. You haven't anything particular to doto-night, have you? Suppose we go around there?"

Cowperwood, who was always genially sportive when among strong men--asort of bounding collie--and who liked to humor those who could be ofuse to him, agreed. 

"It sounds interesting to me. Certainly I'll go. Tell me more abouther. Is she good-looking?"

"Rather. But better yet, she is connected with a number of women whoare. " The Colonel, who had a small, gray goatee and sportive dark eyes, winked the latter solemnly. 

Cowperwood arose. 

"Take me there, " he said. 

It was a rainy night. The business on which he was seeing the Colonelrequired another day to complete. There was little or nothing to do. On the way the Colonel retailed more of the life history of NannieHedden, as he familiarly called her, and explained that, although thiswas her maiden name, she had subsequently become first Mrs. JohnAlexander Fleming, then, after a divorce, Mrs. Ira George Carter, andnow, alas! was known among the exclusive set of fast livers, to whichhe belonged, as plain Hattie Starr, the keeper of a more or less secrethouse of ill repute. Cowperwood did not take so much interest in allthis until he saw her, and then only because of two children theColonel told him about, one a girl by her first marriage, BereniceFleming, who was away in a New York boarding-school, the other a boy, Rolfe Carter, who was in a military school for boys somewhere in theWest. 

"That daughter of hers, " observed the Colonel, "is a chip of the oldblock, unless I miss my guess. I only saw her two or three times a fewyears ago when I was down East at her mother's summer home; but shestruck me as having great charm even for a girl of ten. She's a ladyborn, if ever there was one. How her mother is to keep her straight, living as she does, is more than I know. How she keeps her in thatschool is a mystery. There's apt to be a scandal here at any time. I'm very sure the girl doesn't know anything about her mother'sbusiness. She never lets her come out here. "

"Berenice Fleming, " Cowperwood thought to himself. "What a pleasingname, and what a peculiar handicap in life. "

"How old is the daughter now?" he inquired. 

"Oh, she must be about fifteen--not more than that. "

When they reached the house, which was located in a rather somber, treeless street, Cowperwood was surprised to find the interior spaciousand tastefully furnished. Presently Mrs. Carter, as she was generallyknown in society, or Hattie Starr, as she was known to a lesssatisfying world, appeared. Cowperwood realized at once that he was inthe presence of a woman who, whatever her present occupation, was notwithout marked evidences of refinement. She was exceedinglyintelligent, if not highly intellectual, trig, vivacious, anything butcommonplace. A certain spirited undulation in her walk, a seeming gay, frank indifference to her position in life, an obvious accustomednessto polite surroundings took his fancy. Her hair was built up in aloose Frenchy way, after the fashion of the empire, and her cheeks wereslightly mottled with red veins. Her color was too high, and yet itwas not utterly unbecoming. She had friendly gray-blue eyes, whichwent well with her light-brown hair; along with a pink floweredhouse-gown, which became her fulling figure, she wore pearls. 

"The widow of two husbands, " thought Cowperwood; "the mother of twochildren!" With the Colonel's easy introduction began a lightconversation. Mrs. Carter gracefully persisted that she had known ofCowperwood for some time. His strenuous street-railway operations weremore or less familiar to her. 

"It would be nice, " she suggested, "since Mr. Cowperwood is here, if weinvited Grace Deming to call. "

The latter was a favorite of the Colonel's. 

"I would be very glad if I could talk to Mrs. Carter, " gallantlyvolunteered Cowperwood--he scarcely knew why. He was curious to learnmore of her history. On subsequent occasions, and in more extendedconversation with the Colonel, it was retailed to him in full. 

Nannie Hedden, or Mrs. John Alexander Fleming, or Mrs. Ira GeorgeCarter, or Hattie Starr, was by birth a descendant of a long line ofVirginia and Kentucky Heddens and Colters, related in a definite orvague way to half the aristocracy of four or five of the surroundingstates. Now, although still a woman of brilliant parts, she was thekeeper of a select house of assignation in this meager city of perhapstwo hundred thousand population. How had it happened? How could itpossibly have come about? She had been in her day a reigning beauty. She had been born to money and had married money. Her first husband, John Alexander Fleming, who had inherited wealth, tastes, privileges, and vices from a long line of slave-holding, tobacco-growing Flemings, was a charming man of the Kentucky-Virginia society type. He had beentrained in the law with a view to entering the diplomatic service, but, being an idler by nature, had never done so. Instead, horse-raising, horse-racing, philandering, dancing, hunting, and the like, had takenup his time. When their wedding took place the Kentucky-Virginiasociety world considered it a great match. There was wealth on bothsides. Then came much more of that idle social whirl which hadproduced the marriage. Even philanderings of a very vital characterwere not barred, though deception, in some degree at least, would benecessary. As a natural result there followed the appearance in themountains of North Carolina during a charming autumn outing of a gayyoung spark by the name of Tucker Tanner, and the bestowal on him bythe beautiful Nannie Fleming--as she was then called--of her temporaryaffections. Kind friends were quick to report what Fleming himself didnot see, and Fleming, roue that he was, encountering young Mr. Tanneron a high mountain road one evening, said to him, "You get out of thisparty by night, or I will let daylight through you in the morning. "Tucker Tanner, realizing that however senseless and unfair theexaggerated chivalry of the South might be, the end would be bulletsjust the same, departed. Mrs. Fleming, disturbed but unrepentant, considered herself greatly abused. There was much scandal. Then camequarrels, drinking on both sides, finally a divorce. Mr. Tucker Tannerdid not appear to claim his damaged love, but the aforementioned IraGeorge Carter, a penniless never-do-well of the same generation andsocial standing, offered himself and was accepted. By the firstmarriage there had been one child, a girl. By the second there wasanother child, a boy. Ira George Carter, before the children were oldenough to impress Mrs. Carter with the importance of their needs or herown affection for them, had squandered, in one ridiculous venture afteranother, the bulk of the property willed to her by her father, MajorWickham Hedden. Ultimately, after drunkenness and dissipation on thehusband's side, and finally his death, came the approach of poverty. Mrs. Carter was not practical, and still passionate and inclined todissipation. However, the aimless, fatuous going to pieces of IraGeorge Carter, the looming pathos of the future of the children, and agrowing sense of affection and responsibility had finally sobered her. The lure of love and life had not entirely disappeared, but her chanceof sipping at those crystal founts had grown sadly slender. A woman ofthirty-eight and still possessing some beauty, she was not content toeat the husks provided for the unworthy. Her gorge rose at the thoughtof that neglected state into which the pariahs of society fall and onwhich the inexperienced so cheerfully comment. Neglected by her ownset, shunned by the respectable, her fortune quite gone, she wasnevertheless determined that she would not be a back-street seamstressor a pensioner upon the bounty of quondam friends. By insensibledegrees came first unhallowed relationships through friendship andpassing passion, then a curious intermediate state between the highworld of fashion and the half world of harlotry, until, finally, inLouisville, she had become, not openly, but actually, the mistress of ahouse of ill repute. Men who knew how these things were done, and whowere consulting their own convenience far more than her welfare, suggested the advisability of it. Three or four friends like ColonelGillis wished rooms--convenient place in which to loaf, gamble, andbring their women. Hattie Starr was her name now, and as such she hadeven become known in a vague way to the police--but only vaguely--as awoman whose home was suspiciously gay on occasions. 

Cowperwood, with his appetite for the wonders of life, his appreciationof the dramas which produce either failure or success, could not helpbeing interested in this spoiled woman who was sailing so vaguely theseas of chance. Colonel Gillis once said that with some strong man toback her, Nannie Fleming could be put back into society. She had apleasant appeal--she and her two children, of whom she never spoke. After a few visits to her home Cowperwood spent hours talking with Mrs. Carter whenever he was in Louisville. On one occasion, as they wereentering her boudoir, she picked up a photograph of her daughter fromthe dresser and dropped it into a drawer. Cowperwood had never seenthis picture before. It was that of a girl of fifteen or sixteen, ofwhom he obtained but the most fleeting glance. Yet, with that instinctfor the essential and vital which invariably possessed him, he gained akeen impression of it. It was of a delicately haggard child with amarvelously agreeable smile, a fine, high-poised head upon a thin neck, and an air of bored superiority. Combined with this was a touch ofweariness about the eyelids which drooped in a lofty way. Cowperwoodwas fascinated. Because of the daughter he professed an interest inthe mother, which he really did not feel. 

A little later Cowperwood was moved to definite action by the discoveryin a photographer's window in Louisville of a second picture ofBerenice--a rather large affair which Mrs. Carter had had enlarged froma print sent her by her daughter some time before. Berenice wasstanding rather indifferently posed at the corner of a colonial mantel, a soft straw outing-hat held negligently in one hand, one hip sunklower than the other, a faint, elusive smile playing dimly around hermouth. The smile was really not a smile, but only the wraith of one, and the eyes were wide, disingenuous, mock-simple. The picture becauseof its simplicity, appealed to him. He did not know that Mrs. Carterhad never sanctioned its display. "A personage, " was Cowperwood'scomment to himself, and he walked into the photographer's office to seewhat could be done about its removal and the destruction of the plates. A half-hundred dollars, he found, would arrange it all--plates, prints, everything. Since by this ruse he secured a picture for himself, hepromptly had it framed and hung in his Chicago rooms, where sometimesof an afternoon when he was hurrying to change his clothes he stoppedto look at it. With each succeeding examination his admiration andcuriosity grew. Here was perhaps, he thought, the true society woman, the high-born lady, the realization of that ideal which Mrs. Merrilland many another grande dame had suggested. 

It was not so long after this again that, chancing to be in Louisville, he discovered Mrs. Carter in a very troubled social condition. Heraffairs had received a severe setback. A certain Major Hagenback, acitizen of considerable prominence, had died in her home under peculiarcircumstances. He was a man of wealth, married, and nominally livingwith his wife in Lexington. As a matter of fact, he spent very littletime there, and at the time of his death of heart failure was leading apleasurable existence with a Miss Trent, an actress, whom he hadintroduced to Mrs. Carter as his friend. The police, through atalkative deputy coroner, were made aware of all the facts. Picturesof Miss Trent, Mrs. Carter, Major Hagenback, his wife, and many curiousdetails concerning Mrs. Carter's home were about to appear in thepapers when Colonel Gillis and others who were powerful socially andpolitically interfered; the affair was hushed up, but Mrs. Carter wasin distress. This was more than she had bargained for. 

Her quondam friends were frightened away for the nonce. She herselfhad lost courage. When Cowperwood saw her she had been in the veryhuman act of crying, and her eyes were red. 

"Well, well, " he commented, on seeing her--she was in moody gray in thebargain--"you don't mean to tell me you're worrying about anything, areyou?"

"Oh, Mr. Cowperwood, " she explained, pathetically, "I have had so muchtrouble since I saw you. You heard of Major Hagenback's death, didn'tyou?" Cowperwood, who had heard something of the story from ColonelGillis, nodded. "Well, I have just been notified by the police that Iwill have to move, and the landlord has given me notice, too. If itjust weren't for my two children--"

She dabbed at her eyes pathetically. 

Cowperwood meditated interestedly. 

"Haven't you any place you can go?" he asked. 

"I have a summer place in Pennsylvania, " she confessed; "but I can't gothere very well in February. Besides, it's my living I'm worryingabout. I have only this to depend on. "

She waved her hand inclusively toward the various rooms. "Don't youown that place in Pennsylvania?" he inquired. 

"Yes, but it isn't worth much, and I couldn't sell it. I've beentrying to do that anyhow for some time, because Berenice is gettingtired of it. "

"And haven't you any money laid away?"

"It's taken all I have to run this place and keep the children inschool. I've been trying to give Berenice and Rolfe a chance to dosomething for themselves. "

At the repetition of Berenice's name Cowperwood consulted his owninterest or mood in the matter. A little assistance for her would notbother him much. Besides, it would probably eventually bring about ameeting with the daughter. 

"Why don't you clear out of this?" he observed, finally. "It's nobusiness to be in, anyhow, if you have any regard for your children. They can't survive anything like this. You want to put your daughterback in society, don't you?"

"Oh yes, " almost pleaded Mrs. Carter. 

"Precisely, " commented Cowperwood, who, when he was thinking, almostinvariably dropped into a short, cold, curt, business manner. Yet hewas humanely inclined in this instance. 

"Well, then, why not live in your Pennsylvania place for the present, or, if not that, go to New York? You can't stay here. Ship or sellthese things. " He waved a hand toward the rooms. 

"I would only too gladly, " replied Mrs. Carter, "if I knew what to do. "

"Take my advice and go to New York for the present. You will get ridof your expenses here, and I will help you with the rest--for thepresent, anyhow. You can get a start again. It is too bad about thesechildren of yours. I will take care of the boy as soon as he is oldenough. As for Berenice"--he used her name softly--"if she can stay inher school until she is nineteen or twenty the chances are that shewill make social connections which will save her nicely. The thing foryou to do is to avoid meeting any of this old crowd out here in thefuture if you can. It might be advisable to take her abroad for a timeafter she leaves school. "

"Yes, if I just could, " sighed Mrs. Carter, rather lamely. 

"Well, do what I suggest now, and we will see, " observed Cowperwood. "It would be a pity if your two children were to have their livesruined by such an accident as this. "

Mrs. Carter, realizing that here, in the shape of Cowperwood, if hechose to be generous, was the open way out of a lowering dungeon ofmisery, was inclined to give vent to a bit of grateful emotion, but, finding him subtly remote, restrained herself. His manner, whilewarmly generous at times, was also easily distant, except when hewished it to be otherwise. Just now he was thinking of the high soulof Berenice Fleming and of its possible value to him. 

Chapter XLI

The Daughter of Mrs. Fleming

Berenice Fleming, at the time Cowperwood first encountered her mother, was an inmate of the Misses Brewster's School for Girls, then onRiverside Drive, New York, and one of the most exclusive establishmentsof its kind in America. The social prestige and connections of theHeddens, Flemings, and Carters were sufficient to gain her thisintroduction, though the social fortunes of her mother were already atthis time on the down grade. A tall girl, delicately haggard, as hehad imagined her, with reddish-bronze hair of a tinge but distantlyallied to that of Aileen's, she was unlike any woman Cowperwood hadever known. Even at seventeen she stood up and out with aninexplicable superiority which brought her the feverish and exoticattention of lesser personalities whose emotional animality found anoutlet in swinging a censer at her shrine. 

A strange maiden, decidedly! Even at this age, when she was, as onemight suppose, a mere slip of a girl, she was deeply conscious ofherself, her sex, her significance, her possible social import. Armedwith a fair skin, a few freckles, an almost too high color at times, strange, deep, night-blue, cat-like eyes, a long nose, a ratherpleasant mouth, perfect teeth, and a really good chin, she moved alwayswith a feline grace that was careless, superior, sinuous, and yet theacme of harmony and a rhythmic flow of lines. One of her mess-halltricks, when unobserved by her instructors, was to walk with six platesand a water-pitcher all gracefully poised on the top of her head afterthe fashion of the Asiatic and the African, her hips moving, hershoulders, neck, and head still. Girls begged weeks on end to have herrepeat this "stunt, " as they called it. Another was to put her armsbehind her and with a rush imitate the Winged Victory, a copy of whichgraced the library hall. 

"You know, " one little rosy-cheeked satellite used to urge on her, adoringly, "she must have been like you. Her head must have been likeyours. You are lovely when you do it. "

For answer Berenice's deep, almost black-blue eyes turned on heradmirer with solemn unflattered consideration. She awed always by thesomething that she did not say. 

The school, for all the noble dames who presided over it--solemn, inexperienced owl-like conventionalists who insisted on the last tittleand jot of order and procedure--was a joke to Berenice. She recognizedthe value of its social import, but even at fifteen and sixteen she wassuperior to it. She was superior to her superiors and to the specimensof maidenhood--supposed to be perfect socially--who gathered about tohear her talk, to hear her sing, declaim, or imitate. She was deeply, dramatically, urgently conscious of the value of her personality initself, not as connected with any inherited social standing, but of itsinnate worth, and of the artistry and wonder of her body. One of herchief delights was to walk alone in her room--sometimes at night, thelamp out, the moon perhaps faintly illuminating her chamber--and topose and survey her body, and dance in some naive, graceful, airy Greekway a dance that was singularly free from sex consciousness--and yetwas it? She was conscious of her body--of every inch of it--under theivory-white clothes which she frequently wore. Once she wrote in asecret diary which she maintained--another art impulse or anaffectation, as you will: "My skin is so wonderful. It tingles so withrich life. I love it and my strong muscles underneath. I love my handsand my hair and my eyes. My hands are long and thin and delicate; myeyes are a dark, deep blue; my hair is a brown, rusty red, thick andsleepy. My long, firm, untired limbs can dance all night. Oh, I lovelife! I love life!"

You would not have called Berenice Fleming sensuous--though shewas--because she was self-controlled. Her eyes lied to you. They liedto all the world. They looked you through and through with a calmsavoir faire, a mocking defiance, which said with a faint curl of thelips, barely suggested to help them out, "You cannot read me, youcannot read me. " She put her head to one side, smiled, lied (byimplication), assumed that there was nothing. And there was nothing, as yet. Yet there was something, too--her inmost convictions, andthese she took good care to conceal. The world--how little it shouldever, ever know! How little it ever could know truly!

The first time Cowperwood encountered this Circe daughter of sounfortunate a mother was on the occasion of a trip to New York, thesecond spring following his introduction to Mrs. Carter in Louisville. Berenice was taking some part in the closing exercises of the BrewsterSchool, and Mrs. Carter, with Cowperwood for an escort, decided to goEast. Cowperwood having located himself at the Netherlands, and Mrs. Carter at the much humbler Grenoble, they journeyed together to visitthis paragon whose picture he had had hanging in his rooms in Chicagofor months past. When they were introduced into the somewhat somberreception parlor of the Brewster School, Berenice came slipping inafter a few moments, a noiseless figure of a girl, tall and slim, anddeliciously sinuous. Cowperwood saw at first glance that she fulfilledall the promise of her picture, and was delighted. She had, hethought, a strange, shrewd, intelligent smile, which, however, wasgirlish and friendly. Without so much as a glance in his direction shecame forward, extending her arms and hands in an inimitable histrionicmanner, and exclaimed, with a practised and yet natural inflection:"Mother, dear! So here you are really! You know, I've been thinking ofyou all morning. I wasn't sure whether you would come to-day, youchange about so. I think I even dreamed of you last night. "

Her skirts, still worn just below the shoe-tops, had the richness ofscraping silk then fashionable. She was also guilty of using a faintperfume of some kind. 

Cowperwood could see that Mrs. Carter, despite a certain nervousnessdue to the girl's superior individuality and his presence, was veryproud of her. Berenice, he also saw quickly, was measuring him out ofthe tail of her eye--a single sweeping glance which she vouchsafed frombeneath her long lashes sufficing; but she gathered quite accuratelythe totality of Cowperwood's age, force, grace, wealth, and worldlyability. Without hesitation she classed him as a man of power in somefield, possibly finance, one of the numerous able men whom her motherseemed to know. She always wondered about her mother. His large grayeyes, that searched her with lightning accuracy, appealed to her aspleasant, able eyes. She knew on the instant, young as she was, thathe liked women, and that probably he would think her charming; but asfor giving him additional attention it was outside her code. Shepreferred to be interested in her dear mother exclusively. 

"Berenice, " observed Mrs. Carter, airily, "let me introduce Mr. Cowperwood. "

Berenice turned, and for the fraction of a second leveled a frank andyet condescending glance from wells of what Cowperwood considered to beindigo blue. 

"Your mother has spoken of you from time to time, " he said, pleasantly. 

She withdrew a cool, thin hand as limp and soft as wax, and turned toher mother again without comment, and yet without the leastembarrassment. Cowperwood seemed in no way important to her. 

"What would you say, dear, " pursued Mrs. Carter, after a brief exchangeof commonplaces, "if I were to spend next winter in New York?"

"It would be charming if I could live at home. I'm sick of this sillyboarding-school. "

"Why, Berenice! I thought you liked it. "

"I hate it, but only because it's so dull. The girls here are sosilly. "

Mrs. Carter lifted her eyebrows as much as to say to her escort, "Nowwhat do you think?" Cowperwood stood solemnly by. It was not for himto make a suggestion at present. He could see that for somereason--probably because of her disordered life--Mrs. Carter wasplaying a game of manners with her daughter; she maintained always alofty, romantic air. With Berenice it was natural--the expression of avain, self-conscious, superior disposition. 

"A rather charming garden here, " he observed, lifting a curtain andlooking out into a blooming plot. 

"Yes, the flowers are nice, " commented Berenice. 

"Wait; I'll get some for you. It's against the rules, but they can'tdo more than send me away, and that's what I want. "

"Berenice! Come back here!"

It was Mrs. Carter calling. 

The daughter was gone in a fling of graceful lines and flounces. "Nowwhat do you make of her?" asked Mrs. Carter, turning to her friend. 

"Youth, individuality, energy--a hundred things. I see nothing wrongwith her. "

"If I could only see to it that she had her opportunities unspoiled. "

Already Berenice was returning, a subject for an artist in almoststudied lines. Her arms were full of sweet-peas and roses which shehad ruthlessly gathered. 

"You wilful girl!" scolded her mother, indulgently. "I shall have togo and explain to your superiors. Whatever shall I do with her, Mr. Cowperwood?"

"Load her with daisy chains and transport her to Cytherea, " commentedCowperwood, who had once visited this romantic isle, and therefore knewits significance. 

Berenice paused. "What a pretty speech that is!" she exclaimed. "Ihave a notion to give you a special flower for that. I will, too. " Shepresented him with a rose. 

For a girl who had slipped in shy and still, Cowperwood commented, hermood had certainly changed. Still, this was the privilege of the bornactress, to change. And as he viewed Berenice Fleming now he felt herto be such--a born actress, lissome, subtle, wise, indifferent, superior, taking the world as she found it and expecting it to obey--tosit up like a pet dog and be told to beg. What a charming character!What a pity it should not be allowed to bloom undisturbed in itsmake-believe garden! What a pity, indeed!

Chapter XLII

F. A. Cowperwood, Guardian

It was some time after this first encounter before Cowperwood sawBerenice again, and then only for a few days in that region of thePocono Mountains where Mrs. Carter had her summer home. It was anidyllic spot on a mountainside, some three miles from Stroudsburg, among a peculiar juxtaposition of hills which, from the comfortablerecesses of a front veranda, had the appearance, as Mrs. Carter wasfond of explaining, of elephants and camels parading in the distance. The humps of the hills--some of them as high as eighteen hundredfeet--rose stately and green. Below, quite visible for a mile or more, moved the dusty, white road descending to Stroudsburg. Out of herLouisville earnings Mrs. Carter had managed to employ, for the severalsummer seasons she had been here, a gardener, who kept the slopingfront lawn in seasonable flowers. There was a trig two-wheeled trapwith a smart horse and harness, and both Rolfe and Berenice werepossessed of the latest novelty of the day--low-wheeled bicycles, whichhad just then superseded the old, high-wheel variety. For Berenice, also, was a music-rack full of classic music and song collections, apiano, a shelf of favorite books, painting-materials, various athleticimplements, and several types of Greek dancing-tunics which she haddesigned herself, including sandals and fillet for her hair. She wasan idle, reflective, erotic person dreaming strange dreams of a nearand yet far-off social supremacy, at other times busying herself withsuch social opportunities as came to her. A more safely calculatingand yet wilful girl than Berenice Fleming would have been hard to find. By some trick of mental adjustment she had gained a clear prevision ofhow necessary it was to select the right socially, and to conceal hertrue motives and feelings; and yet she was by no means a snob, mentally, nor utterly calculating. Certain things in her own and inher mother's life troubled her--quarrels in her early days, from herseventh to her eleventh year, between her mother and her stepfather, Mr. Carter; the latter's drunkenness verging upon delirium tremens attimes; movings from one place to another--all sorts of sordid anddepressing happenings. Berenice had been an impressionable child. Some things had gripped her memory mightily--once, for instance, whenshe had seen her stepfather, in the presence of her governess, kick atable over, and, seizing the toppling lamp with demoniac skill, hurl itthrough a window. She, herself, had been tossed by him in one of thesetantrums, when, in answer to the cries of terror of those about her, hehad shouted: "Let her fall! It won't hurt the little devil to break afew bones. " This was her keenest memory of her stepfather, and itrather softened her judgment of her mother, made her sympathetic withher when she was inclined to be critical. Of her own father she onlyknew that he had divorced her mother--why, she could not say. Sheliked her mother on many counts, though she could not feel that sheactually loved her--Mrs. Carter was too fatuous at times, and at othertimes too restrained. This house at Pocono, or Forest Edge, as Mrs. Carter had named it, was conducted after a peculiar fashion. From Juneto October only it was open, Mrs. Carter, in the past, having returnedto Louisville at that time, while Berenice and Rolfe went back to theirrespective schools. Rolfe was a cheerful, pleasant-mannered youth, wellbred, genial, and courteous, but not very brilliant intellectually. Cowperwood's judgment of him the first time he saw him was that underordinary circumstances he would make a good confidential clerk, possibly in a bank. Berenice, on the other hand, the child of thefirst husband, was a creature of an exotic mind and an opalescentheart. After his first contact with her in the reception-room of theBrewster School Cowperwood was deeply conscious of the import of thisbudding character. He was by now so familiar with types and kinds ofwomen that an exceptional type--quite like an exceptional horse to ajudge of horse-flesh--stood out in his mind with singular vividness. Quite as in some great racing-stable an ambitious horseman mightimagine that he detected in some likely filly the signs and lineamentsof the future winner of a Derby, so in Berenice Fleming, in the quietprecincts of the Brewster School, Cowperwood previsioned the centralfigure of a Newport lawn fete or a London drawing-room. Why? She hadthe air, the grace, the lineage, the blood--that was why; and on thatscore she appealed to him intensely, quite as no other woman before hadever done. 

It was on the lawn of Forest Edge that Cowperwood now saw Berenice. Thelatter had had the gardener set up a tall pole, to which was attached atennis-ball by a cord, and she and Rolfe were hard at work on a game oftether-ball. Cowperwood, after a telegram to Mrs. Carter, had been metat the station in Pocono by her and rapidly driven out to the house. The green hills pleased him, the up-winding, yellow road, thesilver-gray cottage with the brown-shingle roof in the distance. Itwas three in the afternoon, and bright for a sinking sun. 

"There they are now, " observed Mrs. Carter, cheerful and smiling, asthey came out from under a low ledge that skirted the road a little wayfrom the cottage. Berenice, executing a tripping, running step to oneside, was striking the tethered ball with her racquet. "They are hardat it, as usual. Two such romps!"

She surveyed them with pleased motherly interest, which Cowperwoodconsidered did her much credit. He was thinking that it would be toobad if her hopes for her children should not be realized. Yet possiblythey might not be. Life was very grim. How strange, he thought, wasthis type of woman--at once a sympathetic, affectionate mother and apanderer to the vices of men. How strange that she should have thesechildren at all. Berenice had on a white skirt, white tennis-shoes, apale-cream silk waist or blouse, which fitted her very loosely. Because of exercise her color was high--quite pink--and her dusty, reddish hair was blowy. Though they turned into the hedge gate anddrove to the west entrance, which was at one side of the house, therewas no cessation of the game, not even a glance from Berenice, so busywas she. 

He was merely her mother's friend to her. Cowperwood noted, withsingular vividness of feeling, that the lines of her movements--thefleeting, momentary positions she assumed--were full of a wondrousnatural charm. He wanted to say so to Mrs. Carter, but restrainedhimself. 

"It's a brisk game, " he commented, with a pleased glance. "You play, do you?"

"Oh, I did. I don't much any more. Sometimes I try a set with Rolfeor Bevy; but they both beat me so badly. "

"Bevy? Who is Bevy?"

"Oh, that's short of Berenice. It's what Rolfe called her when he wasa baby. "

"Bevy! I think that rather nice. "

"I always like it, too. Somehow it seems to suit her, and yet I don'tknow why. "

Before dinner Berenice made her appearance, freshened by a bath andclad in a light summer dress that appeared to Cowperwood to be allflounces, and the more graceful in its lines for the problematicabsence of a corset. Her face and hands, however--a face thin, long, and sweetly hollow, and hands that were slim and sinewy--gripped andheld his fancy. He was reminded in the least degree of Stephanie; butthis girl's chin was firmer and more delicately, though moreaggressively, rounded. Her eyes, too, were shrewder and less evasive, though subtle enough. 

"So I meet you again, " he observed, with a somewhat aloof air, as shecame out on the porch and sank listlessly into a wicker chair. "The last time I met you you were hard at work in New York. "

"Breaking the rules. No, I forget; that was my easiest work. Oh, Rolfe, " she called over her shoulder, indifferently, "I see yourpocket-knife out on the grass. "

Cowperwood, properly suppressed, waited a brief space. "Who won thatexciting game?"

"I did, of course. I always win at tether-ball. "

"Oh, do you?" commented Cowperwood. 

"I mean with brother, of course. He plays so poorly. " She turned tothe west--the house faced south--and studied the road which came upfrom Stroudsburg. "I do believe that's Harry Kemp, " she added, quiteto herself. "If so, he'll have my mail, if there is any. "

She got up again and disappeared into the house, coming out a fewmoments later to saunter down to the gate, which was over a hundredfeet away. To Cowperwood she seemed to float, so hale and graceful wasshe. A smart youth in blue serge coat, white trousers, and white shoesdrove by in a high-seated trap. 

"Two letters for you, " he called, in a high, almost falsetto voice. "Ithought you would have eight or nine. Blessed hot, isn't it?" He had asmart though somewhat effeminate manner, and Cowperwood at once wrotehim down as an ass. Berenice took the mail with an engaging smile. She sauntered past him reading, without so much as a glance. Presentlyhe heard her voice within. 

"Mother, the Haggertys have invited me for the last week in August. Ihave half a mind to cut Tuxedo and go. I like Bess Haggerty. "

"Well, you'll have to decide that, dearest. Are they going to be atTarrytown or Loon Lake?"

"Loon Lake, of course, " came Berenice's voice. 

What a world of social doings she was involved in, thought Cowperwood. She had begun well. The Haggertys were rich coal-mine operators inPennsylvania. Harris Haggerty, to whose family she was probablyreferring, was worth at least six or eight million. The social worldthey moved in was high. 

They drove after dinner to The Saddler, at Saddler's Run, where a danceand "moonlight promenade" was to be given. On the way over, owing tothe remoteness of Berenice, Cowperwood for the first time in his lifefelt himself to be getting old. In spite of the vigor of his mind andbody, he realized constantly that he was over fifty-two, while she wasonly seventeen. Why should this lure of youth continue to possess him?She wore a white concoction of lace and silk which showed a pair ofsmooth young shoulders and a slender, queenly, inimitably modeled neck. He could tell by the sleek lines of her arms how strong she was. 

"It is perhaps too late, " he said to himself, in comment. "I amgetting old. "

The freshness of the hills in the pale night was sad. 

Saddler's, when they reached there after ten, was crowded with theyouth and beauty of the vicinity. Mrs. Carter, who was prepossessingin a ball costume of silver and old rose, expected that Cowperwoodwould dance with her. And he did, but all the time his eyes were onBerenice, who was caught up by one youth and another of dapper mienduring the progress of the evening and carried rhythmically by in themazes of the waltz or schottische. There was a new dance in vogue thatinvolved a gay, running step--kicking first one foot and then the otherforward, turning and running backward and kicking again, and thenswinging with a smart air, back to back, with one's partner. Berenice, in her lithe, rhythmic way, seemed to him the soul of spirited andgracious ease--unconscious of everybody and everything save the spiritof the dance itself as a medium of sweet emotion, of some far-off, dreamlike spirit of gaiety. He wondered. He was deeply impressed. 

"Berenice, " observed Mrs. Carter, when in an intermission she cameforward to where Cowperwood and she were sitting in the moonlightdiscussing New York and Kentucky social life, "haven't you saved onedance for Mr. Cowperwood?"

Cowperwood, with a momentary feeling of resentment, protested that hedid not care to dance any more. Mrs. Carter, he observed to himself, was a fool. 

"I believe, " said her daughter, with a languid air, "that I am full up. I could break one engagement, though, somewhere. "

"Not for me, though, please, " pleaded Cowperwood. "I don't care todance any more, thank you. "

He almost hated her at the moment for a chilly cat. And yet he did not. 

"Why, Bevy, how you talk! I think you are acting very badly thisevening. "

"Please, please, " pleaded Cowperwood, quite sharply. "Not any more. Idon't care to dance any more. "

Bevy looked at him oddly for a moment--a single thoughtful glance. 

"But I have a dance, though, " she pleaded, softly. "I was justteasing. Won't you dance it with me?

"I can't refuse, of course, " replied Cowperwood, coldly. 

"It's the next one, " she replied. 

They danced, but he scarcely softened to her at first, so angry was he. Somehow, because of all that had gone before, he felt stiff andungainly. She had managed to break in upon his natural savoirfaire--this chit of a girl. But as they went on through a second halfthe spirit of her dancing soul caught him, and he felt more at ease, quite rhythmic. She drew close and swept him into a strange unisonwith herself. 

"You dance beautifully, " he said. 

"I love it, " she replied. She was already of an agreeable height forhim. 

It was soon over. "I wish you would take me where the ices are, " shesaid to Cowperwood. 

He led her, half amused, half disturbed at her attitude toward him. 

"You are having a pleasant time teasing me, aren't you?" he asked. 

"I am only tired, " she replied. "The evening bores me. Really itdoes. I wish we were all home. "

"We can go when you say, no doubt. "

As they reached the ices, and she took one from his hand, she surveyedhim with those cool, dull blue eyes of hers--eyes that had the flatquality of unglazed Dutch tiles. 

"I wish you would forgive me, " she said. "I was rude. I couldn't helpit. I am all out of sorts with myself. "

"I hadn't felt you were rude, " he observed, lying grandly, his moodtoward her changing entirely. 

"Oh yes I was, and I hope you will forgive me. I sincerely wish youwould. "

"I do with all my heart--the little that there is to forgive. "

He waited to take her back, and yielded her to a youth who was waiting. He watched her trip away in a dance, and eventually led her mother tothe trap. Berenice was not with them on the home drive; some one elsewas bringing her. Cowperwood wondered when she would come, and wherewas her room, and whether she was really sorry, and-- As he fell asleepBerenice Fleming and her slate-blue eyes were filling his mindcompletely. 

Chapter XLIII

The Planet Mars

The banking hostility to Cowperwood, which in its beginning had madenecessary his trip to Kentucky and elsewhere, finally reached a climax. It followed an attempt on his part to furnish funds for the building ofelevated roads. The hour for this new form of transit convenience hadstruck. The public demanded it. Cowperwood saw one elevated road, theSouth Side Alley Line, being built, and another, the West SideMetropolitan Line, being proposed, largely, as he knew, in order tocreate sentiment for the idea, and so to make his opposition to ageneral franchise difficult. He was well aware that if he did notchoose to build them others would. It mattered little that electricityhad arrived finally as a perfected traction factor, and that all hislines would soon have to be done over to meet that condition, or thatit was costing him thousands and thousands to stay the threateningaspect of things politically. In addition he must now plunge into thisnew realm, gaining franchises by the roughest and subtlest forms ofpolitical bribery. The most serious aspect of this was not political, but rather financial. Elevated roads in Chicago, owing to thesparseness of the population over large areas, were a serious thing tocontemplate. The mere cost of iron, right of way, rolling-stock, andpower-plants was immense. Being chronically opposed to investing hisprivate funds where stocks could just as well be unloaded on thepublic, and the management and control retained by him, Cowperwood, forthe time being, was puzzled as to where he should get credit for themillions to be laid down in structural steel, engineering fees, labor, and equipment before ever a dollar could be taken out in passengerfares. Owing to the advent of the World's Fair, the South Side 'L'--towhich, in order to have peace and quiet, he had finally conceded afranchise--was doing reasonably well. Yet it was not making any suchreturn on the investment as the New York roads. The new lines which hewas preparing would traverse even less populous sections of the city, and would in all likelihood yield even a smaller return. Money had tobe forthcoming--something between twelve and fifteen milliondollars--and this on the stocks and bonds of a purely paper corporationwhich might not yield paying dividends for years to come. Addison, finding that the Chicago Trust Company was already heavily loaded, called upon various minor but prosperous local banks to take over thenew securities (each in part, of course). He was astonished andchagrined to find that one and all uniformly refused. 

"I'll tell you how it is, Judah, " one bank president confided to him, in great secrecy. "We owe Timothy Arneel at least three hundredthousand dollars that we only have to pay three per cent. For. It's acall-loan. Besides, the Lake National is our main standby when itcomes to quick trades, and he's in on that. I understand from one ortwo friends that he's at outs with Cowperwood, and we can't afford tooffend him. I'd like to, but no more for me--not at present, anyhow. "

"Why, Simmons, " replied Addison, "these fellows are simply cutting offtheir noses to spite their faces. These stock and bond issues areperfectly good investments, and no one knows it better than you do. All this hue and cry in the newspapers against Cowperwood doesn'tamount to anything. He's perfectly solvent. Chicago is growing. Hislines are becoming more valuable every year. "

"I know that, " replied Simmons. "But what about this talk of a rivalelevated system? Won't that injure his lines for the time being, anyhow, if it comes into the field?"

"If I know anything about Cowperwood, " replied Addison, simply, "thereisn't going to be any rival elevated road. It's true they got the citycouncil to give them a franchise for one line on the South Side; butthat's out of his territory, anyhow, and that other one to the ChicagoGeneral Company doesn't amount to anything. It will be years and yearsbefore it can be made to pay a dollar, and when the time comes he willprobably take it over if he wants it. Another election will be held intwo years, and then the city administration may not be so unfavorable. As it is, they haven't been able to hurt him through the council asmuch as they thought they would. "

"Yes; but he lost the election. "

"True; but it doesn't follow he's going to lose the next one, or everyone. "

"Just the same, " replied Simmons, very secretively, "I understandthere's a concerted effort on to drive him out. Schryhart, Hand, Merrill, Arneel--they're the most powerful men we have. I understandHand says that he'll never get his franchises renewed except on termsthat'll make his lines unprofitable. There's going to be an awfulsmash here one of these days if that's true. " Mr. Simmons looked verywise and solemn. 

"Never believe it, " replied Addison, contemptuously. "Hand isn'tChicago, neither is Schryhart, nor Arneel. Cowperwood is a brainy man. He isn't going to be put under so easily. Did you ever hear what wasthe real bottom cause of all this disturbance?"

"Yes, I've heard, " replied Simmons. 

"Do you believe it?"

"Oh, I don't know. Yes, I suppose I do. Still, I don't know that thatneed have anything to do with it. Money envy is enough to make any manfight. This man Hand is very powerful. "

Not long after this Cowperwood, strolling into the president's officeof the Chicago Trust Company, inquired: "Well, Judah, how about thoseNorthwestern 'L' bonds?"

"It's just as I thought, Frank, " replied Addison, softly. "We'll haveto go outside of Chicago for that money. Hand, Arneel, and the rest ofthat crowd have decided to combine against us. That's plain. Something has started them off in full cry. I suppose my resignationmay have had something to do with it. Anyhow, every one of the banksin which they have any hand has uniformly refused to come in. To makesure that I was right I even called up the little old Third National ofLake View and the Drovers and Traders on Forty-seventh Street. That'sCharlie Wallin's bank. When I was over in the Lake National he used tohang around the back door asking for anything I could give him that wassound. Now he says his orders are from his directors not to share inanything we have to offer. It's the same story everywhere--theydaren't. I asked Wallin if he knew why the directors were down on theChicago Trust or on you, and at first he said he didn't. Then he saidhe'd stop in and lunch with me some day. They're the silliest lot ofold ostriches I ever heard of. As if refusing to let us have money onany loan here was going to prevent us from getting it! They can taketheir little old one-horse banks and play blockhouses with them if theywant to. I can go to New York and in thirty-six hours raise twentymillion dollars if we need it. "

Addison was a little warm. It was a new experience for him. Cowperwoodmerely curled his mustaches and smiled sardonically. 

"Well, never mind, " he said. "Will you go down to New York, or shallI?"

It was decided, after some talk, that Addison should go. When hereached New York he found, to his surprise, that the local oppositionto Cowperwood had, for some mysterious reason, begun to take root inthe East. 

"I'll tell you how it is, " observed Joseph Haeckelheimer, to whomAddison applied--a short, smug, pussy person who was the head ofHaeckelheimer, Gotloeb & Co. , international bankers. "We hear oddthings concerning Mr. Cowperwood out in Chicago. Some people say he issound--some not. He has some very good franchises covering a largeportion of the city, but they are only twenty-year franchises, and theywill all run out by 1903 at the latest. As I understand it, he hasmanaged to stir up all the local elements--some very powerful ones, too--and he is certain to have a hard time to get his franchisesrenewed. I don't live in Chicago, of course. I don't know much aboutit, but our Western correspondent tells me this is so. Mr. Cowperwoodis a very able man, as I understand it, but if all these influentialmen are opposed to him they can make him a great deal of trouble. Thepublic is very easily aroused. "

"You do a very able man a great injustice, Mr. Haeckelheimer, " Addisonretorted. "Almost any one who starts out to do things successfully andintelligently is sure to stir up a great deal of feeling. Theparticular men you mention seem to feel that they have a sort ofproprietor's interest in Chicago. They really think they own it. As amatter of fact, the city made them; they didn't make the city. "

Mr. Haeckelheimer lifted his eyebrows. He laid two fine white hands, plump and stubby, over the lower buttons of his protuberant waistcoat. "Public favor is a great factor in all these enterprises, " he almostsighed. "As you know, part of a man's resources lies in his ability toavoid stirring up opposition. It may be that Mr. Cowperwood is strongenough to overcome all that. I don't know. I've never met him. I'mjust telling you what I hear. "

This offish attitude on the part of Mr. Haeckelheimer was indicative ofa new trend. The man was enormously wealthy. The firm ofHaeckelheimer, Gotloeb & Co. Represented a controlling interest in someof the principal railways and banks in America. Their favor was not tobe held in light esteem. 

It was plain that these rumors against Cowperwood in New York, unlessoffset promptly by favorable events in Chicago, might mean--in thelarge banking quarters, anyhow--the refusal of all subsequentCowperwood issues. It might even close the doors of minor banks andmake private investors nervous. 

Addison's report of all this annoyed Cowperwood no little. It made himangry. He saw in it the work of Schryhart, Hand, and others who weretrying their best to discredit him. "Let them talk, " he declared, crossly. "I have the street-railways. They're not going to rout meout of here. I can sell stocks and bonds to the public direct if needbe! There are plenty of private people who are glad to invest in theseproperties. "

At this psychological moment enter, as by the hand of Fate, the planetMars and the University. This latter, from having been for years ahumble Baptist college of the cheapest character, had suddenly, throughthe beneficence of a great Standard Oil multimillionaire, flared upwardinto a great university, and was causing a stir throughout the lengthand breadth of the educational world. 

It was already a most noteworthy spectacle, one of the sights of thecity. Millions were being poured into it; new and beautiful buildingswere almost monthly erected. A brilliant, dynamic man had been calledfrom the East as president. There were still many thingsneeded--dormitories, laboratories of one kind and another, a greatlibrary; and, last but not least, a giant telescope--one that wouldsweep the heavens with a hitherto unparalleled receptive eye, and wringfrom it secrets not previously decipherable by the eye and the mind ofman. 

Cowperwood had always been interested in the heavens and in the giantmathematical and physical methods of interpreting them. It so happenedthat the war-like planet, with its sinister aspect, was just at thistime to be seen hanging in the west, a fiery red; and the easilyaroused public mind was being stirred to its shallow depth byreflections and speculations regarding the famous canals of theluminary. The mere thought of the possibility of a larger telescopethan any now in existence, which might throw additional light on thisevasive mystery, was exciting not only Chicago, but the whole world. Late one afternoon Cowperwood, looking over some open fields whichfaced his new power-house in West Madison Street, observed the planethanging low and lucent in the evening sky, a warm, radiant bit oforange in a sea of silver. He paused and surveyed it. Was it truethat there were canals on it, and people? Life was surely strange. 

One day not long after this Alexander Rambaud called him up on the'phone and remarked, jocosely:

"I say, Cowperwood, I've played a rather shabby trick on you just now. Doctor Hooper, of the University, was in here a few minutes ago askingme to be one of ten to guarantee the cost of a telescope lens that hethinks he needs to run that one-horse school of his out there. I toldhim I thought you might possibly be interested. His idea is to findsome one who will guarantee forty thousand dollars, or eight or ten menwho will guarantee four or five thousand each. I thought of you, because I've heard you discuss astronomy from time to time. "

"Let him come, " replied Cowperwood, who was never willing to be behindothers in generosity, particularly where his efforts were likely to beappreciated in significant quarters. 

Shortly afterward appeared the doctor himself--short, rotund, rubicund, displaying behind a pair of clear, thick, gold-rimmed glasses, round, dancing, incisive eyes. Imaginative grip, buoyant, self-delusiveself-respect were written all over him. The two men eyed eachother--one with that broad-gage examination which sees evenuniversities as futile in the endless shift of things; the other withthat faith in the balance for right which makes even great personalforces, such as financial magnates, serve an idealistic end. 

"It's not a very long story I have to tell you, Mr. Cowperwood, " saidthe doctor. "Our astronomical work is handicapped just now by thesimple fact that we have no lens at all, no telescope worthy of thename. I should like to see the University do original work in thisfield, and do it in a great way. The only way to do it, in myjudgment, is to do it better than any one else can. Don't you agreewith me?" He showed a row of shining white teeth. 

Cowperwood smiled urbanely. 

"Will a forty-thousand-dollar lens be a better lens than any otherlens?" he inquired. 

"Made by Appleman Brothers, of Dorchester, it will, " replied thecollege president. "The whole story is here, Mr. Cowperwood. These menare practical lens-makers. A great lens, in the first place, is amatter of finding a suitable crystal. Large and flawless crystals arenot common, as you may possibly know. Such a crystal has recently beenfound, and is now owned by Mr. Appleman. It takes about four or fiveyears to grind and polish it. Most of the polishing, as you may or maynot know, is done by the hand--smoothing it with the thumb andforefinger. The time, judgment, and skill of an optical expert isrequired. To-day, unfortunately, that is not cheap. The laborer isworthy of his hire, however, I suppose"--he waved a soft, full, whitehand--"and forty thousand is little enough. It would be a great honorif the University could have the largest, most serviceable, and mostperfect lens in the world. It would reflect great credit, I take it, on the men who would make this possible. "

Cowperwood liked the man's artistically educational air; obviously herewas a personage of ability, brains, emotion, and scientific enthusiasm. It was splendid to him to see any strong man in earnest, for himself orothers. 

"And forty thousand will do this?" he asked. 

"Yes, sir. Forty thousand will guarantee us the lens, anyhow. "

"And how about land, buildings, a telescope frame? Have you all thosethings prepared for it?"

"Not as yet, but, since it takes four years at least to grind the lens, there will be time enough, when the lens is nearing completion, to lookafter the accessories. We have picked our site, however--LakeGeneva--and we would not refuse either land or accessories if we knewwhere to get them. "

Again the even, shining teeth, the keen eyes boring through the glasses. 

Cowperwood saw a great opportunity. He asked what would be the cost ofthe entire project. Dr. Hooper presumed that three hundred thousandwould do it all handsomely--lens, telescope, land, machinery, building--a great monument. 

"And how much have you guaranteed on the cost of your lens?" "Sixteenthousand dollars, so far. "

"To be paid when?"

"In instalments--ten thousand a year for four years. Just enough tokeep the lens-maker busy for the present. "

Cowperwood reflected. Ten thousand a year for four years would be amere salary item, and at the end of that time he felt sure that hecould supply the remainder of the money quite easily. He would be somuch richer; his plans would be so much more mature. On such a repute(the ability to give a three-hundred-thousand-dollar telescope out ofhand to be known as the Cowperwood telescope) he could undoubtedlyraise money in London, New York, and elsewhere for his Chicagoenterprise. The whole world would know him in a day. He paused, hisenigmatic eyes revealing nothing of the splendid vision that dancedbefore them. At last! At last!

"How would it do, Mr. Hooper, " he said, sweetly, "if, instead of tenmen giving you four thousand each, as you plan, one man were to giveyou forty thousand in annual instalments of ten thousand each? Couldthat be arranged as well?"

"My dear Mr. Cowperwood, " exclaimed the doctor, glowing, his eyesalight, "do I understand that you personally might wish to give themoney for this lens?"

"I might, yes. But I should have to exact one pledge, Mr. Hooper, if Idid any such thing. "

"And what would that be?"

"The privilege of giving the land and the building--the wholetelescope, in fact. I presume no word of this will be given out unlessthe matter is favorably acted upon?" he added, cautiously anddiplomatically. 

The new president of the university arose and eyed him with apeculiarly approbative and grateful gaze. He was a busy, overworkedman. His task was large. Any burden taken from his shoulders in thisfashion was a great relief. 

"My answer to that, Mr. Cowperwood, if I had the authority, would be toagree now in the name of the University, and thank you. For form'ssake, I must submit the matter to the trustees of the University, but Ihave no doubt as to the outcome. I anticipate nothing but gratefulapprobation. Let me thank you again. "

They shook hands warmly, and the solid collegian bustled forth. Cowperwood sank quietly in his chair. He pressed his fingers together, and for a moment or two permitted himself to dream. Then he called astenographer and began a bit of dictation. He did not care to thinkeven to himself how universally advantageous all this might yet proveto be. 

The result was that in the course of a few weeks the proffer wasformally accepted by the trustees of the University, and a report ofthe matter, with Cowperwood's formal consent, was given out forpublication. The fortuitous combination of circumstances alreadydescribed gave the matter a unique news value. Giant reflectors andrefractors had been given and were in use in other parts of the world, but none so large or so important as this. The gift was sufficient toset Cowperwood forth in the light of a public benefactor and patron ofscience. Not only in Chicago, but in London, Paris, and New York, wherever, indeed, in the great capitals scientific and intellectual menwere gathered, this significant gift of an apparently fabulously richAmerican became the subject of excited discussion. Banking men, amongothers, took sharp note of the donor, and when Cowperwood's emissariescame around later with a suggestion that the fifty-year franchisesabout to be voted him for elevated roads should be made a basis of bondand mortgage loans, they were courteously received. A man who couldgive three-hundred-thousand-dollar telescopes in the hour of hisgreatest difficulties must be in a rather satisfactory financialcondition. He must have great wealth in reserve. After somepreliminaries, during which Cowperwood paid a flying visit toThreadneedle Street in London, and to Wall Street in New York, anarrangement was made with an English-American banking company by whichthe majority of the bonds for his proposed roads were taken over bythem for sale in Europe and elsewhere, and he was given ample meanswherewith to proceed. Instantly the stocks of his surface linesbounded in price, and those who had been scheming to bring aboutCowperwood's downfall gnashed impotent teeth. Even Haeckelheimer & Co. Were interested. 

Anson Merrill, who had only a few weeks before given a large field forathletic purposes to the University, pulled a wry face over this suddeneclipse of his glory. Hosmer Hand, who had given a chemicallaboratory, and Schryhart, who had presented a dormitory, weredepressed to think that a benefaction less costly than theirs shouldcreate, because of the distinction of the idea, so much more notablecomment. It was merely another example of the brilliant fortune whichseemed to pursue the man, the star that set all their plans at defiance. 

Chapter XLIV

A Franchise Obtained

The money requisite for the construction of elevated roads having beenthus pyrotechnically obtained, the acquisition of franchises remainedno easy matter. It involved, among other problems, the taming ofChaffee Thayer Sluss, who, quite unconscious of the evidence stored upagainst him, had begun to fulminate the moment it was suggested invarious secret political quarters that a new ordinance was about to beintroduced, and that Cowperwood was to be the beneficiary. "Don't youlet them do that, Mr. Sluss, " observed Mr. Hand, who for purposes ofconference had courteously but firmly bidden his hireling, the mayor, to lunch. "Don't you let them pass that if you can help it. " (Aschairman or president of the city council Mr. Sluss held considerablemanipulative power over the machinery of procedure. ) "Raise such a rowthat they won't try to pass it over your head. Your political futurereally depends on it--your standing with the people of Chicago. Thenewspapers and the respectable financial and social elements will fullysupport you in this. Otherwise they will wholly desert you. Thingshave come to a handsome pass when men sworn and elected to performgiven services turn on their backers and betray them in this way!"

Mr. Hand was very wroth. 

Mr. Sluss, immaculate in black broadcloth and white linen, was verysure that he would fulfil to the letter all of Mr. Hand's suggestions. The proposed ordinance should be denounced by him; its legislativeprogress heartily opposed in council. 

"They shall get no quarter from me!" he declared, emphatically. "I knowwhat the scheme is. They know that I know it. "

He looked at Mr. Hand quite as one advocate of righteousness shouldlook at another, and the rich promoter went away satisfied that thereins of government were in safe hands. Immediately afterward Mr. Sluss gave out an interview in which he served warning on all aldermenand councilmen that no such ordinance as the one in question would everbe signed by him as mayor. 

At half past ten on the same morning on which the interviewappeared--the hour at which Mr. Sluss usually reached his office--hisprivate telephone bell rang, and an assistant inquired if he would bewilling to speak with Mr. Frank A. Cowperwood. Mr. Sluss, somehowanticipating fresh laurels of victory, gratified by the front-pagedisplay given his announcement in the morning papers, and swellinginternally with civic pride, announced, solemnly: "Yes; connect me. "

"Mr. Sluss, " began Cowperwood, at the other end, "this is Frank A. Cowperwood. "

"Yes. What can I do for you, Mr. Cowperwood?"

"I see by the morning papers that you state that you will have nothingto do with any proposed ordinance which looks to giving me a franchisefor any elevated road on the North or West Side?"

"That is quite true, " replied Mr. Sluss, loftily. "I will not. "

"Don't you think it is rather premature, Mr. Sluss, to denouncesomething which has only a rumored existence?" (Cowperwood, smilingsweetly to himself, was quite like a cat playing with an unsuspiciousmouse. ) "I should like very much to talk this whole matter over withyou personally before you take an irrevocable attitude. It is justpossible that after you have heard my side you may not be so completelyopposed to me. From time to time I have sent to you several of mypersonal friends, but apparently you do not care to receive them. "

"Quite true, " replied Mr. Sluss, loftily; "but you must remember that Iam a very busy man, Mr. Cowperwood, and, besides, I do not see how Ican serve any of your purposes. You are working for a set ofconditions to which I am morally and temperamentally opposed. I amworking for another. I do not see that we have any common ground onwhich to meet. In fact, I do not see how I can be of any service toyou whatsoever. "

"Just a moment, please, Mr. Mayor, " replied Cowperwood, still verysweetly, and fearing that Sluss might choose to hang up the receiver, so superior was his tone. "There may be some common ground of whichyou do not know. Wouldn't you like to come to lunch at my residence orreceive me at yours? Or let me come to your office and talk this matterover. I believe you will find it the part of wisdom as well as ofcourtesy to do this. "

"I cannot possibly lunch with you to-day, " replied Sluss, "and I cannotsee you, either. There are a number of things pressing for myattention. I must say also that I cannot hold any back-roomconferences with you or your emissaries. If you come you must submitto the presence of others. "

"Very well, Mr. Sluss, " replied Cowperwood, cheerfully. "I will notcome to your office. But unless you come to mine before five o'clockthis afternoon you will face by noon to-morrow a suit for breach ofpromise, and your letters to Mrs. Brandon will be given to the public. I wish to remind you that an election is coming on, and that Chicagofavors a mayor who is privately moral as well as publicly so. Goodmorning. "

Mr. Cowperwood hung up his telephone receiver with a click, and Mr. Sluss sensibly and visibly stiffened and paled. Mrs. Brandon! Thecharming, lovable, discreet Mrs. Brandon who had so ungenerously lefthim! Why should she be thinking of suing him for breach of promise, andhow did his letter to her come to be in Cowperwood's hands? Goodheavens--those mushy letters! His wife! His children! His church andthe owlish pastor thereof! Chicago! And its conventional, moral, religious atmosphere! Come to think of it, Mrs. Brandon had scarcely ifever written him a note of any kind. He did not even know her history. 

At the thought of Mrs. Sluss--her hard, cold, blue eyes--Mr. Slussarose, tall and distrait, and ran his hand through his hair. He walkedto the window, snapping his thumb and middle finger and looking eagerlyat the floor. He thought of the telephone switchboard just outside hisprivate office, and wondered whether his secretary, a handsome youngPresbyterian girl, had been listening, as usual. Oh, this sad, sadworld! If the North Side ever learned of this--Hand, the newspapers, young MacDonald--would they protect him? They would not. Would theyrun him for mayor again? Never! Could the public be induced to vote forhim with all the churches fulminating against private immorality, hypocrites, and whited sepulchers? Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! And he was sovery, very much respected and looked up to--that was the worst of itall. This terrible demon Cowperwood had descended on him, and he hadthought himself so secure. He had not even been civil to Cowperwood. What if the latter chose to avenge the discourtesy?

Mr. Sluss went back to his chair, but he could not sit in it. He wentfor his coat, took it down, hung it up again, took it down, announcedover the 'phone that he could not see any one for several hours, andwent out by a private door. Wearily he walked along North ClarkStreet, looking at the hurly-burly of traffic, looking at the dirty, crowded river, looking at the sky and smoke and gray buildings, andwondering what he should do. The world was so hard at times; it was socruel. His wife, his family, his political career. He could notconscientiously sign any ordinances for Mr. Cowperwood--that would beimmoral, dishonest, a scandal to the city. Mr. Cowperwood was anotorious traitor to the public welfare. At the same time he could notvery well refuse, for here was Mrs. Brandon, the charming andunscrupulous creature, playing into the hands of Cowperwood. If hecould only meet her, beg of her, plead; but where was she? He had notseen her for months and months. Could he go to Hand and confess all?But Hand was a hard, cold, moral man also. Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! Hewondered and thought, and sighed and pondered--all without avail. 

Pity the poor earthling caught in the toils of the moral law. Inanother country, perhaps, in another day, another age, such a situationwould have been capable of a solution, one not utterly destructive toMr. Sluss, and not entirely favorable to a man like Cowperwood. Buthere in the United States, here in Chicago, the ethical verities wouldall, as he knew, be lined up against him. What Lake View would think, what his pastor would think, what Hand and all his moral associateswould think--ah, these were the terrible, the incontrovertibleconsequences of his lapse from virtue. 

At four o'clock, after Mr. Sluss had wandered for hours in the snow andcold, belaboring himself for a fool and a knave, and while Cowperwoodwas sitting at his desk signing papers, contemplating a glowing fire, and wondering whether the mayor would deem it advisable to put in anappearance, his office door opened and one of his trim stenographersentered announcing Mr. Chaffee Thayer Sluss. Enter Mayor Sluss, sad, heavy, subdued, shrunken, a very different gentleman from the one whohad talked so cavalierly over the wires some five and a half hoursbefore. Gray weather, severe cold, and much contemplation of seeminglyirreconcilable facts had reduced his spirits greatly. He was a littlepale and a little restless. Mental distress has a reducing, congealingeffect, and Mayor Sluss seemed somewhat less than his usual self inheight, weight, and thickness. Cowperwood had seen him more than onceon various political platforms, but he had never met him. When thetroubled mayor entered he arose courteously and waved him to a chair. 

"Sit down, Mr. Sluss, " he said, genially. "It's a disagreeable dayout, isn't it? I suppose you have come in regard to the matter we werediscussing this morning?"

Nor was this cordiality wholly assumed. One of the primal instincts ofCowperwood's nature--for all his chicane and subtlety--was to take norough advantage of a beaten enemy. In the hour of victory he wasalways courteous, bland, gentle, and even sympathetic; he was soto-day, and quite honestly, too. 

Mayor Sluss put down the high sugar-loaf hat he wore and said, grandiosely, as was his manner even in the direst extremity: "Well, yousee, I am here, Mr. Cowperwood. What is it you wish me to do, exactly?"

"Nothing unreasonable, I assure you, Mr. Sluss, " replied Cowperwood. "Your manner to me this morning was a little brusque, and, as I havealways wanted to have a sensible private talk with you, I took this wayof getting it. I should like you to dismiss from your mind at once thethought that I am going to take an unfair advantage of you in any way. I have no present intention of publishing your correspondence with Mrs. Brandon. " (As he said this he took from his drawer a bundle of letterswhich Mayor Sluss recognized at once as the enthusiastic missives whichhe had sometime before penned to the fair Claudia. Mr. Sluss groanedas he beheld this incriminating evidence. ) "I am not trying, " continuedCowperwood, "to wreck your career, nor to make you do anything whichyou do not feel that you can conscientiously undertake. The lettersthat I have here, let me say, have come to me quite by accident. I didnot seek them. But, since I do have them, I thought I might as wellmention them as a basis for a possible talk and compromise between us. "

Cowperwood did not smile. He merely looked thoughtfully at Sluss;then, by way of testifying to the truthfulness of what he had beensaying, thumped the letters up and down, just to show that they werereal. 

"Yes, " said Mr. Sluss, heavily, "I see. "

He studied the bundle--a small, solid affair--while Cowperwood lookeddiscreetly elsewhere. He contemplated his own shoes, the floor. Herubbed his hands and then his knees. 

Cowperwood saw how completely he had collapsed. It was ridiculous, pitiable. 

"Come, Mr. Sluss, " said Cowperwood, amiably, "cheer up. Things are notnearly as desperate as you think. I give you my word right now thatnothing which you yourself, on mature thought, could say was unfairwill be done. You are the mayor of Chicago. I am a citizen. I merelywish fair play from you. I merely ask you to give me your word ofhonor that from now on you will take no part in this fight which is oneof pure spite against me. If you cannot conscientiously aid me in whatI consider to be a perfectly legitimate demand for additionalfranchises, you will, at least, not go out of your way to publiclyattack me. I will put these letters in my safe, and there they willstay until the next campaign is over, when I will take them out anddestroy them. I have no personal feeling against you--none in theworld. I do not ask you to sign any ordinance which the council maypass giving me elevated-road rights. What I do wish you to do at thistime is to refrain from stirring up public sentiment against me, especially if the council should see fit to pass an ordinance over yourveto. Is that satisfactory?"

"But my friends? The public? The Republican party? Don't you see it isexpected of me that I should wage some form of campaign against you?"queried Sluss, nervously. 

"No, I don't, " replied Cowperwood, succinctly, "and, anyhow, there areways and ways of waging a public campaign. Go through the motions, ifyou wish, but don't put too much heart in it. And, anyhow, see someone of my lawyers from time to time when they call on you. JudgeDickensheets is an able and fair man. So is General Van Sickle. Whynot confer with them occasionally?--not publicly, of course, but insome less conspicuous way. You will find both of them most helpful. "

Cowperwood smiled encouragingly, quite beneficently, and Chaffee ThayerSluss, his political hopes gone glimmering, sat and mused for a fewmoments in a sad and helpless quandary. 

"Very well, " he said, at last, rubbing his hands feverishly. "It iswhat I might have expected. I should have known. There is no otherway, but--" Hardly able to repress the hot tears now burning beneathhis eyelids, the Hon. Mr. Sluss picked up his hat and left the room. Needless to add that his preachings against Cowperwood were permanentlysilenced. 

Chapter XLV

Changing Horizons

The effect of all this was to arouse in Cowperwood the keenest feelingsof superiority he had ever yet enjoyed. Hitherto he had fancied thathis enemies might worst him, but at last his path seemed clear. He wasnow worth, all in all, the round sum of twenty million dollars. Hisart-collection had become the most important in the West--perhaps inthe nation, public collections excluded. He began to envision himselfas a national figure, possibly even an international one. And yet hewas coming to feel that, no matter how complete his financial victorymight ultimately be, the chances were that he and Aileen would never besocially accepted here in Chicago. He had done too many boisterousthings--alienated too many people. He was as determined as ever toretain a firm grip on the Chicago street-railway situation. But he wasdisturbed for a second time in his life by the thought that, owing tothe complexities of his own temperament, he had married unhappily andwould find the situation difficult of adjustment. Aileen, whatevermight be said of her deficiencies, was by no means as tractable oracquiescent as his first wife. And, besides, he felt that he owed her abetter turn. By no means did he actually dislike her as yet; thoughshe was no longer soothing, stimulating, or suggestive to him as shehad formerly been. Her woes, because of him, were too many; herattitude toward him too censorious. He was perfectly willing tosympathize with her, to regret his own change of feeling, but whatwould you? He could not control his own temperament any more thanAileen could control hers. 

The worst of this situation was that it was now becoming complicated onCowperwood's part with the most disturbing thoughts concerning BereniceFleming. Ever since the days when he had first met her mother he hadbeen coming more and more to feel for the young girl a soul-stirringpassion--and that without a single look exchanged or a single wordspoken. There is a static something which is beauty, and this may beclothed in the habiliments of a ragged philosopher or in the silks andsatins of pampered coquetry. It was a suggestion of this beauty whichis above sex and above age and above wealth that shone in the blowinghair and night-blue eyes of Berenice Fleming. His visit to the Carterfamily at Pocono had been a disappointment to him, because of theapparent hopelessness of arousing Berenice's interest, and since thattime, and during their casual encounters, she had remained politelyindifferent. Nevertheless, he remained true to his persistence in thepursuit of any game he had fixed upon. 

Mrs. Carter, whose relations with Cowperwood had in the past been notwholly platonic, nevertheless attributed much of his interest in her toher children and their vital chance. Berenice and Rolfe themselvesknew nothing concerning the nature of their mother's arrangements withCowperwood. True to his promise of protectorship and assistance, hehad established her in a New York apartment adjacent to her daughter'sschool, and where he fancied that he himself might spend many happyhours were Berenice but near. Proximity to Berenice! The desire toarouse her interest and command her favor! Cowperwood would scarcelyhave cared to admit to himself how great a part this played in athought which had recently been creeping into his mind. It was that oferecting a splendid house in New York. 

By degrees this idea of building a New York house had grown upon him. His Chicago mansion was a costly sepulcher in which Aileen sat broodingover the woes which had befallen her. Moreover, aside from the socialdefeat which it represented, it was becoming merely as a structure, butpoorly typical of the splendor and ability of his imaginations. Thissecond dwelling, if he ever achieved it, should be resplendent, amonument to himself. In his speculative wanderings abroad he had seenmany such great palaces, designed with the utmost care, which hadhoused the taste and culture of generations of men. Hisart-collection, in which he took an immense pride, had been growing, until it was the basis if not the completed substance for a verysplendid memorial. Already in it were gathered paintings of all theimportant schools; to say nothing of collections of jade, illuminedmissals, porcelains, rugs, draperies, mirror frames, and a beginning atrare originals of sculpture. The beauty of these strange things, thepatient laborings of inspired souls of various times and places, movedhim, on occasion, to a gentle awe. Of all individuals he respected, indeed revered, the sincere artist. Existence was a mystery, but thesesouls who set themselves to quiet tasks of beauty had caught somethingof which he was dimly conscious. Life had touched them with a vision, their hearts and souls were attuned to sweet harmonies of which thecommon world knew nothing. Sometimes, when he was weary after astrenuous day, he would enter--late in the night--his now silentgallery, and turning on the lights so that the whole sweet room stoodrevealed, he would seat himself before some treasure, reflecting on thenature, the mood, the time, and the man that had produced it. Sometimes it would be one of Rembrandt's melancholy heads--the sad"Portrait of a Rabbi"--or the sweet introspection of a Rousseau stream. A solemn Dutch housewife, rendered with the bold fidelity and resonantenameled surfaces of a Hals or the cold elegance of an Ingres, commanded his utmost enthusiasm. So he would sit and wonder at thevision and skill of the original dreamer, exclaiming at times: "Amarvel! A marvel!"

At the same time, so far as Aileen was concerned things were obviouslyshaping up for additional changes. She was in that peculiar statewhich has befallen many a woman--trying to substitute a lesser idealfor a greater, and finding that the effort is useless or nearly so. Inregard to her affair with Lynde, aside from the temporary relief anddiversion it had afforded her, she was beginning to feel that she hadmade a serious mistake. Lynde was delightful, after his fashion. Hecould amuse her with a different type of experience from any thatCowperwood had to relate. Once they were intimate he had, with aneasy, genial air, confessed to all sorts of liaisons in Europe andAmerica. He was utterly pagan--a faun--and at the same time he wastruly of the smart world. His open contempt of all but one or two ofthe people in Chicago whom Aileen had secretly admired and wished toassociate with, and his easy references to figures of importance in theEast and in Paris and London, raised him amazingly in her estimation;it made her feel, sad to relate, that she had by no means loweredherself in succumbing so readily to his forceful charms. 

Nevertheless, because he was what he was--genial, complimentary, affectionate, but a playboy, merely, and a soldier of fortune, with nodesire to make over her life for her on any new basis--she was nowgrieving over the futility of this romance which had got her nowhere, and which, in all probability, had alienated Cowperwood for good. Hewas still outwardly genial and friendly, but their relationship was nowcolored by a sense of mistake and uncertainty which existed on bothsides, but which, in Aileen's case, amounted to a subtle species ofsoul-torture. Hitherto she had been the aggrieved one, the one whoseloyalty had never been in question, and whose persistent affection andfaith had been greatly sinned against. Now all this was changed. Themanner in which he had sinned against her was plain enough, but the wayin which, out of pique, she had forsaken him was in the other balance. Say what one will, the loyalty of woman, whether a condition in natureor an evolved accident of sociology, persists as a dominating thoughtin at least a section of the race; and women themselves, be it said, are the ones who most loudly and openly subscribe to it. Cowperwoodhimself was fully aware that Aileen had deserted him, not because sheloved him less or Lynde more, but because she was hurt--and deeply so. Aileen knew that he knew this. From one point of view it enraged herand made her defiant; from another it grieved her to think she haduselessly sinned against his faith in her. Now he had ample excuse todo anything he chose. Her best claim on him--her wounds--she hadthrown away as one throws away a weapon. Her pride would not let hertalk to him about this, and at the same time she could not endure theeasy, tolerant manner with which he took it. His smiles, hisforgiveness, his sometimes pleasant jesting were all a horrible offense. 

To complete her mental quandary, she was already beginning to quarrelwith Lynde over this matter of her unbreakable regard for Cowperwood. With the sufficiency of a man of the world Lynde intended that sheshould succumb to him completely and forget her wonderful husband. When with him she was apparently charmed and interested, yieldingherself freely, but this was more out of pique at Cowperwood's neglectthan from any genuine passion for Lynde. In spite of her pretensions ofanger, her sneers, and criticisms whenever Cowperwood's name came up, she was, nevertheless, hopelessly fond of him and identified with himspiritually, and it was not long before Lynde began to suspect this. Such a discovery is a sad one for any master of women to make. Itjolted his pride severely. 

"You care for him still, don't you?" he asked, with a wry smile, uponone occasion. They were sitting at dinner in a private room atKinsley's, and Aileen, whose color was high, and who was becominglygarbed in metallic-green silk, was looking especially handsome. Lyndehad been proposing that she should make special arrangements to departwith him for a three-months' stay in Europe, but she would have nothingto do with the project. She did not dare. Such a move would makeCowperwood feel that she was alienating herself forever; it would givehim an excellent excuse to leave her. 

"Oh, it isn't that, " she had declared, in reply to Lynde's query. "Ijust don't want to go. I can't. I'm not prepared. It's nothing but anotion of yours, anyhow. You're tired of Chicago because it's gettingnear spring. You go and I'll be here when you come back, or I maydecide to come over later. " She smiled. 

Lynde pulled a dark face. 

"Hell!" he said. "I know how it is with you. You still stick to him, even when he treats you like a dog. You pretend not to love him whenas a matter of fact you're mad about him. I've seen it all along. Youdon't really care anything about me. You can't. You're too crazy abouthim. "

"Oh, shut up!" replied Aileen, irritated greatly for the moment by thisonslaught. "You talk like a fool. I'm not anything of the sort. Iadmire him. How could any one help it?" (At this time, of course, Cowperwood's name was filling the city. ) "He's a very wonderful man. He was never brutal to me. He's a full-sized man--I'll say that forhim. "

By now Aileen had become sufficiently familiar with Lynde to criticizehim in her own mind, and even outwardly by innuendo, for being a loaferand idler who had never created in any way the money he was so freelyspending. She had little power to psychologize concerning socialconditions, but the stalwart constructive persistence of Cowperwoodalong commercial lines coupled with the current American contempt ofleisure reflected somewhat unfavorably upon Lynde, she thought. 

Lynde's face clouded still more at this outburst. "You go to thedevil, " he retorted. "I don't get you at all. Sometimes you talk asthough you were fond of me. At other times you're all wrapped up inhim. Now you either care for me or you don't. Which is it? If you'reso crazy about him that you can't leave home for a month or so youcertainly can't care much about me. "

Aileen, however, because of her long experience with Cowperwood, wasmore than a match for Lynde. At the same time she was afraid to let goof him for fear that she should have no one to care for her. She likedhim. He was a happy resource in her misery, at least for the moment. Yet the knowledge that Cowperwood looked upon this affair as a heavyblemish on her pristine solidarity cooled her. At the thought of himand of her whole tarnished and troubled career she was very unhappy. 

"Hell!" Lynde had repeated, irritably, "stay if you want to. I'll notbe trying to over-persuade you--depend on that. "

They quarreled still further over this matter, and, though theyeventually made up, both sensed the drift toward an ultimatelyunsatisfactory conclusion. 

It was one morning not long after this that Cowperwood, feeling in agenial mood over his affairs, came into Aileen's room, as he still didon occasions, to finish dressing and pass the time of day. 

"Well, " he observed, gaily, as he stood before the mirror adjusting hiscollar and tie, "how are you and Lynde getting along thesedays--nicely?"

"Oh, you go to the devil!" replied Aileen, flaring up and strugglingwith her divided feelings, which pained her constantly. "If it hadn'tbeen for you there wouldn't be any chance for your smarty'how-am-I-getting-alongs. ' I am getting along allright--fine--regardless of anything you may think. He's as good a manas you are any day, and better. I like him. At least he's fond of me, and that's more than you are. Why should you care what I do? Youdon't, so why talk about it? I want you to let me alone. "

"Aileen, Aileen, how you carry on! Don't flare up so. I meant nothingby it. I'm sorry as much for myself as for you. I've told you I'm notjealous. You think I'm critical. I'm not anything of the kind. Iknow how you feel. That's all very good. "

"Oh yes, yes, " she replied. "Well, you can keep your feelings toyourself. Go to the devil! Go to the devil, I tell you!" Her eyesblazed. 

He stood now, fully dressed, in the center of the rug before her, andAileen looked at him, keen, valiant, handsome--her old Frank. Onceagain she regretted her nominal faithlessness, and raged at him in herheart for his indifference. "You dog, " she was about to add, "you haveno heart!" but she changed her mind. Her throat tightened and her eyesfilled. She wanted to run to him and say: "Oh, Frank, don't youunderstand how it all is, how it all came about? Won't you love meagain--can't you?" But she restrained herself. It seemed to her thathe might understand--that he would, in fact--but that he would neveragain be faithful, anyhow. And she would so gladly have discardedLynde and any and all men if he would only have said the word, wouldonly have really and sincerely wished her to do so. 

It was one day not long after their morning quarrel in her bedroom thatCowperwood broached the matter of living in New York to Aileen, pointing out that thereby his art-collection, which was growingconstantly, might be more suitably housed, and that it would give her asecond opportunity to enter social life. 

"So that you can get rid of me out here, " commented Aileen, littleknowing of Berenice Fleming. 

"Not at all, " replied Cowperwood, sweetly. "You see how things are. There's no chance of our getting into Chicago society. There's too muchfinancial opposition against me here. If we had a big house in NewYork, such as I would build, it would be an introduction in itself. After all, these Chicagoans aren't even a snapper on the real societywhip. It's the Easterners who set the pace, and the New-Yorkers mostof all. If you want to say the word, I can sell this place and we canlive down there, part of the time, anyhow. I could spend as much of mytime with you there as I have been doing here--perhaps more. "

Because of her soul of vanity Aileen's mind ran forward in spite ofherself to the wider opportunities which his words suggested. Thishouse had become a nightmare to her--a place of neglect and badmemories. Here she had fought with Rita Sohlberg; here she had seensociety come for a very little while only to disappear; here she hadwaited this long time for the renewal of Cowperwood's love, which wasnow obviously never to be restored in its original glamour. As hespoke she looked at him quizzically, almost sadly in her great doubt. At the same time she could not help reflecting that in New York wheremoney counted for so much, and with Cowperwood's great and growingwealth and prestige behind her, she might hope to find herself sociallyat last. "Nothing venture, nothing have" had always been her motto, nailed to her mast, though her equipment for the life she now cravedhad never been more than the veriest make-believe--painted wood andtinsel. Vain, radiant, hopeful Aileen! Yet how was she to know?

"Very well, " she observed, finally. "Do as you like. I can live downthere as well as I can here, I presume--alone. "

Cowperwood knew the nature of her longings. He knew what was runningin her mind, and how futile were her dreams. Life had taught him howfortuitous must be the circumstances which could enable a woman ofAileen's handicaps and defects to enter that cold upper world. Yet forall the courage of him, for the very life of him, he could not tellher. He could not forget that once, behind the grim bars in thepenitentiary for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania, he had cried onher shoulder. He could not be an ingrate and wound her with his inmostthoughts any more than he could deceive himself. A New York mansionand the dreams of social supremacy which she might there entertainwould soothe her ruffled vanity and assuage her disappointed heart; andat the same time he would be nearer Berenice Fleming. Say what onewill of these ferret windings of the human mind, they are, nevertheless, true and characteristic of the average human being, andCowperwood was no exception. He saw it all, he calculated on it--hecalculated on the simple humanity of Aileen. 

Chapter XLVI

Depths and Heights

The complications which had followed his various sentimental affairsleft Cowperwood in a quandary at times as to whether there could be anypeace or satisfaction outside of monogamy, after all. Although Mrs. Hand had gone to Europe at the crisis of her affairs, she had returnedto seek him out. Cecily Haguenin found many opportunities of writinghim letters and assuring him of her undying affection. FlorenceCochrane persisted in seeing or attempting to see him even after hisinterest in her began to wane. For another thing Aileen, owing to thecomplication and general degeneracy of her affairs, had recently begunto drink. Owing to the failure of her affair with Lynde--for in spiteof her yielding she had never had any real heart interest in it--and tothe cavalier attitude with which Cowperwood took her disloyalty, shehad reached that state of speculative doldrums where the human animalturns upon itself in bitter self-analysis; the end with the moresensitive or the less durable is dissipation or even death. Woe to himwho places his faith in illusion--the only reality--and woe to him whodoes not. In one way lies disillusion with its pain, in the other wayregret. 

After Lynde's departure for Europe, whither she had refused to followhim, Aileen took up with a secondary personage by the name of WatsonSkeet, a sculptor. Unlike most artists, he was the solitary heir ofthe president of an immense furniture-manufacturing company in which herefused to take any interest. He had studied abroad, but had returnedto Chicago with a view to propagating art in the West. A large, blond, soft-fleshed man, he had a kind of archaic naturalness and simplicitywhich appealed to Aileen. They had met at the Rhees Griers'. Feelingherself neglected after Lynde's departure, and dreading lonelinessabove all things, Aileen became intimate with Skeet, but to no intensemental satisfaction. That driving standard within--that obsessing idealwhich requires that all things be measured by it--was still dominant. Who has not experienced the chilling memory of the better thing? How itcreeps over the spirit of one's current dreams! Like the specter at thebanquet it stands, its substanceless eyes viewing with a sad philosophythe makeshift feast. The what-might-have-been of her life withCowperwood walked side by side with her wherever she went. Onceoccasionally indulging in cigarettes, she now smoked almost constantly. Once barely sipping at wines, cocktails, brandy-and-soda, she now tookto the latter, or, rather, to a new whisky-and-soda combination knownas "highball" with a kind of vehemence which had little to do with ataste for the thing itself. True, drinking is, after all, a state ofmind, and not an appetite. She had found on a number of occasions whenshe had been quarreling with Lynde or was mentally depressed that inpartaking of these drinks a sort of warm, speculative indifferenceseized upon her. She was no longer so sad. She might cry, but it wasin a soft, rainy, relieving way. Her sorrows were as strange, enticingfigures in dreams. They moved about and around her, not as thingsactually identical with her, but as ills which she could view at adistance. Sometimes both she and they (for she saw herself also as ina kind of mirage or inverted vision) seemed beings of another state, troubled, but not bitterly painful. The old nepenthe of the bottle hadseized upon her. After a few accidental lapses, in which she found itacted as a solace or sedative, the highball visioned itself to her as aresource. Why should she not drink if it relieved her, as it actuallydid, of physical and mental pain? There were apparently no badafter-effects. The whisky involved was diluted to an almost waterystate. It was her custom now when at home alone to go to the butler'spantry where the liquors were stored and prepare a drink for herself, or to order a tray with a siphon and bottle placed in her room. Cowperwood, noticing the persistence of its presence there and the factthat she drank heavily at table, commented upon it. 

"You're not taking too much of that, are you, Aileen?" he questionedone evening, watching her drink down a tumbler of whisky and water asshe sat contemplating a pattern of needlework with which the table wasornamented. 

"Certainly I'm not, " she replied, irritably, a little flushed and thickof tongue. "Why do you ask?" She herself had been wondering whether inthe course of time it might not have a depreciating effect on hercomplexion. This was the only thing that still concerned her--herbeauty. 

"Well, I see you have that bottle in your room all the time. I waswondering if you might not be forgetting how much you are using it. "

Because she was so sensitive he was trying to be tactful. 

"Well, " she answered, crossly, "what if I am? It wouldn't make anyparticular difference if I did. I might as well drink as do some otherthings that are done. "

It was a kind of satisfaction to her to bait him in this way. Hisinquiry, being a proof of continued interest on his part, was of somevalue. At least he was not entirely indifferent to her. 

"I wish you wouldn't talk that way, Aileen, " he replied. "I have noobjection to your drinking some. I don't suppose it makes anydifference to you now whether I object or not. But you are toogood-looking, too well set up physically, to begin that. You don'tneed it, and it's such a short road to hell. Your state isn't so bad. Good heavens! many another woman has been in your position. I'm notgoing to leave you unless you want to leave me. I've told you thatover and over. I'm just sorry people change--we all do. I supposeI've changed some, but that's no reason for your letting yourself go topieces. I wish you wouldn't be desperate about this business. It maycome out better than you think in the long run. "

He was merely talking to console her. 

"Oh! oh! oh!" Aileen suddenly began to rock and cry in a foolishdrunken way, as though her heart would break, and Cowperwood got up. He was horrified after a fashion. 

"Oh, don't come near me!" Aileen suddenly exclaimed, sobering in anequally strange way. "I know why you come. I know how much you careabout me or my looks. Don't you worry whether I drink or not. I'lldrink if I please, or do anything else if I choose. If it helps me overmy difficulties, that's my business, not yours, " and in defiance sheprepared another glass and drank it. 

Cowperwood shook his head, looking at her steadily and sorrowfully. "It's too bad, Aileen, " he said. "I don't know what to do about youexactly. You oughtn't to go on this way. Whisky won't get youanywhere. It will simply ruin your looks and make you miserable in thebargain. "

"Oh, to hell with my looks!" she snapped. "A lot of good they've doneme. " And, feeling contentious and sad, she got up and left the table. Cowperwood followed her after a time, only to see her dabbing at hereyes and nose with powder. A half-filled glass of whisky and water wason the dressing-table beside her. It gave him a strange feeling ofresponsibility and helplessness. 

Mingled with his anxiety as to Aileen were thoughts of the alternaterise and fall of his hopes in connection with Berenice. She was such asuperior girl, developing so definitely as an individual. To hissatisfaction she had, on a few recent occasions when he had seen her, unbent sufficiently to talk to him in a friendly and even intimate way, for she was by no means hoity-toity, but a thinking, reasoning being ofthe profoundest intellectual, or, rather, the highest artistictendencies. She was so care-free, living in a high and solitary world, at times apparently enwrapt in thoughts serene, at other times sharingvividly in the current interests of the social world of which she was apart, and which she dignified as much as it dignified her. 

One Sunday morning at Pocono, in late June weather, when he had comeEast to rest for a few days, and all was still and airy on the highground which the Carter cottage occupied, Berenice came out on theveranda where Cowperwood was sitting, reading a fiscal report of one ofhis companies and meditating on his affairs. By now they had becomesomewhat more sympatica than formerly, and Berenice had an easy, genialway in his presence. She liked him, rather. With an indescribablesmile which wrinkled her nose and eyes, and played about the corners ofher mouth, she said: "Now I am going to catch a bird. "

"A what?" asked Cowperwood, looking up and pretending he had not heard, though he had. He was all eyes for any movement of hers. She wasdressed in a flouncy morning gown eminently suitable for the world inwhich she was moving. 

"A bird, " she replied, with an airy toss of her head. "This isJune-time, and the sparrows are teaching their young to fly. "

Cowperwood, previously engrossed in financial speculations, wastranslated, as by the wave of a fairy wand, into another realm wherebirds and fledglings and grass and the light winds of heaven were moreimportant than brick and stone and stocks and bonds. He got up andfollowed her flowing steps across the grass to where, near a clump ofalder bushes, she had seen a mother sparrow enticing a fledgling totake wing. From her room upstairs, she had been watching this bit ofoutdoor sociology. It suddenly came to Cowperwood, with great force, how comparatively unimportant in the great drift of life were his ownaffairs when about him was operative all this splendid will toexistence, as sensed by her. He saw her stretch out her handsdownward, and run in an airy, graceful way, stooping here and there, while before her fluttered a baby sparrow, until suddenly she divedquickly and then, turning, her face agleam, cried: "See, I have him! Hewants to fight, too! Oh, you little dear!"

She was holding "him, " as she chose to characterize it, in the hollowof her hand, the head between her thumb and forefinger, with theforefinger of her free hand petting it the while she laughed and kissedit. It was not so much bird-love as the artistry of life and ofherself that was moving her. Hearing the parent bird chirpingdistractedly from a nearby limb, she turned and called: "Don't makesuch a row! I sha'n't keep him long. "

Cowperwood laughed--trig in the morning sun. "You can scarcely blameher, " he commented. 

"Oh, she knows well enough I wouldn't hurt him, " Berenice replied, spiritedly, as though it were literally true. 

"Does she, indeed?" inquired Cowperwood. "Why do you say that?"

"Because it's true. Don't you think they know when their children arereally in danger?"

"But why should they?" persisted Cowperwood, charmed and interested bythe involute character of her logic. She was quite deceptive to him. He could not be sure what she thought. 

She merely fixed him a moment with her cool, slate-blue eyes. "Do youthink the senses of the world are only five?" she asked, in the mostcharming and non-reproachful way. "Indeed, they know well enough. Sheknows. " She turned and waved a graceful hand in the direction of thetree, where peace now reigned. The chirping had ceased. "She knows Iam not a cat. "

Again that enticing, mocking smile that wrinkled her nose, hereye-corners, her mouth. The word "cat" had a sharp, sweet sound in hermouth. It seemed to be bitten off closely with force and airy spirit. Cowperwood surveyed her as he would have surveyed the ablest person heknew. Here was a woman, he saw, who could and would command the utmostreaches of his soul in every direction. If he interested her at all, hewould need them all. The eyes of her were at once so elusive, sodirect, so friendly, so cool and keen. "You will have to beinteresting, indeed, to interest me, " they seemed to say; and yet theywere by no means averse, apparently, to a hearty camaraderie. Thatnose-wrinkling smile said as much. Here was by no means a StephaniePlatow, nor yet a Rita Sohlberg. He could not assume her as he hadElla Hubby, or Florence Cochrane, or Cecily Haguenin. Here was an ironindividuality with a soul for romance and art and philosophy and life. He could not take her as he had those others. And yet Berenice wasreally beginning to think more than a little about Cowperwood. He mustbe an extraordinary man; her mother said so, and the newspapers werealways mentioning his name and noting his movements. 

A little later, at Southampton, whither she and her mother had gone, they met again. Together with a young man by the name of Greanelle, Cowperwood and Berenice had gone into the sea to bathe. It was awonderful afternoon. 

To the east and south and west spread the sea, a crinkling floor ofblue, and to their left, as they faced it, was a lovely outward-curvingshore of tawny sand. Studying Berenice in blue-silk bathing costumeand shoes, Cowperwood had been stung by the wonder of passing life--howyouth comes in, ever fresh and fresh, and age goes out. Here he was, long crowded years of conflict and experience behind him, and yet thistwenty-year-old girl, with her incisive mind and keen tastes, wasapparently as wise in matters of general import as himself. He couldfind no flaw in her armor in those matters which they could discuss. Her knowledge and comments were so ripe and sane, despite a tendency topose a little, which was quite within her rights. Because Greanellehad bored her a little she had shunted him off and was amusing herselftalking to Cowperwood, who fascinated her by his compact individuality. 

"Do you know, " she confided to him, on this occasion, "I get so verytired of young men sometimes. They can be so inane. I do declare, they are nothing more than shoes and ties and socks and canes strungtogether in some unimaginable way. Vaughn Greanelle is for all theworld like a perambulating manikin to-day. He is just an English suitwith a cane attached walking about. "

"Well, bless my soul, " commented Cowperwood, "what an indictment!"

"It's true, " she replied. "He knows nothing at all except polo, andthe latest swimming-stroke, and where everybody is, and who is going tomarry who. Isn't it dull?"

She tossed her head back and breathed as though to exhale the fumes ofthe dull and the inane from her inmost being. 

"Did you tell him that?" inquired Cowperwood, curiously. 

"Certainly I did. "

"I don't wonder he looks so solemn, " he said, turning and looking backat Greanelle and Mrs. Carter; they were sitting side by side insand-chairs, the former beating the sand with his toes. "You're acurious girl, Berenice, " he went on, familiarly. "You are so directand vital at times. 

"Not any more than you are, from all I can hear, " she replied, fixinghim with those steady eyes. "Anyhow, why should I be bored? He is sodull. He follows me around out here all the time, and I don't wanthim. "

She tossed her head and began to run up the beach to where bathers werefewer and fewer, looking back at Cowperwood as if to say, "Why don'tyou follow?" He developed a burst of enthusiasm and ran quite briskly, overtaking her near some shallows where, because of a sandbar offshore, the waters were thin and bright. 

"Oh, look!" exclaimed Berenice, when he came up. "See, the fish! O-oh!"

She dashed in to where a few feet offshore a small school of minnows aslarge as sardines were playing, silvery in the sun. She ran as she hadfor the bird, doing her best to frighten them into a neighboring pocketor pool farther up on the shore. Cowperwood, as gay as a boy of ten, joined in the chase. He raced after them briskly, losing one school, but pocketing another a little farther on and calling to her to come. 

"Oh!" exclaimed Berenice at one point. "Here they are now. Comequick! Drive them in here!"

Her hair was blowy, her face a keen pink, her eyes an electric blue bycontrast. She was bending low over the water--Cowperwood also--theirhands outstretched, the fish, some five in all, nervously dancingbefore them in their efforts to escape. All at once, having forcedthem into a corner, they dived; Berenice actually caught one. Cowperwood missed by a fraction, but drove the fish she did catch intoher hands. 

"Oh, " she exclaimed, jumping up, "how wonderful! It's alive. I caughtit. "

She danced up and down, and Cowperwood, standing before her, wassobered by her charm. He felt an impulse to speak to her of hisaffection, to tell her how delicious she was to him. 

"You, " he said, pausing over the word and giving it specialemphasis--"you are the only thing here that is wonderful to me. "

She looked at him a moment, the live fish in her extended hands, hereyes keying to the situation. For the least fraction of a moment shewas uncertain, as he could see, how to take this. Many men had beenapproximative before. It was common to have compliments paid to her. But this was different. She said nothing, but fixed him with a lookwhich said quite plainly, "You had better not say anything more justnow, I think. " Then, seeing that he understood, that his mannersoftened, and that he was troubled, she crinkled her nose gaily andadded: "It's like fairyland. I feel as though I had caught it out ofanother world. " Cowperwood understood. The direct approach was not foruse in her case; and yet there was something, a camaraderie, a sympathywhich he felt and which she felt. A girls' school, conventions, theneed of socially placing herself, her conservative friends, and theirviewpoint--all were working here. If he were only single now, she toldherself, she would be willing to listen to him in a very differentspirit, for he was charming. But this way-- And he, for his part, concluded that here was one woman whom he would gladly marry if shewould have him. 

Chapter XLVII

American Match

Following Cowperwood's coup in securing cash by means of his seeminggift of three hundred thousand dollars for a telescope his enemiesrested for a time, but only because of a lack of ideas wherewith todestroy him. Public sentiment--created by the newspapers--was stillagainst him. Yet his franchises had still from eight to ten years torun, and meanwhile he might make himself unassailably powerful. Forthe present he was busy, surrounded by his engineers and managers andlegal advisers, constructing his several elevated lines at a whirlwindrate. At the same time, through Videra, Kaffrath, and Addison, he waseffecting a scheme of loaning money on call to the local Chicagobanks--the very banks which were most opposed to him--so that in acrisis he could retaliate. By manipulating the vast quantity of stocksand bonds of which he was now the master he was making money hand overfist, his one rule being that six per cent. Was enough to pay anyholder who had merely purchased his stock as an outsider. It was mostprofitable to himself. When his stocks earned more than that he issuednew ones, selling them on 'change and pocketing the difference. Out ofthe cash-drawers of his various companies he took immense sums, temporary loans, as it were, which later he had charged by his humbleservitors to "construction, " "equipment, " or "operation. " He was like acanny wolf prowling in a forest of trees of his own creation. 

The weak note in this whole project of elevated lines was that for sometime it was destined to be unprofitable. Its very competition tendedto weaken the value of his surface-line companies. His holdings inthese as well as in elevated-road shares were immense. If anythinghappened to cause them to fall in price immense numbers of these samestocks held by others would be thrown on the market, thus still furtherdepreciating their value and compelling him to come into the market andbuy. With the most painstaking care he began at once to pile up areserve in government bonds for emergency purposes, which he decidedshould be not less than eight or nine million dollars, for he fearedfinancial storms as well as financial reprisal, and where so much wasat stake he did not propose to be caught napping. 

At the time that Cowperwood first entered on elevated-road constructionthere was no evidence that any severe depression in the Americanmoney-market was imminent. But it was not long before a new difficultybegan to appear. It was now the day of the trust in all its waterymagnificence. Coal, iron, steel, oil, machinery, and a score of othercommercial necessities had already been "trustified, " and others, suchas leather, shoes, cordage, and the like, were, almost hourly, beingbrought under the control of shrewd and ruthless men. Already inChicago Schryhart, Hand, Arneel, Merrill, and a score of others wereseeing their way to amazing profits by underwriting these ventureswhich required ready cash, and to which lesser magnates, content with aportion of the leavings of Dives's table, were glad to bring to theirattention. On the other hand, in the nation at large there was growingup a feeling that at the top there were a set of giants--Titans--who, without heart or soul, and without any understanding of or sympathywith the condition of the rank and file, were setting forth to enchainand enslave them. The vast mass, writhing in ignorance and poverty, finally turned with pathetic fury to the cure-all of a political leaderin the West. This latter prophet, seeing gold becoming scarcer andscarcer and the cash and credits of the land falling into the hands ofa few who were manipulating them for their own benefit, had decidedthat what was needed was a greater volume of currency, so that creditswould be easier and money cheaper to come by in the matter of interest. Silver, of which there was a superabundance in the mines, was to becoined at the ratio of sixteen dollars of silver for every one of goldin circulation, and the parity of the two metals maintained by fiat ofgovernment. Never again should the few be able to make a weapon of thepeople's medium of exchange in order to bring about their undoing. There was to be ample money, far beyond the control of central banksand the men in power over them. It was a splendid dream worthy of acharitable heart, but because of it a disturbing war for politicalcontrol of the government was shortly threatened and soon began. Themoney element, sensing the danger of change involved in the theories ofthe new political leader, began to fight him and the element in theDemocratic party which he represented. The rank and file of bothparties--the more or less hungry and thirsty who lie ever at the bottomon both sides--hailed him as a heaven-sent deliverer, a new Moses cometo lead them out of the wilderness of poverty and distress. Woe to thepolitical leader who preaches a new doctrine of deliverance, and who, out of tenderness of heart, offers a panacea for human ills. His trulyshall be a crown of thorns. 

Cowperwood, no less than other men of wealth, was opposed to what hedeemed a crack-brained idea--that of maintaining a parity between goldand silver by law. Confiscation was his word for it--the confiscationof the wealth of the few for the benefit of the many. Most of all washe opposed to it because he feared that this unrest, which wasobviously growing, foreshadowed a class war in which investors wouldrun to cover and money be locked in strong-boxes. At once he began toshorten sail, to invest only in the soundest securities, and to convertall his weaker ones into cash. 

To meet current emergencies, however, he was compelled to borrowheavily here and there, and in doing so he was quick to note that thosebanks representing his enemies in Chicago and elsewhere were willing toaccept his various stocks as collateral, providing he would acceptloans subject to call. He did so gladly, at the same time suspectingHand, Schryhart, Arneel, and Merrill of some scheme to wreck him, providing they could get him where the calling of his loans suddenlyand in concert would financially embarrass him. "I think I know whatthat crew are up to, " he once observed to Addison, at this period. "Well, they will have to rise very early in the morning if they catchme napping. "

The thing that he suspected was really true. Schryhart, Hand, andArneel, watching him through their agents and brokers, had soondiscovered--in the very earliest phases of the silver agitation andbefore the real storm broke--that he was borrowing in New York, inLondon, in certain quarters of Chicago, and elsewhere. "It looks tome, " said Schryhart, one day, to his friend Arneel, "as if our friendhas gotten in a little too deep. He has overreached himself. Theseelevated-road schemes of his have eaten up too much capital. There isanother election coming on next fall, and he knows we are going tofight tooth and nail. He needs money to electrify his surface lines. If we could trace out exactly where he stands, and where he hasborrowed, we might know what to do. "

"Unless I am greatly mistaken, " replied Arneel, "he is in a tight placeor is rapidly getting there. This silver agitation is beginning toweaken stocks and tighten money. I suggest that our banks here loanhim all the money he wants on call. When the time comes, if he isn'tready, we can shut him up tighter than a drum. If we can pick up anyother loans he's made anywhere else, well and good. "

Mr. Arneel said this without a shadow of bitterness or humor. In sometight hour, perhaps, now fast approaching, Mr. Cowperwood would bepromised salvation--"saved" on condition that he should leave Chicagoforever. There were those who would take over his property in theinterest of the city and upright government and administer itaccordingly. 

Unfortunately, at this very time Messrs. Hand, Schryhart, and Arneelwere themselves concerned in a little venture to which the threatenedsilver agitation could bode nothing but ill. This concerned so simplea thing as matches, a commodity which at this time, along with manyothers, had been trustified and was yielding a fine profit. "AmericanMatch" was a stock which was already listed on every exchange and whichwas selling steadily around one hundred and twenty. 

The geniuses who had first planned a combination of all match concernsand a monopoly of the trade in America were two men, Messrs. Hull andStackpole--bankers and brokers, primarily. Mr. Phineas Hull was asmall, ferret-like, calculating man with a sparse growth of dusty-brownhair and an eyelid, the right one, which was partially paralyzed anddrooped heavily, giving him a characterful and yet at times a sinisterexpression. 

His partner, Mr. Benoni Stackpole, had been once a stage-driver inArkansas, and later a horse-trader. He was a man of great force andcalculation--large, oleaginous, politic, and courageous. Without theultimate brain capacity of such men as Arneel, Hand, and Merrill, hewas, nevertheless, resourceful and able. He had started somewhat latein the race for wealth, but now, with all his strength, he wasendeavoring to bring to fruition this plan which, with the aid of Hull, he had formulated. Inspired by the thought of great wealth, they hadfirst secured control of the stock of one match company, and had thenput themselves in a position to bargain with the owners of others. Thepatents and processes controlled by one company and another had beencombined, and the field had been broadened as much as possible. 

But to do all this a great deal of money had been required, much morethan was in possession of either Hull or Stackpole. Both of them beingWestern men, they looked first to Western capital. Hand, Schryhart, Arneel, and Merrill were in turn appealed to, and great blocks of thenew stock were sold to them at inside figures. By the means thusafforded the combination proceeded apace. Patents for exclusiveprocesses were taken over from all sides, and the idea of invadingEurope and eventually controlling the market of the world had itsinception. At the same time it occurred to each and all of theirlordly patrons that it would be a splendid thing if the stock they hadpurchased at forty-five, and which was now selling in open market atone hundred and twenty, should go to three hundred, where, if thesemonopolistic dreams were true, it properly belonged. A little more ofthis stock--the destiny of which at this time seemed sure andsplendid--would not be amiss. And so there began a quiet campaign onthe part of each capitalist to gather enough of it to realize a truefortune on the rise. 

A game of this kind is never played with the remainder of the financialcommunity entirely unaware of what is on foot. In the inner circles ofbrokerage life rumors were soon abroad that a tremendous boom was instore for American Match. Cowperwood heard of it through Addison, always at the center of financial rumor, and the two of them boughtheavily, though not so heavily but that they could clear out at anytime with at least a slight margin in their favor. During a period ofeight months the stock slowly moved upward, finally crossing thetwo-hundred mark and reaching two-twenty, at which figure both Addisonand Cowperwood sold, realizing nearly a million between them on theirinvestment. 

In the mean time the foreshadowed political storm was brewing. At firsta cloud no larger than a man's hand, it matured swiftly in the latemonths of 1895, and by the spring of 1896 it had become portentous andwas ready to burst. With the climacteric nomination of the "Apostle ofFree Silver" for President of the United States, which followed inJuly, a chill settled down over the conservative and financial elementsof the country. What Cowperwood had wisely proceeded to do monthsbefore, others less far-seeing, from Maine to California and from theGulf to Canada, began to do now. Bank-deposits were in part withdrawn;feeble or uncertain securities were thrown upon the market. All atonce Schryhart, Arneel, Hand, and Merrill realized that they were inmore or less of a trap in regard to their large holdings in AmericanMatch. Having gathered vast quantities of this stock, which had beenissued in blocks of millions, it was now necessary to sustain themarket or sell at a loss. Since money was needed by many holders, andthis stock was selling at two-twenty, telegraphic orders began to pourin from all parts of the country to sell on the Chicago Exchange, wherethe deal was being engineered and where the market obviously existed. All of the instigators of the deal conferred, and decided to sustainthe market. Messrs. Hull and Stackpole, being the nominal heads of thetrust, were delegated to buy, they in turn calling on the principalinvestors to take their share, pro rata. Hand, Schryhart, Arneel, andMerrill, weighted with this inpouring flood of stock, which they had totake at two-twenty, hurried to their favorite banks, hypothecating vastquantities at one-fifty and over, and using the money so obtained totake care of the additional shares which they were compelled to buy. 

At last, however, their favorite banks were full to overflowing and atthe danger-point. They could take no more. 

"No, no, no!" Hand declared to Phineas Hull over the 'phone. "I can'trisk another dollar in this venture, and I won't! It's a perfectproposition. I realize all its merits just as well as you do. Butenough is enough. I tell you a financial slump is coming. That's thereason all this stock is coming out now. I am willing to protect myinterests in this thing up to a certain point. As I told you, I agreenot to throw a single share on the market of all that I now have. Butmore than that I cannot do. The other gentlemen in this agreement willhave to protect themselves as best they can. I have other things tolook out for that are just as important to me, and more so, thanAmerican Match. "

It was the same with Mr. Schryhart, who, stroking a crisp, blackmustache, was wondering whether he had not better throw over whatholdings he had and clear out; however, he feared the rage of Hand andArneel for breaking the market and thus bringing on a local panic. Itwas risky business. Arneel and Merrill finally agreed to hold firm towhat they had; but, as they told Mr. Hull, nothing could induce them to"protect" another share, come what might. 

In this crisis naturally Messrs. Hull and Stackpole--estimablegentlemen both--were greatly depressed. By no means so wealthy astheir lofty patrons, their private fortunes were in much greaterjeopardy. They were eager to make any port in so black a storm. Witness, then, the arrival of Benoni Stackpole at the office of FrankAlgernon Cowperwood. He was at the end of his tether, and Cowperwoodwas the only really rich man in the city not yet involved in thisspeculation. In the beginning he had heard both Hand and Schryhart saythat they did not care to become involved if Cowperwood was in any way, shape, or manner to be included, but that had been over a year ago, andSchryhart and Hand were now, as it were, leaving both him and hispartner to their fates. They could have no objection to his dealingwith Cowperwood in this crisis if he could make sure that the magnatewould not sell him out. Mr. Stackpole was six feet one in his socksand weighed two hundred and thirty pounds. Clad in a brown linen suitand straw hat (for it was late July), he carried a palm-leaf fan aswell as his troublesome stocks in a small yellow leather bag. He waswet with perspiration and in a gloomy state of mind. Failure wasstaring him in the face--giant failure. If American Match fell belowtwo hundred he would have to close his doors as banker and broker and, in view of what he was carrying, he and Hull would fail forapproximately twenty million dollars. Messrs. Hand, Schryhart, Arneel, and Merrill would lose in the neighborhood of six or eight millionsbetween them. The local banks would suffer in proportion, though notnearly so severely, for, loaning at one-fifty, they would onlysacrifice the difference between that and the lowest point to which thestock might fall. 

Cowperwood eyed the new-comer, when he entered, with an equivocal eye, for he knew well now what was coming. Only a few days before he hadpredicted an eventual smash to Addison. 

"Mr. Cowperwood, " began Stackpole, "in this bag I have fifteen thousandshares of American Match, par value one million five hundred thousanddollars, market value three million three hundred thousand at thismoment, and worth every cent of three hundred dollars a share and more. I don't know how closely you have been following the developments ofAmerican Match. We own all the patents on labor-saving machines and, what's more, we're just about to close contracts with Italy and Franceto lease our machines and processes to them for pretty nearly onemillion dollars a year each. We're dickering with Austria and England, and of course we'll take up other countries later. The American MatchCompany will yet make matches for the whole world, whether I'mconnected with it or not. This silver agitation has caught us right inmid-ocean, and we're having a little trouble weathering the storm. I'ma perfectly frank man when it comes to close business relations of thiskind, and I'm going to tell you just how things stand. If we can scullover this rough place that has come up on account of the silveragitation our stock will go to three hundred before the first of theyear. Now, if you want to take it you can have it outright at onehundred and fifty dollars--that is, providing you'll agree not to throwany of it back on the market before next December; or, if you won'tpromise that" (he paused to see if by any chance he could readCowperwood's inscrutable face) "I want you to loan me one hundred andfifty dollars a share on these for thirty days at least at ten orfifteen, or whatever rate you care to fix. "

Cowperwood interlocked his fingers and twiddled his thumbs as hecontemplated this latest evidence of earthly difficulty anduncertainty. Time and chance certainly happened to all men, and herewas one opportunity of paying out those who had been nagging him. Totake this stock at one-fifty on loan and peddle it out swiftly andfully at two-twenty or less would bring American Match crumbling abouttheir ears. When it was selling at one-fifty or less he could buy itback, pocket his profit, complete his deal with Mr. Stackpole, pockethis interest, and smile like the well-fed cat in the fable. It was assimple as twiddling his thumbs, which he was now doing. 

"Who has been backing this stock here in Chicago besides yourself andMr. Hull?" he asked, pleasantly. "I think that I already know, but Ishould like to be certain if you have no objection. "

"None in the least, none in the least, " replied Mr. Stackpole, accommodatingly. "Mr. Hand, Mr. Schryhart, Mr. Arneel, and Mr. Merrill. "

"That is what I thought, " commented Cowperwood, easily. "They can'ttake this up for you? Is that it? Saturated?"

"Saturated, " agreed Mr. Stackpole, dully. "But there's one thing I'dhave to stipulate in accepting a loan on these. Not a share must bethrown on the market, or, at least, not before I have failed to respondto your call. I have understood that there is a little feeling betweenyou and Mr. Hand and the other gentlemen I have mentioned. But, as Isay--and I'm talking perfectly frankly now--I'm in a corner, and it'sany port in a storm. If you want to help me I'll make the best terms Ican, and I won't forget the favor. "

He opened the bag and began to take out the securities--longgreenish-yellow bundles, tightly gripped in the center by thick elasticbands. They were in bundles of one thousand shares each. SinceStackpole half proffered them to him, Cowperwood took them in one handand lightly weighed them up and down. 

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stackpole, " he said, sympathetically, after a moment ofapparent reflection, "but I cannot possibly help you in this matter. I'm too involved in other things myself, and I do not often indulge instock-peculations of any kind. I have no particular malice toward anyone of the gentlemen you mention. I do not trouble to dislike all whodislike me. I might, of course, if I chose, take these stocks and paythem out and throw them on the market to-morrow, but I have no desireto do anything of the sort. I only wish I could help you, and if Ithought I could carry them safely for three or four months I would. Asit is--" He lifted his eyebrows sympathetically. "Have you tried allthe bankers in town?"

"Practically every one. "

"And they can't help you?"

"They are carrying all they can stand now. "

"Too bad. I'm sorry, very. By the way, do you happen, by any chance, to know Mr. Millard Bailey or Mr. Edwin Kaffrath?"

"No, I don't, " replied Stackpole, hopefully. 

"Well, now, there are two men who are much richer than is generallysupposed. They often have very large sums at their disposal. Youmight look them up on a chance. Then there's my friend Videra. I don'tknow how he is fixed at present. You can always find him at theTwelfth Ward Bank. He might be inclined to take a good portion ofthat--I don't know. He's much better off than most people seem tothink. I wonder you haven't been directed to some one of these menbefore. " (As a matter of fact, no one of the individuals in questionwould have been interested to take a dollar of this loan except onCowperwood's order, but Stackpole had no reason for knowing this. Theywere not prominently identified with the magnate. )

"Thank you very much. I will, " observed Stackpole, restoring hisundesired stocks to his bag. 

Cowperwood, with an admirable show of courtesy, called a stenographer, and pretended to secure for his guest the home addresses of thesegentlemen. He then bade Mr. Stackpole an encouraging farewell. Thedistrait promoter at once decided to try not only Bailey and Kaffrath, but Videra; but even as he drove toward the office of thefirst-mentioned Cowperwood was personally busy reaching him bytelephone. 

"I say, Bailey, " he called, when he had secured the wealthy lumbermanon the wire, "Benoni Stackpole, of Hull & Stackpole, was here to see mejust now. "

"Yes. "

"He has with him fifteen thousand shares of American Match--par valueone hundred, market value to-day two-twenty. "

"Yes. "

"He is trying to hypothecate the lot or any part of it at one-fifty. "

"Yes. "

"You know what the trouble with American Match is, don't you?"

"No. I only know it's being driven up to where it is now by a bullcampaign. "

"Well, listen to me. It's going to break. American Match is going tobust. "

"Yes. "

"But I want you to loan this man five hundred thousand dollars atone-twenty or less and then recommend that he go to Edwin Kaffrath orAnton Videra for the balance. "

"But, Frank, I haven't any five hundred thousand to spare. You sayAmerican Match is going to bust. "

"I know you haven't, but draw the check on the Chicago Trust, andAddison will honor it. Send the stock to me and forget all about it. I will do the rest. But under no circumstances mention my name, anddon't appear too eager. Not more than one-twenty at the outside, doyou hear? and less if you can get it. You recognize my voice, do you?"

"Perfectly. "

"Drive over afterward if you have time and let me know what happens. "

"Very good, " commented Mr. Bailey, in a businesslike way. 

Cowperwood next called for Mr. Kaffrath. Conversing to similar effectwith that individual and with Videra, before three-quarters of an hourCowperwood had arranged completely for Mr. Stackpole's tour. He was tohave his total loan at one-twenty or less. Checks were to beforthcoming at once. Different banks were to be drawn on--banks otherthan the Chicago Trust Company. Cowperwood would see, in someroundabout way, that these checks were promptly honored, whether thecash was there or not. In each case the hypothecated stocks were to besent to him. Then, having seen to the perfecting of this littleprogramme, and that the banks to be drawn upon in this connectionunderstood perfectly that the checks in question were guaranteed by himor others, he sat down to await the arrival of his henchmen and theturning of the stock into his private safe. 

Chapter XLVIII

Panic

On August 4, 1896, the city of Chicago, and for that matter the entirefinancial world, was startled and amazed by the collapse of AmericanMatch, one of the strongest of market securities, and the coincidentfailure of Messrs. Hull and Stackpole, its ostensible promoters, fortwenty millions. As early as eleven o'clock of the preceding day thebanking and brokerage world of Chicago, trading in this stock, wasfully aware that something untoward was on foot in connection with it. Owing to the high price at which the stock was "protected, " and theneed of money to liquidate, blocks of this stock from all parts of thecountry were being rushed to the market with the hope of realizingbefore the ultimate break. About the stock-exchange, which frownedlike a gray fortress at the foot of La Salle Street, all wasexcitement--as though a giant anthill had been ruthlessly disturbed. Clerks and messengers hurried to and fro in confused and apparentlyaimless directions. Brokers whose supply of American Match had beenapparently exhausted on the previous day now appeared on 'change brightand early, and at the clang of the gong began to offer the stock insizable lots of from two hundred to five hundred shares. The agents ofHull & Stackpole were in the market, of course, in the front rank ofthe scrambling, yelling throng, taking up whatever stock appeared atthe price they were hoping to maintain. The two promoters were intouch by 'phone and wire not only with those various importantpersonages whom they had induced to enter upon this bull campaign, butwith their various clerks and agents on 'change. Naturally, under thecircumstances both were in a gloomy frame of mind. This game was nolonger moving in those large, easy sweeps which characterize the morefavorable aspects of high finance. Sad to relate, as in all thetroubled flumes of life where vast currents are compressed in narrow, tortuous spaces, these two men were now concerned chiefly with themomentary care of small but none the less heartbreaking burdens. Whereto find fifty thousand to take care of this or that burden of stockwhich was momentarily falling upon them? They were as two men calledupon, with their limited hands and strength, to seal up theever-increasing crevices of a dike beyond which raged a mountainous anddestructive sea. 

At eleven o'clock Mr. Phineas Hull rose from the chair which sat beforehis solid mahogany desk, and confronted his partner. 

"I'll tell you, Ben, " he said, "I'm afraid we can't make this. We'vehypothecated so much of this stock around town that we can't possiblytell who's doing what. I know as well as I'm standing on this floorthat some one, I can't say which one, is selling us out. You don'tsuppose it could be Cowperwood or any of those people he sent to us, doyou?"

Stackpole, worn by his experiences of the past few weeks, was inclinedto be irritable. 

"How should I know, Phineas?" he inquired, scowling in troubledthought. "I don't think so. I didn't notice any signs that they wereinterested in stock-gambling. Anyhow, we had to have the money in someform. Any one of the whole crowd is apt to get frightened now at anymoment and throw the whole thing over. We're in a tight place, that'splain. "

For the fortieth time he plucked at a too-tight collar and pulled uphis shirt-sleeves, for it was stifling, and he was coatless andwaistcoatless. Just then Mr. Hull's telephone bell rang--the oneconnecting with the firm's private office on 'change, and the latterjumped to seize the receiver. 

"Yes?" he inquired, irritably. 

"Two thousand shares of American offered at two-twenty! Shall I takethem?"

The man who was 'phoning was in sight of another man who stood at therailing of the brokers' gallery overlooking "the pit, " or central roomof the stock-exchange, and who instantly transferred any sign he mightreceive to the man on the floor. So Mr. Hull's "yea" or "nay" would bealmost instantly transmuted into a cash transaction on 'change. 

"What do you think of that?" asked Hull of Stackpole, putting his handover the receiver's mouth, his right eyelid drooping heavier than ever. "Two thousand more to take up! Where d'you suppose they are comingfrom? Tch!"

"Well, the bottom's out, that's all, " replied Stackpole, heavily andgutturally. "We can't do what we can't do. I say this, though:support it at two-twenty until three o'clock. Then we'll figure upwhere we stand and what we owe. And meanwhile I'll see what I can do. If the banks won't help us and Arneel and that crowd want to get fromunder, we'll fail, that's all; but not before I've had one more try, byJericho! They may not help us, but--"

Actually Mr. Stackpole did not see what was to be done unless Messrs. Hand, Schryhart, Merrill, and Arneel were willing to risk much moremoney, but it grieved and angered him to think he and Hull should bethus left to sink without a sigh. He had tried Kaffrath, Videra, andBailey, but they were adamant. Thus cogitating, Stackpole put on hiswide-brimmed straw hat and went out. It was nearly ninety-six in theshade. The granite and asphalt pavements of the down-town districtreflected a dry, Turkish-bath-room heat. There was no air to speak of. The sky was a burning, milky blue, with the sun gleaming feverishlyupon the upper walls of the tall buildings. 

Mr. Hand, in his seventh-story suite of offices in the RookeryBuilding, was suffering from the heat, but much more from mentalperturbation. Though not a stingy or penurious man, it was still truethat of all earthly things he suffered most from a financial loss. Howoften had he seen chance or miscalculation sweep apparently strong andvaliant men into the limbo of the useless and forgotten! Since thealienation of his wife's affections by Cowperwood, he had scarcely anyinterest in the world outside his large financial holdings, whichincluded profitable investments in a half-hundred companies. But theymust pay, pay, pay heavily in interest--all of them--and the thoughtthat one of them might become a failure or a drain on his resources wasenough to give him an almost physical sensation of dissatisfaction andunrest, a sort of spiritual and mental nausea which would cling to himfor days and days or until he had surmounted the difficulty. Mr. Handhad no least corner in his heart for failure. 

As a matter of fact, the situation in regard to American Match hadreached such proportions as to be almost numbing. Aside from thefifteen thousand shares which Messrs. Hull and Stackpole had originallyset aside for themselves, Hand, Arneel, Schryhart, and Merrill hadpurchased five thousand shares each at forty, but had since beencompelled to sustain the market to the extent of over five thousandshares more each, at prices ranging from one-twenty to two-twenty, thelargest blocks of shares having been bought at the latter figure. Actually Hand was caught for nearly one million five hundred thousanddollars, and his soul was as gray as a bat's wing. At fifty-sevenyears of age men who are used only to the most successful financialcalculations and the credit that goes with unerring judgment dread tobe made a mark by chance or fate. It opens the way for comment on theirpossibly failing vitality or judgment. And so Mr. Hand sat on this hotAugust afternoon, ensconced in a large carved mahogany chair in theinner recesses of his inner offices, and brooded. Only this morning, in the face of a falling market, he would have sold out openly had henot been deterred by telephone messages from Arneel and Schryhartsuggesting the advisability of a pool conference before any action wastaken. Come what might on the morrow, he was determined to quit unlesshe saw some clear way out--to be shut of the whole thing unless theingenuity of Stackpole and Hull should discover a way of sustaining themarket without his aid. While he was meditating on how this was to bedone Mr. Stackpole appeared, pale, gloomy, wet with perspiration. 

"Well, Mr. Hand, " he exclaimed, wearily, "I've done all I can. Hull andI have kept the market fairly stable so far. You saw what happenedbetween ten and eleven this morning. The jig's up. We've borrowed ourlast dollar and hypothecated our last share. My personal fortune hasgone into the balance, and so has Hull's. Some one of the outsidestockholders, or all of them, are cutting the ground from under us. Fourteen thousand shares since ten o'clock this morning! That tells thestory. It can't be done just now--not unless you gentlemen areprepared to go much further than you have yet gone. If we couldorganize a pool to take care of fifteen thousand more shares--"

Mr. Stackpole paused, for Mr. Hand was holding up a fat, pink digit. 

"No more of that, " he was saying, solemnly. "It can't be done. I, forone, won't sink another dollar in this proposition at this time. I'drather throw what I have on the market and take what I can get. I amsure the others feel the same way. "

Mr. Hand, to play safe, had hypothecated nearly all his shares withvarious banks in order to release his money for other purposes, and heknew he would not dare to throw over all his holdings, just as he knewhe would have to make good at the figure at which they had beenmargined. But it was a fine threat to make. 

Mr. Stackpole stared ox-like at Mr. Hand. 

"Very well, " he said, "I might as well go back, then, and post a noticeon our front door. We bought fourteen thousand shares and held themarket where it is, but we haven't a dollar to pay for them with. Unless the banks or some one will take them over for us we'regone--we're bankrupt. "

Mr. Hand, who knew that if Mr. Stackpole carried out this decision itmeant the loss of his one million five hundred thousand, haltedmentally. "Have you been to all the banks?" he asked. "What doesLawrence, of the Prairie National, have to say?"

"It's the same with all of them, " replied Stackpole, now quitedesperate, "as it is with you. They have all they can carry--everyone. It's this damned silver agitation--that's it, and nothing else. There's nothing the matter with this stock. It will right itself in afew months. It's sure to. "

"Will it?" commented Mr. Hand, sourly. "That depends on what happensnext November. " (He was referring to the coming national election. )

"Yes, I know, " sighed Mr. Stackpole, seeing that it was a condition, and not a theory, that confronted him. Then, suddenly clenching hisright hand, he exclaimed, "Damn that upstart!" (He was thinking of the"Apostle of Free Silver. ") "He's the cause of all this. Well, ifthere's nothing to be done I might as well be going. There's all thoseshares we bought to-day which we ought to be able to hypothecate withsomebody. It would be something if we could get even a hundred andtwenty on them. "

"Very true, " replied Hand. "I wish it could be done. I, personally, cannot sink any more money. But why don't you go and see Schryhart andArneel? I've been talking to them, and they seem to be in a positionsimilar to my own; but if they are willing to confer, I am. I don'tsee what's to be done, but it may be that all of us together mightarrange some way of heading off the slaughter of the stock to-morrow. I don't know. If only we don't have to suffer too great a decline. "

Mr. Hand was thinking that Messrs. Hull and Stackpole might be forcedto part with all their remaining holdings at fifty cents on the dollaror less. Then if it could possibly be taken and carried by the unitedbanks for them (Schryhart, himself, Arneel) and sold at a profit later, he and his associates might recoup some of their losses. The localbanks at the behest of the big quadrumvirate might be coerced intostraining their resources still further. But how was this to be done?How, indeed?

It was Schryhart who, in pumping and digging at Stackpole when hefinally arrived there, managed to extract from him the truth in regardto his visit to Cowperwood. As a matter of fact, Schryhart himself hadbeen guilty this very day of having thrown two thousand shares ofAmerican Match on the market unknown to his confreres. Naturally, hewas eager to learn whether Stackpole or any one else had the leastsuspicion that he was involved. As a consequence he questionedStackpole closely, and the latter, being anxious as to the outcome ofhis own interests, was not unwilling to make a clean breast. He hadthe justification in his own mind that the quadrumvirate had been readyto desert him anyhow. 

"Why did you go to him?" exclaimed Schryhart, professing to be greatlyastonished and annoyed, as, indeed, in one sense he was. "I thought wehad a distinct understanding in the beginning that under nocircumstances was he to be included in any portion of this. You mightas well go to the devil himself for assistance as go there. " At thesame time he was thinking "How fortunate!" Here was not only a loopholefor himself in connection with his own subtle side-plays, but also, ifthe quadrumvirate desired, an excuse for deserting the troublesomefortunes of Hull & Stackpole. 

"Well, the truth is, " replied Stackpole, somewhat sheepishly and yetdefiantly, "last Thursday I had fifteen thousand shares on which I hadto raise money. Neither you nor any of the others wanted any more. The banks wouldn't take them. I called up Rambaud on a chance, and hesuggested Cowperwood. "

As has been related, Stackpole had really gone to Cowperwood direct, but a lie under the circumstances seemed rather essential. 

"Rambaud!" sneered Schryhart. "Cowperwood's man--he and all theothers. You couldn't have gone to a worse crowd if you had tried. Sothat's where this stock is coming from, beyond a doubt. That fellow orhis friends are selling us out. You might have known he'd do it. Hehates us. So you're through, are you?--not another single trick toturn?"

"Not one, " replied Stackpole, solemnly. 

"Well, that's too bad. You have acted most unwisely in going toCowperwood; but we shall have to see what can be done. "

Schryhart's idea, like that of Hand, was to cause Hull & Stackpole torelinquish all their holdings for nothing to the banks in order that, under pressure, the latter might carry the stocks he and the others hadhypothecated with them until such a time as the company might beorganized at a profit. At the same time he was intensely resentfulagainst Cowperwood for having by any fluke of circumstance reaped solarge a profit as he must have done. Plainly, the present crisis hadsomething to do with him. Schryhart was quick to call up Hand andArneel, after Stackpole had gone, suggesting a conference, andtogether, an hour later, at Arneel's office, they foregathered alongwith Merrill to discuss this new and very interesting development. Asa matter of fact, during the course of the afternoon all of thesegentlemen had been growing more and more uneasy. Not that between themthey were not eminently capable of taking care of their own losses, butthe sympathetic effect of such a failure as this (twenty milliondollars), to say nothing of its reaction upon the honor of themselvesand the city as a financial center, was a most unsatisfactory if notdisastrous thing to contemplate, and now this matter of Cowperwood'shaving gained handsomely by it all was added to their misery. BothHand and Arneel growled in opposition when they heard, and Merrillmeditated, as he usually did, on the wonder of Cowperwood's subtlety. He could not help liking him. 

There is a sort of municipal pride latent in the bosoms of most membersof a really thriving community which often comes to the surface underthe most trying circumstances. These four men were by no means anexception to this rule. Messrs. Schryhart, Hand, Arneel, and Merrillwere concerned as to the good name of Chicago and their united standingin the eyes of Eastern financiers. It was a sad blow to them to thinkthat the one great enterprise they had recently engineered--a foil tosome of the immense affairs which had recently had their genesis in NewYork and elsewhere--should have come to so untimely an end. Chicagofinance really should not be put to shame in this fashion if it couldbe avoided. So that when Mr. Schryhart arrived, quite warm anddisturbed, and related in detail what he had just learned, his friendslistened to him with eager and wary ears. 

It was now between five and six o'clock in the afternoon and stillblazing outside, though the walls of the buildings on the opposite sideof the street were a cool gray, picked out with pools of black shadow. A newsboy's strident voice was heard here and there calling an extra, mingled with the sound of homing feet and street-cars--Cowperwood'sstreet-cars. 

"I'll tell you what it is, " said Schryhart, finally. "It seems to mewe have stood just about enough of this man's beggarly interference. I'll admit that neither Hull nor Stackpole had any right to go to him. They laid themselves and us open to just such a trick as has beenworked in this case. " Mr. Schryhart was righteously incisive, cold, immaculate, waspish. "At the same time, " he continued, "any othermoneyed man of equal standing with ourselves would have had thecourtesy to confer with us and give us, or at least our banks, anopportunity for taking over these securities. He would have come toour aid for Chicago's sake. He had no occasion for throwing thesestocks on the market, considering the state of things. He knows verywell what the effect of their failure will be. The whole city isinvolved, but it's little he cares. Mr. Stackpole tells me that he hadan express understanding with him, or, rather, with the men who it isplain have been representing him, that not a single share of this stockwas to be thrown on the market. As it is, I venture to say not asingle share of it is to be found anywhere in any of their safes. I cansympathize to a certain extent with poor Stackpole. His position, ofcourse, was very trying. But there is no excuse--none in theworld--for such a stroke of trickery on Cowperwood's part. It's just aswe've known all along--the man is nothing but a wrecker. We certainlyought to find some method of ending his career here if possible. "

Mr. Schryhart kicked out his well-rounded legs, adjusted his soft-rollcollar, and smoothed his short, crisp, wiry, now blackish-graymustache. His black eyes flashed an undying hate. 

At this point Mr. Arneel, with a cogency of reasoning which did not atthe moment appear on the surface, inquired: "Do any of you happen toknow anything in particular about the state of Mr. Cowperwood'sfinances at present? Of course we know of the Lake Street 'L' and theNorthwestern. I hear he's building a house in New York, and I presumethat's drawing on him somewhat. I know he has four hundred thousanddollars in loans from the Chicago Central; but what else has he?"

"Well, there's the two hundred thousand he owes the Prairie National, "piped up Schrybart, promptly. "From time to time I've heard of severalother sums that escape my mind just now. "

Mr. Merrill, a diplomatic mouse of a man--gray, Parisian, dandified--was twisting in his large chair, surveying the others withshrewd though somewhat propitiatory eyes. In spite of his old grudgeagainst Cowperwood because of the latter's refusal to favor him in thematter of running street-car lines past his store, he had always beeninterested in the man as a spectacle. He really disliked the thoughtof plotting to injure Cowperwood. Just the same, he felt it incumbentto play his part in such a council as this. "My financial agent, Mr. Hill, loaned him several hundred thousand not long ago, " hevolunteered, a little doubtfully. "I presume he has many otheroutstanding obligations. "

Mr. Hand stirred irritably. 

"Well, he's owing the Third National and the Lake City as much if notmore, " he commented. "I know where there are five hundred thousanddollars of his loans that haven't been mentioned here. ColonelBallinger has two hundred thousand. He must owe Anthony Ewer all ofthat. He owes the Drovers and Traders all of one hundred and fiftythousand. "

On the basis of these suggestions Arneel made a mental calculation, andfound that Cowperwood was indebted apparently to the tune of aboutthree million dollars on call, if not more. 

"I haven't all the facts, " he said, at last, slowly and distinctly. "Ifwe could talk with some of the presidents of our banks to-night, weshould probably find that there are other items of which we do notknow. I do not like to be severe on any one, but our own situation isserious. Unless something is done to-night Hull & Stackpole willcertainly fail in the morning. We are, of course, obligated to thevarious banks for our loans, and we are in honor bound to do all we canfor them. The good name of Chicago and its rank as a banking center isto a certain extent involved. As I have already told Mr. Stackpole andMr. Hull, I personally have gone as far as I can in this matter. Isuppose it is the same with each of you. The only other resources wehave under the circumstances are the banks, and they, as I understandit, are pretty much involved with stock on hypothecation. I know atleast that this is true of the Lake City and the Douglas Trust. "

"It's true of nearly all of them, " said Hand. Both Schryhart andMerrill nodded assent. 

"We are not obligated to Mr. Cowperwood for anything so far as I know, "continued Mr. Arneel, after a slight but somewhat portentous pause. "As Mr. Schryhart has suggested here to-day, he seems to have atendency to interfere and disturb on every occasion. Apparently hestands obligated to the various banks in the sums we have mentioned. Why shouldn't his loans be called? It would help strengthen the localbanks, and possibly permit them to aid in meeting this situation forus. While he might be in a position to retaliate, I doubt it. "

Mr. Arneel had no personal opposition to Cowperwood--none, at least, ofa deep-seated character. At the same time Hand, Merrill, and Schryhartwere his friends. In him, they felt, centered the financial leadershipof the city. The rise of Cowperwood, his Napoleonic airs, threatenedthis. As Mr. Arneel talked he never raised his eyes from the deskwhere he was sitting. He merely drummed solemnly on the surface withhis fingers. The others contemplated him a little tensely, catchingquite clearly the drift of his proposal. 

"An excellent idea--excellent!" exclaimed Schryhart. "I will join inany programme that looks to the elimination of this man. The presentsituation may be just what is needed to accomplish this. Anyhow, it mayhelp to solve our difficulty. If so, it will certainly be a case ofgood coming out of evil. "

"I see no reason why these loans should not be called, " Hand commented. "I'm willing to meet the situation on that basis. "

"And I have no particular objection, " said Merrill. "I think, however, it would be only fair to give as much notice as possible of anydecision we may reach, " he added. 

"Why not send for the various bankers now, " suggested Schryhart, "andfind out exactly where he stands, and how much it will take to carryHull & Stackpole? Then we can inform Mr. Cowperwood of what we proposeto do. "

To this proposition Mr. Hand nodded an assent, at the same timeconsulting a large, heavily engraved gold watch of the most ponderousand inartistic design. "I think, " he said, "that we have found thesolution to this situation at last. I suggest that we get Candish andKramer, of the stock-exchange" (he was referring to the president andsecretary, respectively, of that organization), "and Simmons, of theDouglas Trust. We should soon be able to tell what we can do. "

The library of Mr. Arneel's home was fixed upon as the most suitablerendezvous. Telephones were forthwith set ringing and messengers andtelegrams despatched in order that the subsidiary financial luminariesand the watch-dogs of the various local treasuries might come and, asit were, put their seal on this secret decision, which it was obviouslypresumed no minor official or luminary would have the temerity togainsay. 

Chapter XLIX

Mount Olympus

By eight o'clock, at which hour the conference was set, the principalfinancial personages of Chicago were truly in a great turmoil. Messrs. Hand, Schryhart, Merrill, and Arneel were personally interested! Whatwould you? As early as seven-thirty there was a pattering of horses'hoofs and a jingle of harness, as splendid open carriages were drawn upin front of various exclusive mansions and a bank president, or adirector at least, issued forth at the call of one of the bigquadrumvirate to journey to the home of Mr. Arneel. Such interestingfigures as Samuel Blackman, once president of the old Chicago GasCompany, and now a director of the Prairie National; Hudson Baker, oncepresident of the West Chicago Gas Company, and now a director of theChicago Central National; Ormonde Ricketts, publisher of the Chronicleand director of the Third National; Norrie Simms, president of theDouglas Trust Company; Walter Rysam Cotton, once an active wholesalecoffee-broker, but now a director principally of various institutions, were all en route. It was a procession of solemn, superior, thoughtfulgentlemen, and all desirous of giving the right appearance and ofmaking the correct impression. For, be it known, of all men none areso proud or vainglorious over the minor trappings of materialism asthose who have but newly achieved them. It is so essential apparentlyto fulfil in manner and air, if not in fact, the principle of"presence" which befits the role of conservator of society and leaderof wealth. Every one of those named and many more--to the number ofthirty--rode thus loftily forth in the hot, dry evening air and weresoon at the door of the large and comfortable home of Mr. TimothyArneel. 

That important personage was not as yet present to receive his guests, and neither were Messrs. Schryhart, Hand, nor Merrill. It would not befitting for such eminent potentates to receive their underlings inperson on such an occasion. At the hour appointed these four werestill in their respective offices, perfecting separately the details ofthe plan upon which they had agreed and which, with a show ofinformality and of momentary inspiration, they would later present. For the time being their guests had to make the best of their absence. Drinks and liquors were served, but these were of small comfort. Arack provided for straw hats was for some reason not used, every onepreferring to retain his own head-gear. Against the background of woodpanneling and the chairs covered with summer linen the companypresented a galleryesque variety and interest. Messrs. Hull andStackpole, the corpses or victims over which this serious gatheringwere about to sit in state, were not actually present within the room, though they were within call in another part of the house, where, ifnecessary, they could be reached and their advice or explanationsheard. This presumably brilliant assemblage of the financial weightand intelligence of the city appeared as solemn as owls under thepressure of a rumored impending financial crisis. Before Arneel'sappearance there was a perfect buzz of minor financial gossip, such as:

"You don't say?"

"Is it as serious as that?"

"I knew things were pretty shaky, but I was by no means certain howshaky. "

"Fortunately, we are not carrying much of that stock. " (This from oneof the few really happy bankers. )

"This is a rather serious occasion, isn't it?"

"You don't tell me!"

"Dear, dear!"

Never a word in criticism from any source of either Hand or Schryhartor Arneel or Merrill, though the fact that they were back of the poolwas well known. Somehow they were looked upon as benefactors who werecalling this conference with a view of saving others from disasterrather than for the purpose of assisting themselves. Such phrases as, "Oh, Mr. Hand! Marvelous man! Marvelous!" or, "Mr. Schryhart--veryable--very able indeed!" or, "You may depend on it these men are notgoing to allow anything serious to overtake the affairs of the city atthis time, " were heard on every hand. The fact that immense quantitiesof cash or paper were involved in behalf of one or other of these fourwas secretly admitted by one banker to another. No rumor thatCowperwood or his friends had been profiting or were in any wayinvolved had come to any one present--not as yet. 

At eight-thirty exactly Mr. Arneel first ambled in quite informally, Hand, Schryhart, and Merrill appearing separately very shortly after. Rubbing their hands and mopping their faces with their handkerchiefs, they looked about them, making an attempt to appear as nonchalant andcheerful as possible under such trying circumstances. There were manyold acquaintances and friends to greet, inquiries to be made as to thehealth of wives and children. Mr. Arneel, clad in yellowish linen, with a white silk shirt of lavender stripe, and carrying a palm-leaffan, seemed quite refreshed; his fine expanse of neck and bosom lookedmost paternal, and even Abrahamesque. His round, glistening pate exudedbeads of moisture. Mr. Schryhart, on the contrary, for all the heat, appeared quite hard and solid, as though he might be carved out of somedark wood. Mr. Hand, much of Mr. Arneel's type, but more solid andapparently more vigorous, had donned for the occasion a blue serge coatwith trousers of an almost gaudy, bright stripe. His ruddy, archaicface was at once encouraging and serious, as though he were saying, "Mydear children, this is very trying, but we will do the best we can. "Mr. Merrill was as cool and ornate and lazy as it was possible for agreat merchant to be. To one person and another he extended a cool, soft hand, nodding and smiling half the time in silence. To Mr. Arneelas the foremost citizen and the one of largest wealth fell the duty (byall agreed as most appropriate) of assuming the chair--which in thiscase was an especially large one at the head of the table. 

There was a slight stir as he finally, at the suggestion of Schryhart, went forward and sat down. The other great men found seats. 

"Well, gentlemen, " began Mr. Arneel, dryly (he had a low, husky voice), "I'll be as brief as I can. This is a very unusual occasion whichbrings us together. I suppose you all know how it is with Mr. Hull andMr. Stackpole. American Match is likely to come down with a crash inthe morning if something very radical isn't done to-night. It is atthe suggestion of a number of men and banks that this meeting iscalled. "

Mr. Arneel had an informal, tete-a-tete way of speaking as if he weresitting on a chaise-longue with one other person. 

"The failure, " he went on, firmly, "if it comes, as I hope it won't, will make a lot of trouble for a number of banks and privateindividuals which we would like to avoid, I am sure. The principalcreditors of American Match are our local banks and some privateindividuals who have loaned money on the stock. I have a list of themhere, along with the amounts for which they are responsible. It is inthe neighborhood of ten millions of dollars. "

Mr. Arneel, with the unconscious arrogance of wealth and power, did nottrouble to explain how he got the list, neither did he show theslightest perturbation. He merely fished down in one pocket in a heavyway and produced it, spreading it out on the table before him. Thecompany wondered whose names and what amounts were down, and whether itwas his intention to read it. 

"Now, " resumed Mr. Arneel, seriously, "I want to say here that Mr. Stackpole, Mr. Merrill, Mr. Hand, and myself have been to a certainextent investors in this stock, and up to this afternoon we felt it tobe our duty, not so much to ourselves as to the various banks whichhave accepted this stock as collateral and to the city at large, tosustain it as much as possible. We believed in Mr. Hull and Mr. Stackpole. We might have gone still further if there had been any hopethat a number of others could carry the stock without seriouslyinjuring themselves; but in view of recent developments we know thatthis can't be done. For some time Mr. Hull and Mr. Stackpole and thevarious bank officers have had reason to think that some one has beencutting the ground from under them, and now they know it. It isbecause of this, and because only concerted action on the part of banksand individuals can save the financial credit of the city at this time, that this meeting is called. Stocks are going to continue to be thrownon the market. It is possible that Hull & Stackpole may have toliquidate in some way. One thing is certain: unless a large sum ofmoney is gathered to meet the claim against them in the morning, theywill fail. The trouble is due indirectly, of course, to this silveragitation; but it is due a great deal more, we believe, to a piece oflocal sharp dealing which has just come to light, and which has reallybeen the cause of putting the financial community in the tight placewhere it stands to-night. I might as well speak plainly as to thismatter. It is the work of one man--Mr. Cowperwood. American Matchmight have pulled through and the city been have spared the dangerwhich now confronts it if Mr. Hull and Mr. Stackpole had not made themistake of going to this man. "

Mr. Arneel paused, and Mr. Norrie Simms, more excitable than most bytemperament, chose to exclaim, bitterly: "The wrecker!" A stir ofinterest passed over the others accompanied by murmurs of disapproval. 

"The moment he got the stock in his hands as collateral, " continued Mr. Arneel, solemnly, "and in the face of an agreement not to throw a shareon the market, he has been unloading steadily. That is what has beenhappening yesterday and to-day. Over fifteen thousand shares of thisstock, which cannot very well be traced to outside sources, have beenthrown on the market, and we have every reason to believe that all ofit comes from the same place. The result is that American Match, andMr. Hull and Mr. Stackpole, are on the verge of collapse. "

"The scoundrel!" repeated Mr. Norrie Simms, bitterly, almost rising tohis feet. The Douglas Trust Company was heavily interested in AmericanMatch. 

"What an outrage!" commented Mr. Lawrence, of the Prairie National, which stood to lose at least three hundred thousand dollars inshrinkage of values on hypothecated stock alone. To this bank thatCowperwood owed at least three hundred thousand dollars on call. 

"Depend on it to find his devil's hoof in it somewhere, " observedJordan Jules, who had never been able to make any satisfactory progressin his fight on Cowperwood in connection with the city council and thedevelopment of the Chicago General Company. The Chicago Central, ofwhich he was now a director, was one of the banks from which Cowperwoodhad judiciously borrowed. 

"It's a pity he should be allowed to go on bedeviling the town in thisfashion, " observed Mr. Sunderland Sledd to his neighbor, Mr. DuaneKingsland, who was a director in a bank controlled by Mr. Hand. 

The latter, as well as Schryhart, observed with satisfaction the effectof Mr. Arneel's words on the company. 

Mr. Arneel now again fished in his pocket laboriously, and drew forth asecond slip of paper which he spread out before him. "This is a timewhen frankness must prevail, " he went on, solemnly, "if anything is tobe done, and I am in hopes that we can do something. I have here amemorandum of some of the loans which the local banks have made to Mr. Cowperwood and which are still standing on their books. I want to knowif there are any further loans of which any of you happen to know andwhich you are willing to mention at this time. "

He looked solemnly around. 

Immediately several loans were mentioned by Mr. Cotton and Mr. Osgoodwhich had not been heard of previously. The company was now very wellaware, in a general way, of what was coming. 

"Well, gentlemen, " continued Mr. Arneel, "I have, previous to thismeeting, consulted with a number of our leading men. They agree withme that, since so many banks are in need of funds to carry thissituation, and since there is no particular obligation on anybody'spart to look after the interests of Mr. Cowperwood, it might be just aswell if these loans of his, which are outstanding, were called and themoney used to aid the banks and the men who have been behind Mr. Hulland Mr. Stackpole. I have no personal feeling against Mr. Cowperwood--that is, he has never done me any direct injury--butnaturally I cannot approve of the course he has seen fit to take inthis case. Now, if there isn't money available from some source toenable you gentlemen to turn around, there will be a number of otherfailures. Runs may be started on a half-dozen banks. Time is theessence of a situation like this, and we haven't any time. "

Mr. Arneel paused and looked around. A slight buzz of conversationsprang up, mostly bitter and destructive criticism of Cowperwood. 

"It would be only just if he could be made to pay for this, " commentedMr. Blackman to Mr. Sledd. "He has been allowed to play fast and looselong enough. It is time some one called a halt on him. "

"Well, it looks to me as though it would be done tonight, " Mr. Sleddreturned. 

Meanwhile Mr. Schryhart was again rising to his feet. "I think, " hewas saying, "if there is no objection on any one's part, Mr. Arneel, aschairman, might call for a formal expression of opinion from thedifferent gentlemen present which will be on record as the sense ofthis meeting. "

At this point Mr. Kingsland, a tall, whiskered gentleman, arose toinquire exactly how it came that Cowperwood had secured these stocks, and whether those present were absolutely sure that the stock has beencoming from him or from his friends. "I would not like to think wewere doing any man an injustice, " he concluded. 

In reply to this Mr. Schryhart called in Mr. Stackpole to corroboratehim. Some of the stocks had been positively identified. Stackpolerelated the full story, which somehow seemed to electrify the company, so intense was the feeling against Cowperwood. 

"It is amazing that men should be permitted to do things like this andstill hold up their heads in the business world, " said one, Mr. Vasto, president of the Third National, to his neighbor. 

"I should think there would be no difficulty in securing united actionin a case of this kind, " said Mr. Lawrence, president of the PrairieNational, who was very much beholden to Hand for past and presentfavors. 

"Here is a case, " put in Schryhart, who was merely waiting for anopportunity to explain further, "in which an unexpected politicalsituation develops an unexpected crisis, and this man uses it for hispersonal aggrandizement and to the detriment of every other person. The welfare of the city is nothing to him. The stability of the verybanks he borrows from is nothing. He is a pariah, and if thisopportunity to show him what we think of him and his methods is notused we will be doing less than our duty to the city and to oneanother. "

"Gentlemen, " said Mr. Arneel, finally, after Cowperwood's differentloans had been carefully tabulated, "don't you think it would be wiseto send for Mr. Cowperwood and state to him directly the decision wehave reached and the reasons for it? I presume all of us would agreethat he should be notified. "

"I think he should be notified, " said Mr. Merrill, who saw behind thissmooth talk the iron club that was being brandished. 

Both Hand and Schryhart looked at each other and Arneel while theypolitely waited for some one else to make a suggestion. When no oneventured, Hand, who was hoping this would prove a ripping blow toCowperwood, remarked, viciously:

"He might as well be told--if we can reach him. It's sufficientnotice, in my judgment. He might as well understand that this is theunited action of the leading financial forces of the city. "

"Quite so, " added Mr. Schryhart. "It is time he understood, I think, what the moneyed men of this community think of him and his crookedways. "

A murmur of approval ran around the room. 

"Very well, " said Mr. Arneel. "Anson, you know him better than some ofthe rest of us. Perhaps you had better see if you can get him on thetelephone and ask him to call. Tell him that we are here in executivesession. "

"I think he might take it more seriously if you spoke to him, Timothy, "replied Merrill. 

Arneel, being always a man of action, arose and left the room, seekinga telephone which was located in a small workroom or office den on thesame floor, where he could talk without fear of being overheard. 

Sitting in his library on this particular evening, and studying thedetails of half a dozen art-catalogues which had accumulated during theweek, Cowperwood was decidedly conscious of the probable collapse ofAmerican Match on the morrow. Through his brokers and agents he waswell aware that a conference was on at this hour at the house ofArneel. More than once during the day he had seen bankers and brokerswho were anxious about possible shrinkage in connection with varioushypothecated securities, and to-night his valet had called him to the'phone half a dozen times to talk with Addison, with Kaffrath, with abroker by the name of Prosser who had succeeded Laughlin in activecontrol of his private speculations, and also, be it said, with severalof the banks whose presidents were at this particular conference. IfCowperwood was hated, mistrusted, or feared by the overlords of theseinstitutions, such was by no means the case with the underlings, someof whom, through being merely civil, were hopeful of securing materialbenefits from him at some future time. With a feeling of amusedsatisfaction he was meditating upon how heavily and neatly he hadcountered on his enemies. Whereas they were speculating as to how tooffset their heavy losses on the morrow, he was congratulating himselfon corresponding gains. When all his deals should be closed up hewould clear within the neighborhood of a million dollars. He did notfeel that he had worked Messrs. Hull and Stackpole any great injustice. They were at their wit's end. If he had not seized this opportunity toundercut them Schryhart or Arneel would have done so, anyhow. 

Mingled with thoughts of a forthcoming financial triumph were others ofBerenice Fleming. There are such things as figments of the brain, evenin the heads of colossi. He thought of Berenice early and late; heeven dreamed of her. He laughed at himself at times for thus beingtaken in the toils of a mere girl--the strands of her ruddy hair--butworking in Chicago these days he was always conscious of her, of whatshe was doing, of where she was going in the East, of how happy hewould be if they were only together, happily mated. 

It had so happened, unfortunately, that in the course of this summer'sstay at Narragansett Berenice, among other diversions, had assumed acertain interest in one Lieutenant Lawrence Braxmar, U. S. N. , whom shefound loitering there, and who was then connected with the navalstation at Portsmouth, New Hampshire. Cowperwood, coming East at thistime for a few days' stay in order to catch another glimpse of hisideal, had been keenly disturbed by the sight of Braxmar and by whathis presence might signify. Up to this time he had not given muchthought to younger men in connection with her. Engrossed in herpersonality, he could think of nothing as being able to stand longbetween him and the fulfilment of his dreams. Berenice must be his. That radiant spirit, enwrapt in so fair an outward seeming, must cometo see and rejoice in him. Yet she was so young and airy in her moodthat he sometimes wondered. How was he to draw near? What say exactly?What do? Berenice was in no way hypnotized by either his wealth orfame. She was accustomed (she little knew to what extent by hiscourtesy) to a world more resplendent in its social security than hisown. Surveying Braxmar keenly upon their first meeting, Cowperwood hadliked his face and intelligence, had judged him to be able, but hadwondered instantly how he could get rid of him. Viewing Berenice andthe Lieutenant as they strolled off together along a summery seasideveranda, he had been for once lonely, and had sighed. These uncertainphases of affection could become very trying at times. He wished hewere young again, single. 

To-night, therefore, this thought was haunting him like a gloomyundertone, when at half past eleven the telephone rang once more, andhe heard a low, even voice which said:

"Mr. Cowperwood? This is Mr. Arneel. "

"Yes. "

"A number of the principal financial men of the city are gathered hereat my house this evening. The question of ways and means of preventinga panic to-morrow is up for discussion. As you probably know, Hull &Stackpole are in trouble. Unless something is done for them tonightthey will certainly fail to-morrow for twenty million dollars. Itisn't so much their failure that we are considering as it is the effecton stocks in general, and on the banks. As I understand it, a numberof your loans are involved. The gentlemen here have suggested that Icall you up and ask you to come here, if you will, to help us decidewhat ought to be done. Something very drastic will have to be decidedon before morning. "

During this speech Cowperwood's brain had been reciprocating like awell-oiled machine. 

"My loans?" he inquired, suavely. "What have they to do with thesituation? I don't owe Hull & Stackpole anything. "

"Very true. But a number of the banks are carrying securities for you. The idea is that a number of these will have to be called--the majorityof them--unless some other way can be devised to-night. We thought youmight possibly wish to come and talk it over, and that you might beable to suggest some other way out. "

"I see, " replied Cowperwood, caustically. "The idea is to sacrifice mein order to save Hull & Stackpole. Is that it?"

His eyes, quite as though Arneel were before him, emitted malicioussparks. 

"Well, not precisely that, " replied Arneel, conservatively; "butsomething will have to be done. Don't you think you had better comeover?"

"Very good. I'll come, " was the cheerful reply. "It isn't anythingthat can be discussed over the 'phone, anyhow. "

He hung up the receiver and called for his runabout. On the way overhe thanked the prevision which had caused him, in anticipation of somesuch attack as this, to set aside in the safety vaults of the ChicagoTrust Company several millions in low-interest-bearing governmentbonds. Now, if worst came to worst, these could be drawn on andhypothecated. These men should see at last how powerful he was and howsecure. 

As he entered the home of Arneel he was a picturesque and trulyrepresentative figure of his day. In a light summer suit of cream andgray twill, with a straw hat ornamented by a blue-and-white band, andwearing yellow quarter-shoes of the softest leather, he appeared a verymodel of trig, well-groomed self-sufficiency. As he was ushered intothe room he gazed about him in a brave, leonine way. 

"A fine night for a conference, gentlemen, " he said, walking toward achair indicated by Mr. Arneel. "I must say I never saw so many strawhats at a funeral before. I understand that my obsequies arecontemplated. What can I do?"

He beamed in a genial, sufficient way, which in any one else would havebrought a smile to the faces of the company. In him it was animplication of basic power which secretly enraged and envenomed nearlyall those present. They merely stirred in a nervous and whollyantagonistic way. A number of those who knew him personallynodded--Merrill, Lawrence, Simms; but there was no friendly light intheir eyes. 

"Well, gentlemen?" he inquired, after a moment or two of ominoussilence, observing Hand's averted face and Schryhart's eyes, which werelifted ceilingward. 

"Mr. Cowperwood, " began Mr. Arneel, quietly, in no way disturbed byCowperwood's jaunty air, "as I told you over the 'phone, this meetingis called to avert, if possible, what is likely to be a very seriouspanic in the morning. Hull & Stackpole are on the verge of failure. The outstanding loans are considerable--in the neighborhood of seven oreight million here in Chicago. On the other hand, there are assets inthe shape of American Match stocks and other properties sufficient tocarry them for a while longer if the banks can only continue theirloans. As you know, we are all facing a falling market, and the banksare short of ready money. Something has to be done. We have canvassedthe situation here to-night as thoroughly as possible, and the generalconclusion is that your loans are among the most available assets whichcan be reached quickly. Mr. Schryhart, Mr. Merrill, Mr. Hand, andmyself have done all we can thus far to avert a calamity, but we findthat some one with whom Hull & Stackpole have been hypothecating stockshas been feeding them out in order to break the market. We shall knowhow to avoid that in the future" (and he looked hard at Cowperwood), "but the thing at present is immediate cash, and your loans are thelargest and the most available. Do you think you can find the means topay them back in the morning?"

Arneel blinked his keen, blue eyes solemnly, while the rest, like apack of genial but hungry wolves, sat and surveyed this apparentlywhole but now condemned scapegoat and victim. Cowperwood, who waskeenly alive to the spirit of the company, looked blandly andfearlessly around. On his knee he held his blue--banded straw hatneatly balanced on one edge. His full mustache curled upward in ajaunty, arrogant way. 

"I can meet my loans, " he replied, easily. "But I would not advise youor any of the gentlemen present to call them. " His voice, for all itslightness, had an ominous ring. 

"Why not?" inquired Hand, grimly and heavily, turning squarely aboutand facing him. "It doesn't appear that you have extended anyparticular courtesy to Hull or Stackpole. " His face was red andscowling. 

"Because, " replied Cowperwood, smiling, and ignoring the reference tohis trick, "I know why this meeting was called. I know that thesegentlemen here, who are not saying a word, are mere catspaws and rubberstamps for you and Mr. Schryhart and Mr. Arneel and Mr. Merrill. Iknow how you four gentlemen have been gambling in this stock, and whatyour probable losses are, and that it is to save yourselves fromfurther loss that you have decided to make me the scapegoat. I want totell you here"--and he got up, so that in his full stature he loomedover the room--"you can't do it. You can't make me your catspaw topull your chestnuts out of the fire, and no rubber-stamp conference canmake any such attempt successful. If you want to know what to do, I'lltell you--close the Chicago Stock Exchange to-morrow morning and keepit closed. Then let Hull & Stackpole fail, or if not you four put upthe money to carry them. If you can't, let your banks do it. If youopen the day by calling a single one of my loans before I am ready topay it, I'll gut every bank from here to the river. You'll have panic, all the panic you want. Good evening, gentlemen. "

He drew out his watch, glanced at it, and quickly walked to the door, putting on his hat as he went. As he bustled jauntily down the wideinterior staircase, preceded by a footman to open the door, a murmur ofdissatisfaction arose in the room he had just left. 

"The wrecker!" re-exclaimed Norrie Simms, angrily, astounded at thisdemonstration of defiance. 

"The scoundrel!" declared Mr. Blackman. "Where does he get the wealthto talk like that?"

"Gentlemen, " said Mr. Arneel, stung to the quick by this amazingeffrontery, and yet made cautious by the blazing wrath of Cowperwood, "it is useless to debate this question in anger. Mr. Cowperwoodevidently refers to loans which can be controlled in his favor, and ofwhich I for one know nothing. I do not see what can be done until wedo know. Perhaps some of you can tell us what they are. "

But no one could, and after due calculation advice was borrowed ofcaution. The loans of Frank Algernon Cowperwood were not called. 

Chapter L

A New York Mansion

The failure of American Match the next morning was one of those eventsthat stirred the city and the nation and lingered in the minds of menfor years. At the last moment it was decided that in lieu of callingCowperwood's loans Hull & Stackpole had best be sacrificed, thestock-exchange closed, and all trading ended. This protected stocksfrom at least a quotable decline and left the banks free for severaldays (ten all told) in which to repair their disrupted finances andbuttress themselves against the eventual facts. Naturally, the minorspeculators throughout the city--those who had expected to make afortune out of this crash--raged and complained, but, being faced by anadamantine exchange directorate, a subservient press, and the alliancebetween the big bankers and the heavy quadrumvirate, there was nothingto be done. The respective bank presidents talked solemnly of "a meretemporary flurry, " Hand, Schryhart, Merrill, and Arneel went stillfurther into their pockets to protect their interests, and Cowperwood, triumphant, was roundly denounced by the smaller fry as a "bucaneer, " a"pirate, " a "wolf"--indeed, any opprobrious term that came into theirminds. The larger men faced squarely the fact that here was an enemyworthy of their steel. Would he master them? Was he already thedominant money power in Chicago? Could he thus flaunt theirhelplessness and his superiority in their eyes and before theirunderlings and go unwhipped?

"I must give in!" Hosmer Hand had declared to Arneel and Schryhart, atthe close of the Arneel house conference and as they stood inconsultation after the others had departed. "We seem to be beatento-night, but I, for one, am not through yet. He has won to-night, buthe won't win always. This is a fight to a finish between me and him. The rest of you can stay in or drop out, just as you wish. "

"Hear, hear!" exclaimed Schryhart, laying a fervently sympathetic handon his shoulder. "Every dollar that I have is at your service, Hosmer. This fellow can't win eventually. I'm with you to the end. "

Arneel, walking with Merrill and the others to the door, was silent anddour. He had been cavalierly affronted by a man who, but a few shortyears before, he would have considered a mere underling. Here wasCowperwood bearding the lion in his den, dictating terms to theprincipal financial figures of the city, standing up trig and resolute, smiling in their faces and telling them in so many words to go to thedevil. Mr. Arneel glowered under lowering brows, but what could he do?"We must see, " he said to the others, "what time will bring. Just nowthere is nothing much to do. This crisis has been too sudden. You sayyou are not through with him, Hosmer, and neither am I. But we mustwait. We shall have to break him politically in this city, and I amconfident that in the end we can do it. " The others were grateful forhis courage even though to-morrow he and they must part with millionsto protect themselves and the banks. For the first time Merrillconcluded that he would have to fight Cowperwood openly from now on, though even yet he admired his courage. "But he is too defiant, toocavalier! A very lion of a man, " he said to himself. "A man with theheart of a Numidian lion. "

It was true. 

From this day on for a little while, and because there was no immediatepolitical contest in sight, there was comparative peace in Chicago, although it more resembled an armed camp operating under the terms ofsome agreed neutrality than it did anything else. Schryhart, Hand, Arneel, and Merrill were quietly watchful. Cowperwood's chief concernwas lest his enemies might succeed in their project of worsting himpolitically in one or all three of the succeeding elections which weredue to occur every two years between now and 1903, at which time hisfranchises would have to be renewed. As in the past they had made itnecessary for him to work against them through bribery and perjury, soin ensuing struggles they might render it more and more difficult forhim or his agents to suborn the men elected to office. The subservientand venal councilmen whom he now controlled might be replaced by menwho, if no more honest, would be more loyal to the enemy, thus blockingthe extension of his franchises. Yet upon a renewal period of at leasttwenty and preferably fifty years depended the fulfilment of all thecolossal things he had begun--his art-collection, his new mansion, hisgrowing prestige as a financier, his rehabilitation socially, and thecelebration of his triumph by a union, morganatic or otherwise, withsome one who would be worthy to share his throne. 

It is curious how that first and most potent tendency of the humanmind, ambition, becomes finally dominating. Here was Cowperwood atfifty-seven, rich beyond the wildest dream of the average man, celebrated in a local and in some respects in a national way, who wasnevertheless feeling that by no means had his true aims been achieved. He was not yet all-powerful as were divers Eastern magnates, or eventhese four or five magnificently moneyed men here in Chicago who, byplodding thought and labor in many dreary fields such as Cowperwoodhimself frequently scorned, had reaped tremendous and uncontendedprofits. How was it, he asked himself, that his path had almostconstantly been strewn with stormy opposition and threatened calamity?Was it due to his private immorality? Other men were immoral; the mass, despite religious dogma and fol-de-rol theory imposed from the top, wasgenerally so. Was it not rather due to his inability to controlwithout dominating personally--without standing out fully and clearlyin the sight of all men? Sometimes he thought so. The humdrumconventional world could not brook his daring, his insouciance, hisconstant desire to call a spade a spade. His genial sufficiency was ataunt and a mockery to many. The hard implication of his eye wasdreaded by the weaker as fire is feared by a burnt child. Dissemblingenough, he was not sufficiently oily and make-believe. 

Well, come what might, he did not need to be or mean to be so, andthere the game must lie; but he had not by any means attained theheight of his ambition. He was not yet looked upon as a money prince. He could not rank as yet with the magnates of the East--the serriedSequoias of Wall Street. Until he could stand with these men, until hecould have a magnificent mansion, acknowledged as such by all, until hecould have a world-famous gallery, Berenice, millions--what did itavail?

The character of Cowperwood's New York house, which proved one of thecentral achievements of his later years, was one of thoseflowerings--out of disposition which eventuate in the case of men quiteas in that of plants. After the passing of the years neither amodified Gothic (such as his Philadelphia house had been), nor aconventionalized Norman-French, after the style of his Michigan Avenuehome, seemed suitable to him. Only the Italian palaces of medieval orRenaissance origin which he had seen abroad now appealed to him asexamples of what a stately residence should be. He was really seekingsomething which should not only reflect his private tastes as to ahome, but should have the more enduring qualities of a palace or even amuseum, which might stand as a monument to his memory. After muchsearching Cowperwood had found an architect in New York who suited himentirely--one Raymond Pyne, rake, raconteur, man-about-town--who wasstill first and foremost an artist, with an eye for the exceptional andthe perfect. These two spent days and days together meditating on thedetails of this home museum. An immense gallery was to occupy the westwing of the house and be devoted to pictures; a second gallery shouldoccupy the south wing and be given over to sculpture and large whorlsof art; and these two wings were to swing as an L around the houseproper, the latter standing in the angle between them. The wholestructure was to be of a rich brownstone, heavily carved. For itsinterior decoration the richest woods, silks, tapestries, glass, andmarbles were canvassed. The main rooms were to surround a greatcentral court with a colonnade of pink-veined alabaster, and in thecenter there would be an electrically lighted fountain of alabaster andsilver. Occupying the east wall a series of hanging baskets oforchids, or of other fresh flowers, were to give a splendid glow ofcolor, a morning-sun effect, to this richly artificial realm. Onechamber--a lounge on the second floor--was to be entirely lined withthin-cut transparent marble of a peach-blow hue, the lighting comingonly through these walls and from without. Here in a perpetualatmosphere of sunrise were to be racks for exotic birds, a trellis ofvines, stone benches, a central pool of glistening water, and an echoof music. Pyne assured him that after his death this room would makean excellent chamber in which to exhibit porcelains, jades, ivories, and other small objects of value. 

Cowperwood was now actually transferring his possessions to New York, and had persuaded Aileen to accompany him. Fine compound of tact andchicane that he was, he had the effrontery to assure her that theycould here create a happier social life. His present plan was topretend a marital contentment which had no basis solely in order tomake this transition period as undisturbed as possible. Subsequently hemight get a divorce, or he might make an arrangement whereby his lifewould be rendered happy outside the social pale. 

Of all this Berenice Fleming knew nothing at all. At the same time thebuilding of this splendid mansion eventually awakened her to anunderstanding of the spirit of art that occupied the center ofCowperwood's iron personality and caused her to take a real interest inhim. Before this she had looked on him as a kind of Western interlopercoming East and taking advantage of her mother's good nature to scrapea little social courtesy. Now, however, all that Mrs. Carter had beentelling her of his personality and achievements was becomingcrystallized into a glittering chain of facts. This house, the paperswere fond of repeating, would be a jewel of rare workmanship. Obviously the Cowperwoods were going to try to enter society. "What apity it is, " Mrs. Carter once said to Berenice, "that he couldn't havegotten a divorce from his wife before he began all this. I am soafraid they will never be received. He would be if he only had theright woman; but she--" Mrs. Carter, who had once seen Aileen inChicago, shook her head doubtfully. "She is not the type, " was hercomment. "She has neither the air nor the understanding. "

"If he is so unhappy with her, " observed Berenice, thoughtfully, "whydoesn't he leave her? She can be happy without him. It is sosilly--this cat-and-dog existence. Still I suppose she values theposition he gives her, " she added, "since she isn't so interestingherself. "

"I suppose, " said Mrs. Carter, "that he married her twenty years ago, when he was a very different man from what he is to-day. She is notexactly coarse, but not clever enough. She cannot do what he wouldlike to see done. I hate to see mismatings of this kind, and yet theyare so common. I do hope, Bevy, that when you marry it will be someone with whom you can get along, though I do believe I would rather seeyou unhappy than poor. "

This was delivered as an early breakfast peroration in Central ParkSouth, with the morning sun glittering on one of the nearest parklakes. Bevy, in spring-green and old-gold, was studying the socialnotes in one of the morning papers. 

"I think I should prefer to be unhappy with wealth than to be withoutit, " she said, idly, without looking up. 

Her mother surveyed her admiringly, conscious of her imperious mood. What was to become of her? Would she marry well? Would she marry intime? Thus far no breath of the wretched days in Louisville hadaffected Berenice. Most of those with whom Mrs. Carter had foundherself compelled to deal would be kind enough to keep her secret. Butthere were others. How near she had been to drifting on the rocks whenCowperwood had appeared!

"After all, " observed Berenice, thoughtfully, "Mr. Cowperwood isn't amere money-grabber, is he? So many of these Western moneyed men are sodull. "

"My dear, " exclaimed Mrs. Carter, who by now had become a confirmedsatellite of her secret protector, "you don't understand him at all. He is a very astonishing man, I tell you. The world is certain to heara lot more of Frank Cowperwood before he dies. You can say what youplease, but some one has to make the money in the first place. It'slittle enough that good breeding does for you in poverty. I know, because I've seen plenty of our friends come down. "

In the new house, on a scaffold one day, a famous sculptor and hisassistants were at work on a Greek frieze which represented dancingnymphs linked together by looped wreaths. Berenice and her motherhappened to be passing. They stopped to look, and Cowperwood joinedthem. He waved his hand at the figures of the frieze, and said toBerenice, with his old, gay air, "If they had copied you they wouldhave done better. "

"How charming of you!" she replied, with her cool, strange, blue eyesfixed on him. "They are beautiful. " In spite of her earlier prejudicesshe knew now that he and she had one god in common--Art; and that hismind was fixed on things beautiful as on a shrine. 

He merely looked at her. 

"This house can be little more than a museum to me, " he remarked, simply, when her mother was out of hearing; "but I shall build it asperfectly as I can. Perhaps others may enjoy it if I do not. "

She looked at him musingly, understandingly, and he smiled. Sherealized, of course, that he was trying to convey to her that he waslonely. 

Chapter LI

The Revival of Hattie Starr

Engrossed in the pleasures and entertainments which Cowperwood's moneywas providing, Berenice had until recently given very little thought toher future. Cowperwood had been most liberal. "She is young, " he oncesaid to Mrs. Carter, with an air of disinterested liberality, when theywere talking about Berenice and her future. "She is an exquisite. Lether have her day. If she marries well she can pay you back, or me. But give her all she needs now. " And he signed checks with the air of agardener who is growing a wondrous orchid. 

The truth was that Mrs. Carter had become so fond of Berenice as anobject of beauty, a prospective grande dame, that she would have soldher soul to see her well placed; and as the money to provide thedresses, setting, equipage had to come from somewhere, she had placedher spirit in subjection to Cowperwood and pretended not to see thecompromising position in which she was placing all that was near anddear to her. 

"Oh, you're so good, " she more than once said to him a mist ofgratitude commingled with joy in her eyes. "I would never havebelieved it of any one. But Bevy--"

"An esthete is an esthete, " Cowperwood replied. "They are rare enough. I like to see a spirit as fine as hers move untroubled. She will makeher way. "

Seeing Lieutenant Braxmar in the foreground of Berenice's affairs, Mrs. Carter was foolish enough to harp on the matter in a friendly, ingratiating way. Braxmar was really interesting after his fashion. Hewas young, tall, muscular, and handsome, a graceful dancer; but, betteryet, he represented in his moods lineage, social position, a number ofthe things which engaged Berenice most. He was intelligent, serious, with a kind of social grace which was gay, courteous, wistful. Berenice met him first at a local dance, where a new step was beingpractised--"dancing in the barn, " as it was called--and so airily didhe tread it with her in his handsome uniform that she was half smittenfor the moment. 

"You dance delightfully, " she said. "Is this a part of your life onthe ocean wave?"

"Deep-sea-going dancing, " he replied, with a heavenly smile. "Allbattles are accompanied by balls, don't you know?"

"Oh, what a wretched jest!" she replied. "It's unbelievably bad. "

"Not for me. I can make much worse ones. "

"Not for me, " she replied, "I can't stand them. " And they went prancingon. Afterward he came and sat by her; they walked in the moonlight, hetold her of naval life, his Southern home and connections. 

Mrs. Carter, seeing him with Berenice, and having been introduced, observed the next morning, "I like your Lieutenant, Bevy. I know someof his relatives well. They come from the Carolinas. He's sure tocome into money. The whole family is wealthy. Do you think he mightbe interested in you?"

"Oh, possibly--yes, I presume so, " replied Berenice, airily, for shedid not take too kindly to this evidence of parental interest. Shepreferred to see life drift on in some nebulous way at present, andthis was bringing matters too close to home. "Still, he has so muchmachinery on his mind I doubt whether he could take any seriousinterest in a woman. He is almost more of a battle-ship than he is aman. "

She made a mouth, and Mrs. Carter commented gaily: "You rogue! All themen take an interest in you. You don't think you could care for him, then, at all?"

"Why, mother, what a question! Why do you ask? Is it so essential thatI should?"

"Oh, not that exactly, " replied Mrs. Carter, sweetly, bracing herselffor a word which she felt incumbent upon her; "but think of hisposition. He comes of such a good family, and he must be heir to aconsiderable fortune in his own right. Oh, Bevy, I don't want to hurryor spoil your life in any way, but do keep in mind the future. Withyour tastes and instincts money is so essential, and unless you marryit I don't know where you are to get it. Your father was sothoughtless, and Rolfe's was even worse. "

She sighed. 

Berenice, for almost the first time in her life, took solemn heed ofthis thought. She pondered whether she could endure Braxmar as a lifepartner, follow him around the world, perhaps retransferring her abodeto the South; but she could not make up her mind. This suggestion onthe part of her mother rather poisoned the cup for her. To tell thetruth, in this hour of doubt her thoughts turned vaguely to Cowperwoodas one who represented in his avid way more of the things she trulydesired. She remembered his wealth, his plaint that his new housecould be only a museum, the manner in which he approached her withlooks and voiceless suggestions. But he was old and married--out ofthe question, therefore--and Braxmar was young and charming. To thinkher mother should have been so tactless as to suggest the necessity forconsideration in his case! It almost spoiled him for her. And wastheir financial state, then, as uncertain as her mother indicated?

In this crisis some of her previous social experiences becamesignificant. For instance, only a few weeks previous to her meetingwith Braxmar she had been visiting at the country estate of theCorscaden Batjers, at Redding Hills, Long Island, and had been sittingwith her hostess in the morning room of Hillcrest, which commanded alovely though distant view of Long Island Sound. 

Mrs. Fredericka Batjer was a chestnut blonde, fair, cool, quiescent--atype out of Dutch art. Clad in a morning gown of gray and silver, herhair piled in a Psyche knot, she had in her lap on this occasion a Javabasket filled with some attempt at Norwegian needlework. 

"Bevy, " she said, "you remember Kilmer Duelma, don't you? Wasn't he atthe Haggertys' last summer when you were there?"

Berenice, who was seated at a small Chippendale writing-desk penningletters, glanced up, her mind visioning for the moment the youth inquestion. Kilmer Duelma--tall, stocky, swaggering, his clothes theloose, nonchalant perfection of the season, his walk ambling, studied, lackadaisical, aimless, his color high, his cheeks full, his eyes alittle vacuous, his mind acquiescing in a sort of genial, inconsequential way to every query and thought that was put to him. The younger of the two sons of Auguste Duelma, banker, promoter, multimillionaire, he would come into a fortune estimated roughly atbetween six and eight millions. At the Haggertys' the year before hehad hung about her in an aimless fashion. 

Mrs. Batjer studied Berenice curiously for a moment, then returned toher needlework. "I've asked him down over this week-end, " shesuggested. 

"Yes?" queried Berenice, sweetly. "Are there others?"

"Of course, " assented Mrs. Batjer, remotely. "Kilmer doesn't interestyou, I presume. "

Berenice smiled enigmatically. 

"You remember Clarissa Faulkner, don't you, Bevy?" pursued Mrs. Batjer. "She married Romulus Garrison. "

"Perfectly. Where is she now?"

"They have leased the Chateau Brieul at Ars for the winter. Romulus isa fool, but Clarissa is so clever. You know she writes that she isholding a veritable court there this season. Half the smart set ofParis and London are dropping in. It is so charming for her to be ableto do those things now. Poor dear! At one time I was quite troubledover her. "

Without giving any outward sign Berenice did not fail to gather thefull import of the analogy. It was all true. One must begin early totake thought of one's life. She suffered a disturbing sense of duty. Kilmer Duelma arrived at noon Friday with six types of bags, a specialvalet, and a preposterous enthusiasm for polo and hunting (diseaseslately acquired from a hunting set in the Berkshires). A cleverlycontrived compliment supposed to have emanated from Miss Fleming andconveyed to him with tact by Mrs. Batjer brought him ambling intoBerenice's presence suggesting a Sunday drive to Saddle Rock. 

"Haw! haw! You know, I'm delighted to see you again. Haw! haw! It'sbeen an age since I've seen the Haggertys. We missed you after youleft. Haw! haw! I did, you know. Since I saw you I have taken uppolo--three ponies with me all the time now--haw! haw!--a regularstable nearly. "

Berenice strove valiantly to retain a serene interest. Duty was in hermind, the Chateau Brieul, the winter court of Clarissa Garrison, somefirst premonitions of the flight of time. Yet the drive was a bore, conversation a burden, the struggle to respond titanic, impossible. When Monday came she fled, leaving three days between that and aweek-end at Morristown. Mrs. Batjer--who read straws mostcapably--sighed. Her own Corscaden was not much beyond his money, butlife must be lived and the ambitious must inherit wealth or gather itwisely. Some impossible scheming silly would soon collect Duelma, andthen-- She considered Berenice a little difficult. 

Berenice could not help piecing together the memory of this incidentwith her mother's recent appeal in behalf of Lieutenant Braxmar. Agreat, cloying, disturbing, disintegrating factor in her life wasrevealed by the dawning discovery that she and her mother were withoutmuch money, that aside from her lineage she was in a certain sense aninterloper in society. There were never rumors of great wealth inconnection with her--no flattering whispers or public notices regardingher station as an heiress. All the smug minor manikins of the socialworld were on the qui vive for some cotton-headed doll of a girl withan endless bank-account. By nature sybaritic, an intense lover of artfabrics, of stately functions, of power and success in every form, shehad been dreaming all this while of a great soul-freedom andart-freedom under some such circumstances as the greatest individualwealth of the day, and only that, could provide. Simultaneously shehad vaguely cherished the idea that if she ever found some one who wastruly fond of her, and whom she could love or even admireintensely--some one who needed her in a deep, sincere way--she wouldgive herself freely and gladly. Yet who could it be? She had beencharmed by Braxmar, but her keen, analytic intelligence required someone harder, more vivid, more ruthless, some one who would appeal to heras an immense force. Yet she must be conservative, she must play whatcards she had to win. 

During his summer visit at Narragansett Cowperwood had not been longdisturbed by the presence of Braxmar, for, having received specialorders, the latter was compelled to hurry away to Hampton Roads. Butthe following November, forsaking temporarily his difficult affairs inChicago for New York and the Carter apartment in Central Park South, Cowperwood again encountered the Lieutenant, who arrived one eveningbrilliantly arrayed in full official regalia in order to escortBerenice to a ball. A high military cap surmounting his handsome face, his epaulets gleaming in gold, the lapels of his cape thrown back toreveal a handsome red silken lining, his sword clanking by his side, heseemed a veritable singing flame of youth. Cowperwood, caught in thedrift of circumstance--age, unsuitableness, the flaringcounter-attractions of romance and vigor--fairly writhed in pain. 

Berenice was so beautiful in a storm of diaphanous clinging garments. He stared at them from an adjacent room, where he pretended to bereading, and sighed. Alas, how was his cunning and foresight--evenhis--to overcome the drift of life itself? How was he to make himselfappealing to youth? Braxmar had the years, the color, the bearing. Berenice seemed to-night, as she prepared to leave, to be fairlyseething with youth, hope, gaiety. He arose after a few moments and, giving business as an excuse, hurried away. But it was only to sit inhis own rooms in a neighboring hotel and meditate. The logic of theordinary man under such circumstances, compounded of the age-oldnotions of chivalry, self-sacrifice, duty to higher impulses, and thelike, would have been to step aside in favor of youth, to giveconvention its day, and retire in favor of morality and virtue. Cowperwood saw things in no such moralistic or altruistic light. "Isatisfy myself, " had ever been his motto, and under that, however muchhe might sympathize with Berenice in love or with love itself, he wasnot content to withdraw until he was sure that the end of hope for himhad really come. There had been moments between him andBerenice--little approximations toward intimacy--which had led him tobelieve that by no means was she seriously opposed to him. At the sametime this business of the Lieutenant, so Mrs. Carter confided to him alittle later, was not to be regarded lightly. While Berenice might notcare so much, obviously Braxmar did. 

"Ever since he has been away he has been storming her with letters, "she remarked to Cowperwood, one afternoon. "I don't think he is thekind that can be made to take no for an answer. 

"A very successful kind, " commented Cowperwood, dryly. Mrs. Carter waseager for advice in the matter. Braxmar was a man of parts. She knewhis connections. He would inherit at least six hundred thousanddollars at his father's death, if not more. What about her Louisvillerecord? Supposing that should come out later? Would it not be wise forBerenice to marry, and have the danger over with?

"It is a problem, isn't it?" observed Cowperwood, calmly. "Are yousure she's in love?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that, but such things so easily turn into love. Ihave never believed that Berenice could be swept off her feet by anyone--she is so thoughtful--but she knows she has her own way to make inthe world, and Mr. Braxmar is certainly eligible. I know his cousins, the Clifford Porters, very well. "

Cowperwood knitted his brows. He was sick to his soul with this worryover Berenice. He felt that he must have her, even at the cost ofinflicting upon her a serious social injury. Better that she shouldsurmount it with him than escape it with another. It so happened, however, that the final grim necessity of acting on any such idea wasspared him. 

Imagine a dining-room in one of the principal hotels of New York, thehour midnight, after an evening at the opera, to which Cowperwood, ashost, had invited Berenice, Lieutenant Braxmar, and Mrs. Carter. He wasnow playing the role of disinterested host and avuncular mentor. 

His attitude toward Berenice, meditating, as he was, a course whichshould be destructive to Braxmar, was gentle, courteous, serenelythoughtful. Like a true Mephistopheles he was waiting, surveying Mrs. Carter and Berenice, who were seated in front chairs clad in suchexotic draperies as opera-goers affect--Mrs. Carter in pale-lemon silkand diamonds; Berenice in purple and old-rose, with a jeweled comb inher hair. The Lieutenant in his dazzling uniform smiled and talkedblandly, complimented the singers, whispered pleasant nothings toBerenice, descanted at odd moments to Cowperwood on naval personageswho happened to be present. Coming out of the opera and driving throughblowy, windy streets to the Waldorf, they took the table reserved forthem, and Cowperwood, after consulting with regard to the dishes andordering the wine, went back reminiscently to the music, which had been"La Boheme. " The death of Mimi and the grief of Rodolph, as voiced bythe splendid melodies of Puccini, interested him. 

"That makeshift studio world may have no connection with the genuineprofessional artist, but it's very representative of life, " he remarked. 

"I don't know, I'm sure, " said Braxmar, seriously. 

"All I know of Bohemia is what I have read in books--Trilby, forinstance, and--" He could think of no other, and stopped. "I supposeit is that way in Paris. "

He looked at Berenice for confirmation and to win a smile. Owing toher mobile and sympathetic disposition, she had during the opera beenswept from period to period by surges of beauty too gay or pathetic forwords, but clearly comprehended of the spirit. Once when she had beenlost in dreamy contemplation, her hands folded on her knees, her eyesfixed on the stage, both Braxmar and Cowperwood had studied her partedlips and fine profile with common impulses of emotion and enthusiasm. Realizing after the mood was gone that they had been watching her, Berenice had continued the pose for a moment, then had waked as from adream with a sigh. This incident now came back to her as well as herfeeling in regard to the opera generally. 

"It is very beautiful, " she said; "I do not know what to say. Peopleare like that, of course. It is so much better than just dull comfort. Life is really finest when it's tragic, anyhow. "

She looked at Cowperwood, who was studying her; then at Braxmar, whosaw himself for the moment on the captain's bridge of a battle-shipcommanding in time of action. To Cowperwood came back many of hisprincipal moments of difficulty. Surely his life had been sufficientlydramatic to satisfy her. 

"I don't think I care so much for it, " interposed Mrs. Carter. "Onegets tired of sad happenings. We have enough drama in real life. "

Cowperwood and Braxmar smiled faintly. Berenice looked contemplativelyaway. The crush of diners, the clink of china and glass, the bustlingto and fro of waiters, and the strumming of the orchestra diverted hersomewhat, as did the nods and smiles of some entering guests whorecognized Braxmar and herself, but not Cowperwood. 

Suddenly from a neighboring door, opening from the men's cafe andgrill, there appeared the semi-intoxicated figure of an ostensiblyswagger society man, his clothing somewhat awry, an opera-coat hangingloosely from one shoulder, a crush-opera-hat dangling in one hand, hiseyes a little bloodshot, his under lip protruding slightly anddefiantly, and his whole visage proclaiming that devil-may-care, superior, and malicious aspect which the drunken rake does not so muchassume as achieve. He looked sullenly, uncertainly about; then, perceiving Cowperwood and his party, made his way thither in thehalf-determined, half-inconsequential fashion of one not quite soundafter his cups. When he was directly opposite Cowperwood's table--thecynosure of a number of eyes--he suddenly paused as if in recognition, and, coming over, laid a genial and yet condescending hand on Mrs. Carter's bare shoulder. 

"Why, hello, Hattie!" he called, leeringly and jeeringly. "What areyou doing down here in New York? You haven't given up your business inLouisville, have you, eh, old sport? Say, lemme tell you something. Ihaven't had a single decent girl since you left--not one. If you opena house down here, let me know, will you?"

He bent over her smirkingly and patronizingly the while he made as ifto rummage in his white waistcoat pocket for a card. At the samemoment Cowperwood and Braxmar, realizing quite clearly the import ofhis words, were on their feet. While Mrs. Carter was pulling andstruggling back from the stranger, Braxmar's hand (he being thenearest) was on him, and the head waiter and two assistants hadappeared. 

"What is the trouble here? What has he done?" they demanded. 

Meanwhile the intruder, leering contentiously at them all, wasexclaiming in very audible tones: "Take your hands off. Who are you?What the devil have you got to do with this? Don't you think I knowwhat I'm about? She knows me--don't you, Hattie? That's Hattie Starr, of Louisville--ask her! She kept one of the swellest ever run inLouisville. What do you people want to be so upset about? I know whatI'm doing. She knows me. "

He not only protested, but contested, and with some vehemence. Cowperwood, Braxmar, and the waiters forming a cordon, he was shovedand hustled out into the lobby and the outer entranceway, and anofficer was called. 

"This man should be arrested, " Cowperwood protested, vigorously, whenthe latter appeared. "He has grossly insulted lady guests of mine. Heis drunk and disorderly, and I wish to make that charge. Here is mycard. Will you let me know where to come?" He handed it over, whileBraxmar, scrutinizing the stranger with military care, added: "I shouldlike to thrash you within an inch of your life. If you weren't drunk Iwould. If you are a gentleman and have a card I want you to give it tome. I want to talk to you later. " He leaned over and presented a cold, hard face to that of Mr. Beales Chadsey, of Louisville, Kentucky. 

"Tha's all right, Captain, " leered Chadsey, mockingly. "I got a card. No harm done. Here you are. You c'n see me any time you want--HotelBuckingham, Fifth Avenue and Fiftieth Street. I got a right to speakto anybody I please, where I please, when I please. See?"

He fumbled and protested while the officer stood by read to take him incharge. Not finding a card, he added: "Tha's all right. Write it down. Beales Chadsey, Hotel Buckingham, or Louisville, Kentucky. See me anytime you want to. Tha's Hattie Starr. She knows me. I couldn't makea mistake about her--not once in a million. Many's the night I spentin her house. "

Braxmar was quite ready to lunge at him had not the officer intervened. 

Back in the dining-room Berenice and her mother were sitting, thelatter quite flustered, pale, distrait, horribly taken aback--by fartoo much distressed for any convincing measure of deception. 

"Why, the very idea!" she was saying. "That dreadful man! Howterrible! I never saw him before in my life. "

Berenice, disturbed and nonplussed, was thinking of the familiar andlecherous leer with which the stranger had addressed her mother--thehorror, the shame of it. Could even a drunken man, if utterlymistaken, be so defiant, so persistent, so willing to explain? Whatshameful things had she been hearing?

"Come, mother, " she said, gently, and with dignity; "never mind, it isall right. We can go home at once. You will feel better when you areout of here. "

She called a waiter and asked him to say to the gentlemen that they hadgone to the women's dressing-room. She pushed an intervening chair outof the way and gave her mother her arm. 

"To think I should be so insulted, " Mrs. Carter mumbled on, "here in agreat hotel, in the presence of Lieutenant Braxmar and Mr. Cowperwood!This is too dreadful. Well, I never. "

She half whimpered as she walked; and Berenice, surveying the room withdignity, a lofty superiority in her face, led solemnly forth, astrange, lacerating pain about her heart. What was at the bottom ofthese shameful statements? Why should this drunken roisterer haveselected her mother, of all other women in the dining-room, for theobject of these outrageous remarks? Why should her mother be stricken, so utterly collapsed, if there were not some truth in what he had said?It was very strange, very sad, very grim, very horrible. What wouldthat gossiping, scandal-loving world of which she knew so much say to ascene like this? For the first time in her life the import and horrorof social ostracism flashed upon her. 

The following morning, owing to a visit paid to the Jefferson MarketPolice Court by Lieutenant Braxmar, where he proposed, if satisfactionwere not immediately guaranteed, to empty cold lead into Mr. BealesChadsey's stomach, the following letter on Buckingham stationery waswritten and sent to Mrs. Ira George Carter--36 Central Park South:

DEAR MADAM:

Last evening, owing to a drunken debauch, for which I have nosatisfactory or suitable explanation to make, I was the unfortunateoccasion of an outrage upon your feelings and those of your daughterand friends, for which I wish most humbly to apologize. I cannot tellyou how sincerely I regret whatever I said or did, which I cannot nowclearly recall. My mental attitude when drinking is both contentiousand malicious, and while in this mood and state I was the author ofstatements which I know to be wholly unfounded. In my drunken stupor Imistook you for a certain notorious woman of Louisville--why, I havenot the slightest idea. For this wholly shameful and outrageousconduct I sincerely ask your pardon--beg your forgiveness. I do notknow what amends I can make, but anything you may wish to suggest Ishall gladly do. In the mean while I hope you will accept this letterin the spirit in which it is written and as a slight attempt atrecompense which I know can never fully be made. 

Very sincerely, BEALES CHADSEY. 

At the same time Lieutenant Braxmar was fully aware before this letterwas written or sent that the charges implied against Mrs. Carter wereonly too well founded. Beales Chadsey had said drunk what twenty menin all sobriety and even the police at Louisville would corroborate. Chadsey had insisted on making this clear to Braxmar before writing theletter. 

Chapter LII

Behind the Arras

Berenice, perusing the apology from Beales Chadsey, which hermother--very much fagged and weary--handed her the next morning, thought that it read like the overnight gallantry of some one who wasseeking to make amends without changing his point of view. Mrs. Carterwas too obviously self-conscious. She protested too much. Bereniceknew that she could find out for herself if she chose, but would shechoose? The thought sickened her, and yet who was she to judge tooseverely?

Cowperwood came in bright and early to put as good a face on the matteras he could. He explained how he and Braxmar had gone to the policestation to make a charge; how Chadsey, sobered by arrest, had abandonedhis bravado and humbly apologized. When viewing the letter handed himby Mrs. Carter he exclaimed:

"Oh yes. He was very glad to promise to write that if we would let himoff. Braxmar seemed to think it was necessary that he should. Iwanted the judge to impose a fine and let it go at that. He was drunk, and that's all there was to it. "

He assumed a very unknowing air when in the presence of Berenice andher mother, but when alone with the latter his manner changedcompletely. 

"Brazen it out, " he commanded. "It doesn't amount to anything. Braxmardoesn't believe that this man really knows anything. This letter isenough to convince Berenice. Put a good face on it; more depends onyour manner than on anything else. You're much too upset. That won'tdo at all; you'll tell the whole story that way. "

At the same time he privately regarded this incident as a fine windfallof chance--in all likelihood the one thing which would serve to scarethe Lieutenant away. Outwardly, however, he demanded effrontery, assumption; and Mrs. Carter was somewhat cheered, but when she wasalone she cried. Berenice, coming upon her accidentally and findingher eyes wet, exclaimed:

"Oh, mother, please don't be foolish. How can you act this way? We hadbetter go up in the country and rest a little while if you are sounstrung. "

Mrs. Carter protested that it was merely nervous reaction, but toBerenice it seemed that where there was so much smoke there must besome fire. 

Her manner in the aftermath toward Braxmar was gracious, but remote. Hecalled the next day to say how sorry he was, and to ask her to a newdiversion. She was sweet, but distant. In so far as she was concernedit was plain that the Beales Chadsey incident was closed, but she didnot accept his invitation. 

"Mother and I are planning to go to the country for a few days, " sheobserved, genially. "I can't say just when we shall return, but if youare still here we shall meet, no doubt. You must be sure and come tosee us. " She turned to an east court-window, where the morning sun wasgleaming on some flowers in a window-box, and began to pinch off a deadleaf here and there. 

Braxmar, full of the tradition of American romance, captivated by hervibrant charm, her poise and superiority under the circumstances, herobvious readiness to dismiss him, was overcome, as the human mindfrequently is, by a riddle of the spirit, a chemical reaction asmysterious to its victim as to one who is its witness. Steppingforward with a motion that was at once gallant, reverent, eager, unconscious, he exclaimed:

"Berenice! Miss Fleming! Please don't send me away like this. Don'tleave me. It isn't anything I have done, is it? I am mad about you. Ican't bear to think that anything that has happened could make anydifference between you and me. I haven't had the courage to tell youbefore, but I want to tell you now. I have been in love with you fromthe very first night I saw you. You are such a wonderful girl! I don'tfeel that I deserve you, but I love you. I love you with all the honorand force in me. I admire and respect you. Whatever may or may not betrue, it is all one and the same to me. Be my wife, will you? Marryme, please! Oh, I'm not fit to be the lacer of your shoes, but I haveposition and I'll make a name for myself, I hope. Oh, Berenice!" Heextended his arms in a dramatic fashion, not outward, but downward, stiff and straight, and declared: "I don't know what I shall do withoutyou. Is there no hope for me at all?"

An artist in all the graces of sex--histrionic, plastic, many-faceted--Berenice debated for the fraction of a minute what sheshould do and say. She did not love the Lieutenant as he loved her byany means, and somehow this discovery concerning her mother shamed herpride, suggesting an obligation to save herself in one form or another, which she resented bitterly. She was sorry for his tactless proposalat this time, although she knew well enough the innocence and virtue ofthe emotion from which it sprung. 

"Really, Mr. Braxmar, " she replied, turning on him with solemn eyes, "you mustn't ask me to decide that now. I know how you feel. I'mafraid, though, that I may have been a little misleading in my manner. I didn't mean to be. I'm quite sure you'd better forget your interestin me for the present anyhow. I could only make up my mind in one wayif you should insist. I should have to ask you to forget me entirely. I wonder if you can see how I feel--how it hurts me to say this?"

She paused, perfectly poised, yet quite moved really, as charming afigure as one would have wished to see--part Greek, partOriental--contemplative, calculating. 

In that moment, for the first time, Braxmar realized that he wastalking to some one whom he could not comprehend really. She wasstrangely self-contained, enigmatic, more beautiful perhaps becausemore remote than he had ever seen her before. In a strange flash thisyoung American saw the isles of Greece, Cytherea, the lost Atlantis, Cyprus, and its Paphian shrine. His eyes burned with a strange, comprehending luster; his color, at first high, went pale. 

"I can't believe you don't care for me at all, Miss Berenice, " he wenton, quite strainedly. "I felt you did care about me. But here, " headded, all at once, with a real, if summoned, military force, "I won'tbother you. You do understand me. You know how I feel. I won'tchange. Can't we be friends, anyhow?"

He held out his hand, and she took it, feeling now that she was puttingan end to what might have been an idyllic romance. 

"Of course we can, " she said. "I hope I shall see you again soon. "

After he was gone she walked into the adjoining room and sat down in awicker chair, putting her elbows on her knees and resting her chin inher hands. What a denouement to a thing so innocent, so charming! Andnow he was gone. She would not see him any more, would not want to seehim--not much, anyhow. Life had sad, even ugly facts. Oh yes, yes, and she was beginning to perceive them clearly. 

Some two days later, when Berenice had brooded and brooded until shecould endure it no longer, she finally went to Mrs. Carter and said:"Mother, why don't you tell me all about this Louisville matter so thatI may really know? I can see something is worrying you. Can't youtrust me? I am no longer a child by any means, and I am your daughter. It may help me to straighten things out, to know what to do. "

Mrs. Carter, who had always played a game of lofty though lovingmotherhood, was greatly taken aback by this courageous attitude. Sheflushed and chilled a little; then decided to lie. 

"I tell you there was nothing at all, " she declared, nervously andpettishly. "It is all an awful mistake. I wish that dreadful mancould be punished severely for what he said to me. To be outraged andinsulted this way before my own child!"

"Mother, " questioned Berenice, fixing her with those cool, blue eyes, "why don't you tell me all about Louisville? You and I shouldn't havethings between us. Maybe I can help you. "

All at once Mrs. Carter, realizing that her daughter was no longer achild nor a mere social butterfly, but a woman superior, cool, sympathetic, with intuitions much deeper than her own, sank into aheavily flowered wing-chair behind her, and, seeking a smallpocket-handkerchief with one hand, placed the other over her eyes andbegan to cry. 

"I was so driven, Bevy, I didn't know which way to turn. ColonelGillis suggested it. I wanted to keep you and Rolfe in school and giveyou a chance. It isn't true--anything that horrible man said. Itwasn't anything like what he suggested. Colonel Gillis and severalothers wanted me to rent them bachelor quarters, and that's the way itall came about. It wasn't my fault; I couldn't help myself, Bevy. "

"And what about Mr. Cowperwood?" inquired Berenice curiously. She hadbegun of late to think a great deal about Cowperwood. He was so cool, deep, dynamic, in a way resourceful, like herself. 

"There's nothing about him, " replied Mrs. Carter, looking updefensively. Of all her men friends she best liked Cowperwood. He hadnever advised her to evil ways or used her house as a convenience tohimself alone. "He never did anything but help me out. He advised meto give up my house in Louisville and come East and devote myself tolooking after you and Rolfe. He offered to help me until you twoshould be able to help yourselves, and so I came. Oh, if I had onlynot been so foolish--so afraid of life! But your father and Mr. Carterjust ran through everything. "

She heaved a deep, heartfelt sigh. 

"Then we really haven't anything at all, have we, mother--property oranything else?"

Mrs. Carter shook her head, meaning no. 

"And the money we have been spending is Mr. Cowperwood's?"

"Yes. "

Berenice paused and looked out the window over the wide stretch of parkwhich it commanded. Framed in it like a picture were a small lake, ahill of trees, with a Japanese pagoda effect in the foreground. Overthe hill were the yellow towering walls of a great hotel in CentralPark West. In the street below could be heard the jingle ofstreet-cars. On a road in the park could be seen a moving line ofpleasure vehicles--society taking an airing in the chill Novemberafternoon. 

"Poverty, ostracism, " she thought. And should she marry rich? Ofcourse, if she could. And whom should she marry? The Lieutenant?Never. He was really not masterful enough mentally, and he hadwitnessed her discomfiture. And who, then? Oh, the long line ofsillies, light-weights, rakes, ne'er-do-wells, who, combined withsober, prosperous, conventional, muddle-headed oofs, constitutedsociety. Here and there, at far jumps, was a real man, but would he beinterested in her if he knew the whole truth about her?

"Have you broken with Mr. Braxmar?" asked her mother, curiously, nervously, hopefully, hopelessly. 

"I haven't seen him since, " replied Berenice, lying conservatively. "Idon't know whether I shall or not. I want to think. " She arose. "Butdon't you mind, mother. Only I wish we had some other way of livingbesides being dependent on Mr. Cowperwood. "

She walked into her boudoir, and before her mirror began to dress for adinner to which she had been invited. So it was Cowperwood's moneythat had been sustaining them all during the last few years; and shehad been so liberal with his means--so proud, vain, boastful, superior. And he had only fixed her with those inquiring, examining eyes. Why?But she did not need to ask herself why. She knew now. What a game hehad been playing, and what a silly she had been not to see it. Did hermother in any way suspect? She doubted it. This queer, paradoxical, impossible world! The eyes of Cowperwood burned at her as she thought. 

Chapter LIII

A Declaration of Love

For the first time in her life Berenice now pondered seriously what shecould do. She thought of marriage, but decided that instead of sendingfor Braxmar or taking up some sickening chase of an individual evenless satisfactory it might be advisable to announce in a simple socialway to her friends that her mother had lost her money, and that sheherself was now compelled to take up some form of employment--theteaching of dancing, perhaps, or the practice of it professionally. She suggested this calmly to her mother one day. Mrs. Carter, who hadbeen long a parasite really, without any constructive monetary notionsof real import, was terrified. To think that she and "Bevy, " herwonderful daughter, and by reaction her son, should come to anything sohumdrum and prosaic as ordinary struggling life, and after all herdreams. She sighed and cried in secret, writing Cowperwood a cautiousexplanation and asking him to see her privately in New York when hereturned. 

"Don't you think we had best go on a little while longer?" shesuggested to Berenice. "It just wrings my heart to think that you, with your qualifications, should have to stoop to givingdancing-lessons. We had better do almost anything for a while yet. You can make a suitable marriage, and then everything will be all rightfor you. It doesn't matter about me. I can live. But you--" Mrs. Carter's strained eyes indicated the misery she felt. Berenice wasmoved by this affection for her, which she knew to be genuine; but whata fool her mother had been, what a weak reed, indeed, she was to leanupon! Cowperwood, when he conferred with Mrs. Carter, insisted thatBerenice was quixotic, nervously awry, to wish to modify her state, toeschew society and invalidate her wondrous charm by any sort ofprofessional life. By prearrangement with Mrs. Carter he hurried toPocono at a time when he knew that Berenice was there alone. Eversince the Beales Chadsey incident she had been evading him. 

When he arrived, as he did about one in the afternoon of a crispJanuary day, there was snow on the ground, and the surroundinglandscape was bathed in a crystalline light that gave back to the eyeendless facets of luster--jewel beams that cut space with a flash. Theautomobile had been introduced by now, and he rode in a touring-car ofeighty horse-power that gave back from its dark-brown, varnishedsurface a lacquered light. In a great fur coat and cap of round, blacklamb's-wool he arrived at the door. 

"Well, Bevy, " he exclaimed, pretending not to know of Mrs. Carter'sabsence, "how are you? How's your mother? Is she in?"

Berenice fixed him with her cool, steady-gazing eyes, as frank andincisive as they were daring, and smiled him an equivocal welcome. Shewore a blue denim painter's apron, and a palette of many colorsglistened under her thumb. She was painting and thinking--thinkingbeing her special occupation these days, and her thoughts had been ofBraxmar, Cowperwood, Kilmer Duelma, a half-dozen others, as well as ofthe stage, dancing, painting. Her life was in a melting-pot, as itwere, before her; again it was like a disarranged puzzle, the pieces ofwhich might be fitted together into some interesting picture if shecould but endure. 

"Do come in, " she said. "It's cold, isn't it? Well, there's a nicefire here for you. No, mother isn't here. She went down to New York. I should think you might have found her at the apartment. Are you inNew York for long?"

She was gay, cheerful, genial, but remote. Cowperwood felt theprotective gap that lay between him and her. It had always been there. He felt that, even though she might understand and like him, yet therewas something--convention, ambition, or some deficiency on hispart--that was keeping her from him, keeping her eternally distant. 

He looked about the room, at the picture she was attempting (asnow-scape, of a view down a slope), at the view itself which hecontemplated from the window, at some dancing sketches she had recentlyexecuted and hung on the wall for the time being--lovely, short tunicmotives. He looked at her in her interesting and becoming painter'sapron. "Well, Berenice, " he said, "always the artist first. It isyour world. You will never escape it. These things are beautiful. " Hewaved an ungloved hand in the direction of a choric line. "It wasn'tyour mother I came to see, anyhow. It is you. I had such a curiousletter from her. She tells me you want to give up society and take toteaching or something of that sort. I came because I wanted to talk toyou about that. Don't you think you are acting rather hastily?"

He spoke now as though there were some reason entirely disassociatedfrom himself that was impelling him to this interest in her. 

Berenice, brush in hand, standing by her picture, gave him a look thatwas cool, curious, defiant, equivocal. 

"No, I don't think so, " she replied, quietly. "You know how thingshave been, so I may speak quite frankly. I know that mother'sintentions were always of the best. "

Her mouth moved with the faintest touch of sadness. "Her heart, I amafraid, is better than her head. As for your motives, I am satisfiedto believe that they have been of the best also. I know that they havebeen, in fact--it would be ungenerous of me to suggest anything else. "(Cowperwood's fixed eyes, it seemed to her, had moved somewhere intheir deepest depths. ) "Yet I don't feel we can go on as we have beendoing. We have no money of our own. Why shouldn't I do something?What else can I really do?"

She paused, and Cowperwood gazed at her, quite still. In her informal, bunchy painter's apron, and with her blue eyes looking out at him frombeneath her loose red hair, it seemed to him she was the most perfectthing he had ever known. Such a keen, fixed, enthroned mind. She wasso capable, so splendid, and, like his own, her eyes were unafraid. Her spiritual equipoise was undisturbed. 

"Berenice, " he said, quietly, "let me tell you something. You did methe honor just now to speak of my motives ingiving your mother money asof the best. They were--from my own point of view--the best I haveever known. I will not say what I thought they were in the beginning. I know what they were now. I am going to speak quite frankly with you, if you will let me, as long as we are here together. I don't knowwhether you know this or not, but when I first met your mother I onlyknew by chance that she had a daughter, and it was of no particularinterest to me then. I went to her house as the guest of a financialfriend of mine who admired her greatly. From the first I myselfadmired her, because I found her to be a lady to the manner born--shewas interesting. One day I happened to see a photograph of you in herhome, and before I could mention it she put it away. Perhaps yourecall the one. It is in profile--taken when you were about sixteen. "

"Yes, I remember, " replied Berenice, simply--as quietly as though shewere hearing a confession. 

"Well, that picture interested me intensely. I inquired about you, andlearned all I could. After that I saw another picture of you, enlarged, in a Louisville photographer's window. I bought it. It isin my office now--my private office--in Chicago. You are standing by amantelpiece. "

"I remember, " replied Berenice, moved, but uncertain. 

"Let me tell you a little something about my life, will you? It won'ttake long. I was born in Philadelphia. My family had always belongedthere. I have been in the banking and street-railway business all mylife. My first wife was a Presbyterian girl, religious, conventional. She was older than I by six or seven years. I was happy for awhile--five or six years. We had two children--both still living. Then I met my present wife. She was younger than myself--at least tenyears, and very good-looking. She was in some respects more intelligentthan my first wife--at least less conventional, more generous, Ithought. I fell in love with her, and when I eventually leftPhiladelphia I got a divorce and married her. I was greatly in lovewith her at the time. I thought she was an ideal mate for me, and Istill think she has many qualities which make her attractive. But myown ideals in regard to women have all the time been slowly changing. I have come to see, through various experiments, that she is not theideal woman for me at all. She does not understand me. I don'tpretend to understand myself, but it has occurred to me that theremight be a woman somewhere who would understand me better than Iunderstand myself, who would see the things that I don't see aboutmyself, and would like me, anyhow. I might as well tell you that Ihave been a lover of women always. There is just one ideal thing inthis world to me, and that is the woman that I would like to have. "

"I should think it would make it rather difficult for any one woman todiscover just which woman you would like to have?" smiled Berenice, whimsically. Cowperwood was unabashed. 

"It would, I presume, unless she should chance to be the very one womanI am talking about, " he replied, impressively. 

"I should think she would have her work cut out for her under anycircumstances, " added Berenice, lightly, but with a touch of sympathyin her voice. 

"I am making a confession, " replied Cowperwood, seriously and a littleheavily. "I am not apologizing for myself. The women I have knownwould make ideal wives for some men, but not for me. Life has taught methat much. It has changed me. "

"And do you think the process has stopped by any means?" she replied, quaintly, with that air of superior banter which puzzled, fascinated, defied him. 

"No, I will not say that. My ideal has become fixed, though, apparently. I have had it for a number of years now. It spoils othermatters for me. There is such a thing as an ideal. We do have apole-star in physics. "

As he said this Cowperwood realized that for him he was making a veryremarkable confession. He had come here primarily to magnetize her andcontrol her judgment. As a matter of fact, it was almost the other wayabout. She was almost dominating him. Lithe, slender, resourceful, histrionic, she was standing before him making him explain himself, only he did not see her so much in that light as in the way of a large, kindly, mothering intelligence which could see, feel, and understand. She would know how it was, he felt sure. He could make himselfunderstood if he tried. Whatever he was or had been, she would not takea petty view. She could not. Her answers thus far guaranteed as much. 

"Yes, " she replied, "we do have a pole-star, but you do not seem ableto find it. Do you expect to find your ideal in any living woman?"

"I have found it, " he answered, wondering at the ingenuity andcomplexity of her mind--and of his own, for that matter--of all mindindeed. Deep below deep it lay, staggering him at times by itsfathomless reaches. "I hope you will take seriously what I am going tosay, for it will explain so much. When I began to be interested inyour picture I was so because it coincided with the ideal I had inmind--the thing that you think changes swiftly. That was nearly sevenyears ago. Since then it has never changed. When I saw you at yourschool on Riverside Drive I was fully convinced. Although I have saidnothing, I have remained so. Perhaps you think I had no right to anysuch feelings. Most people would agree with you. I had them and dohave them just the same, and it explains my relation to your mother. When she came to me once in Louisville and told me of her difficultiesI was glad to help her for your sake. That has been my reason eversince, although she does not know that. In some respects, Berenice, your mother is a little dull. All this while I have been in love withyou--intensely so. As you stand there now you seem to me amazinglybeautiful--the ideal I have been telling you about. Don't bedisturbed; I sha'n't press any attentions on you. " (Berenice had movedvery slightly. She was concerned as much for him as for herself. Hispower was so wide, his power so great. She could not help taking himseriously when he was so serious. ) "I have done whatever I have done inconnection with you and your mother because I have been in love withyou and because I wanted you to become the splendid thing I thought youought to become. You have not known it, but you are the cause of mybuilding the house on Fifth Avenue--the principal reason. I wanted tobuild something worthy of you. A dream? Certainly. Everything we doseems to have something of that quality. Its beauty, if there is any, is due to you. I made it beautiful thinking of you. "

He paused, and Berenice gave no sign. Her first impulse had been toobject, but her vanity, her love of art, her love of power--all weretouched. At the same time she was curious now as to whether he hadmerely expected to take her as his mistress or to wait until he couldhonor her as his wife. 

"I suppose you are wondering whether I ever expected to marry you ornot, " he went on, getting the thought out of her mind. "I am nodifferent from many men in that respect, Berenice. I will be frank. Iwanted you in any way that I could get you. I was living in the hopeall along that you would fall in love with me--as I had with you. Ihated Braxmar here, not long ago, when he appeared on the scene, but Icould never have thought of interfering. I was quite prepared to giveyou up. I have envied every man I have ever seen with you--young andold. I have even envied your mother for being so close to you when Icould not be. At the same time I have wanted you to have everythingthat would help you in any way. I did not want to interfere with youin case you found some one whom you could truly love if I knew that youcould not love me. There is the whole story outside of anything youmay know. But it is not because of this that I came to-day. Not totell you this. "

He paused, as if expecting her to say something, though she made nocomment beyond a questioning "Yes?"

"The thing that I have come to say is that I want you to go on as youwere before. Whatever you may think of me or of what I have just toldyou, I want you to believe that I am sincere and disinterested in whatI am telling you now. My dream in connection with you is not quiteover. Chance might make me eligible if you should happen to care. ButI want you to go on and be happy, regardless of me. I have dreamed, but I dare say it has been a mistake. Hold your head high--you have aright to. Be a lady. Marry any one you really love. I will see thatyou have a suitable marriage portion. I love you, Berenice, but I willmake it a fatherly affection from now on. When I die I will put you inmy will. But go on now in the spirit you were going before. I reallycan't be happy unless I think you are going to be. "

He paused, still looking at her, believing for the time being what hesaid. If he should die she would find herself in his will. If she wereto go on and socialize and seek she might find some one to love, butalso she might think of him more kindly before she did so. What wouldbe the cost of her as a ward compared to his satisfaction and delightin having her at least friendly and sympathetic and being in her goodgraces and confidence?

Berenice, who had always been more or less interested in him, temperamentally biased, indeed, in his direction because of hisefficiency, simplicity, directness, and force, was especially touchedin this instance by his utter frankness and generosity. She mightquestion his temperamental control over his own sincerity in thefuture, but she could scarcely question that at present he was sincere. Moreover, his long period of secret love and admiration, the thought ofso powerful a man dreaming of her in this fashion, was so flattering. It soothed her troubled vanity and shame in what had gone before. Hisstraightforward confession had a kind of nobility which was electric, moving. She looked at him as he stood there, a little gray about thetemples--the most appealing ornament of some men to some women--and forthe life of her she could not help being moved by a kind of tenderness, sympathy, mothering affection. Obviously he did need the woman hisattitude seemed to show that he needed, some woman of culture, spirit, taste, amorousness; or, at least, he was entitled to dream of her. Ashe stood before her he seemed a kind of superman, and yet also a badboy--handsome, powerful, hopeful, not so very much older than herselfnow, impelled by some blazing internal force which harried him on andon. How much did he really care for her? How much could he? How muchcould he care for any one? Yet see all he had done to interest her. What did that mean? To say all this? To do all this? Outside was hiscar brown and radiant in the snow. He was the great Frank AlgernonCowperwood, of Chicago, and he was pleading with her, a mere chit of agirl, to be kind to him, not to put him out of her life entirely. Ittouched her intellect, her pride, her fancy. 

Aloud she said: "I like you better now. I really believe in you. Inever did, quite, before. Not that I think I ought to let you spendyour money on me or mother--I don't. But I admire you. You make me. I understand how it is, I think. I know what your ambitions are. Ihave always felt that I did, in part. But you mustn't talk to me anymore now. I want to think. I want to think over what you have said. I don't know whether I can bring myself to it or not. " (She noticedthat his eyes seemed to move somehow in their deepest depths again. )"But we won't talk about it any more at present. "

"But, Berenice, " he added, with a real plea in his voice, "I wonder ifyou do understand. I have been so lonely--I am--"

"Yes, I do, " she replied, holding out her hand. "We are going to befriends, whatever happens, from now on, because I really like you. Youmustn't ask me to decide about the other, though, to-day. I can't doit. I don't want to. I don't care to. "

"Not when I would so gladly give you everything--when I need it solittle?"

"Not until I think it out for myself. I don't think so, though. No, "she replied, with an air. "There, Mr. Guardian Father, " she laughed, pushing his hand away. 

Cowperwood's heart bounded. He would have given millions to take herclose in his arms. As it was he smiled appealingly. 

"Don't you want to jump in and come to New York with me? If your motherisn't at the apartment you could stop at the Netherland. "

"No, not to-day. I expect to be in soon. I will let you know, ormother will. "

He bustled out and into the machine after a moment of parley, waving toher over the purpling snow of the evening as his machine tore eastward, planning to make New York by dinner-time. If he could just keep her inthis friendly, sympathetic attitude. If he only could!

Chapter LIV

Wanted--Fifty-year Franchises

Whatever his momentary satisfaction in her friendly acceptance of hisconfession, the uncertain attitude of Berenice left Cowperwood aboutwhere he was before. By a strange stroke of fate Braxmar, his youngrival, had been eliminated, and Berenice had been made to see him, Cowperwood, in his true colors of love and of service for her. Yetplainly she did not accept them at his own valuation. More than everwas he conscious of the fact that he had fallen in tow of an amazingindividual, one who saw life from a distinct and peculiar point of viewand who was not to be bent to his will. That fact more than anythingelse--for her grace and beauty merely emblazoned it--caused him to fallinto a hopeless infatuation. 

He said to himself over and over, "Well, I can live without her if Imust, " but at this stage the mere thought was an actual stab in hisvitals. What, after all, was life, wealth, fame, if you couldn't havethe woman you wanted--love, that indefinable, unnamable coddling of thespirit which the strongest almost more than the weakest crave? At lasthe saw clearly, as within a chalice-like nimbus, that the ultimate endof fame, power, vigor was beauty, and that beauty was a compound of thetaste, the emotion, the innate culture, passion, and dreams of a womanlike Berenice Fleming. That was it: that was it. And beyond wasnothing save crumbling age, darkness, silence. 

In the mean time, owing to the preliminary activity and tact of hisagents and advisers, the Sunday newspapers were vying with one anotherin describing the wonders of his new house in New York--its cost, thevalue of its ground, the wealthy citizens with whom the Cowperwoodswould now be neighbors. There were double-column pictures of Aileenand Cowperwood, with articles indicating them as prospectiveentertainers on a grand scale who would unquestionably be receivedbecause of their tremendous wealth. As a matter of fact, this waspurely newspaper gossip and speculation. While the general columnsmade news and capital of his wealth, special society columns, whichdealt with the ultra-fashionable, ignored him entirely. Already themachination of certain Chicago social figures in distributinginformation as to his past was discernible in the attitude of thoseclubs, organizations, and even churches, membership in whichconstitutes a form of social passport to better and higher earthly, ifnot spiritual, realms. His emissaries were active enough, but soonfound that their end was not to be gained in a day. Many were waitinglocally, anxious enough to get in, and with social equipments which theCowperwoods could scarcely boast. After being blackballed by one or twoexclusive clubs, seeing his application for a pew at St. Thomas'squietly pigeon-holed for the present, and his invitations declined byseveral multimillionaires whom he met in the course of commercialtransactions, he began to feel that his splendid home, aside from itsfinal purpose as an art-museum, could be of little value. 

At the same time Cowperwood's financial genius was constantly beingrewarded by many new phases of materiality chiefly by an offensive anddefensive alliance he was now able to engineer between himself and thehouse of Haeckelheimer, Gotloeb & Co. Seeing the iron manner in whichhe had managed to wrest victory out of defeat after the first seriouslycontested election, these gentlemen had experienced a change of heartand announced that they would now gladly help finance any newenterprise which Cowperwood might undertake. Among many otherfinanciers, they had heard of his triumph in connection with thefailure of American Match. 

"Dot must be a right cleffer man, dot Cowperwood, " Mr. Gotloeb toldseveral of his partners, rubbing his hands and smiling. "I shouldtlike to meet him. "

And so Cowperwood was manoeuvered into the giant banking office, whereMr. Gotloeb extended a genial hand. 

"I hear much of Chicawkgo, " he explained, in his semi-German, semi-Hebraic dialect, "but almozd more uff you. Are you goink toswallow up all de street-railwaiss unt elefated roats out dere?"

Cowperwood smiled his most ingenuous smile. 

"Why? Would you like me to leave a few for you?"

"Not dot exzagly, but I might not mint sharink in some uff dem wit you. "

"You can join with me at any time, Mr. Gotloeb, as you must know. Thedoor is always very, very wide open for you. "

"I musd look into dot some more. It loogs very promising to me. I amgladt to meet you. "

The great external element in Cowperwood's financial success--and onewhich he himself had foreseen from the very beginning--was the factthat Chicago was developing constantly. What had been when he arriveda soggy, messy plain strewn with shanties, ragged sidewalks, ahiggledy-piggledy business heart, was now truly an astoundingmetropolis which had passed the million mark in population and whichstretched proud and strong over the greater part of Cook County. Whereonce had been a meager, makeshift financial section, with here andthere only a splendid business building or hotel or a public office ofsome kind, there were now canon-like streets lined with fifteen andeven eighteen story office buildings, from the upper stories of which, as from watch-towers, might be surveyed the vast expanding regions ofsimple home life below. Farther out were districts of mansions, parks, pleasure resorts, great worlds of train-yards and manufacturing areas. In the commercial heart of this world Frank Algernon Cowperwood hadtruly become a figure of giant significance. How wonderful it is thatmen grow until, like colossi, they bestride the world, or, likebanyan-trees, they drop roots from every branch and are themselves aforest--a forest of intricate commercial life, of which a thousandmaterial aspects are the evidence. His street-railway properties werelike a net--the parasite Gold Thread--linked together as they were, anddraining two of the three important "sides" of the city. 

In 1886, when he had first secured a foothold, they had beencapitalized at between six and seven millions (every device for issuinga dollar on real property having been exhausted). To-day, under hismanagement, they were capitalized at between sixty and seventymillions. The majority of the stock issued and sold was subject to afinancial device whereby twenty per cent. Controlled eighty per cent. , Cowperwood holding that twenty per cent. And borrowing money on it ashypothecated collateral. In the case of the West Side corporation, acorporate issue of over thirty millions had been made, and thesestocks, owing to the tremendous carrying power of the roads and theswelling traffic night and morning of poor sheep who paid theirhard-earned nickels, had a market value which gave the road an assuredphysical value of about three times the sum for which it could havebeen built. The North Chicago company, which in 1886 had a physicalvalue of little more than a million, could not now be duplicated forless than seven millions, and was capitalized at nearly fifteenmillions. The road was valued at over one hundred thousand dollarsmore per mile than the sum for which it could actually have beenreplaced. Pity the poor groveling hack at the bottom who has not thebrain-power either to understand or to control that which his verypresence and necessities create. 

These tremendous holdings, paying from ten to twelve per cent. On everyhundred-dollar share, were in the control, if not in the actualownership, of Cowperwood. Millions in loans that did not appear on thebooks of the companies he had converted into actual cash, wherewith hehad bought houses, lands, equipages, paintings, government bonds of thepurest gold value, thereby assuring himself to that extent of a fortunevaulted and locked, absolutely secure. After much toiling and moilingon the part of his overworked legal department he had secured aconsolidation, under the title of the Consolidated Traction Company ofIllinois, of all outlying lines, each having separate franchises andcapitalized separately, yet operated by an amazing hocus-pocus ofcontracts and agreements in single, harmonious union with all his otherproperties. The North and West Chicago companies he now proposed tounite into a third company to be called the Union Traction Company. Bytaking up the ten and twelve per cent. Issues of the old North and Westcompanies and giving two for one of the new six-per-centone-hundred-dollar-share Union Traction stocks in their stead, he couldsatisfy the current stockholders, who were apparently made somewhatbetter off thereby, and still create and leave for himself a handsomemargin of nearly eighty million dollars. With a renewal of hisfranchises for twenty, fifty, or one hundred years he would havefastened on the city of Chicago the burden of yielding interest on thissomewhat fictitious value and would leave himself personally worth inthe neighborhood of one hundred millions. 

This matter of extending his franchises was a most difficult andintricate business, however. It involved overcoming or outwitting arecent and very treacherous increase of local sentiment against him. This had been occasioned by various details which related to hiselevated roads. To the two lines already built he now added a thirdproperty, the Union Loop. This he prepared to connect not only withhis own, but with other outside elevated properties, chief among whichwas Mr. Schryhart's South Side "L. " He would then farm out to hisenemies the privilege of running trains on this new line. Howeverunwillingly, they would be forced to avail themselves of the profferedopportunity, because within the region covered by the new loop was thetrue congestion--here every one desired to come either once or twiceduring the day or night. By this means Cowperwood would secure to hisproperty a paying interest from the start. 

This scheme aroused a really unprecedented antagonism in the breasts ofCowperwood's enemies. By the Arneel-Hand-Schryhart contingent it waslooked upon as nothing short of diabolical. The newspapers, directedby such men as Haguenin, Hyssop, Ormonde Ricketts, and Truman LeslieMacDonald (whose father was now dead, and whose thoughts as editor ofthe Inquirer were almost solely directed toward driving Cowperwood outof Chicago), began to shout, as a last resort, in the interests ofdemocracy. Seats for everybody (on Cowperwood's lines), no more strapsin the rush hours, three-cent fares for workingmen, morning andevening, free transfers from all of Cowperwood's lines north to westand west to north, twenty per cent. Of the gross income of his lines tobe paid to the city. The masses should be made cognizant of theirindividual rights and privileges. Such a course, while decidedlyinimical to Cowperwood's interests at the present time, and as suchstrongly favored by the majority of his opponents, had nevertheless itsdisturbing elements to an ultra-conservative like Hosmer Hand. 

"I don't know about this, Norman, " he remarked to Schryhart, on oneoccasion. "I don't know about this. It's one thing to stir up thepublic, but it's another to make them forget. This is a restless, socialistic country, and Chicago is the very hotbed and center of it. Still, if it will serve to trip him up I suppose it will do for thepresent. The newspapers can probably smooth it all over later. But Idon't know. "

Mr. Hand was of that order of mind that sees socialism as a horribleimportation of monarchy-ridden Europe. Why couldn't the people besatisfied to allow the strong, intelligent, God-fearing men of thecommunity to arrange things for them? Wasn't that what democracy meant?Certainly it was--he himself was one of the strong. He could not helpdistrusting all this radical palaver. Still, anything to hurtCowperwood--anything. 

Cowperwood was not slow to realize that public sentiment was now indanger of being thoroughly crystallized against him by newspaperagitation. Although his franchises would not expire--the largemajority of them--before January 1, 1903, yet if things went on at thisrate it would be doubtful soon whether ever again he would be able towin another election by methods legitimate or illegitimate. Hungryaldermen and councilmen might be venal and greedy enough to do anythinghe should ask, provided he was willing to pay enough, but even thethickest-hided, the most voracious and corrupt politician couldscarcely withstand the searching glare of publicity and the infuriatedrage of a possibly aroused public opinion. By degrees this last, owingto the untiring efforts of the newspapers, was being whipped into awild foam. To come into council at this time and ask for a twenty-yearextension of franchises not destined to expire for seven years was toomuch. It could not be done. Even suborned councilmen would beunwilling to undertake it just now. There are some things which evenpolitically are impossible. 

To make matters worse, the twenty-year-franchise limit was really notat all sufficient for his present needs. In order to bring about theconsolidation of his North and West surface lines, which he was nowproposing and on the strength of which he wished to issue at least twohundred million dollars' worth of one-hundred-dollar-six-per-cent. Shares in place of the seventy million dollars current of ten andtwelve per cents. , it was necessary for him to secure a much morerespectable term of years than the brief one now permitted by the statelegislature, even providing that this latter could be obtained. 

"Peeble are not ferry much indrested in tees short-time frangizes, "observed Mr. Gotloeb once, when Cowperwood was talking the matter overwith him. He wanted Haeckelheimer & Co. To underwrite the whole issue. "Dey are so insigure. Now if you couldt get, say, a frangize for fiftyor one hunnert years or something like dot your stocks wouldt go offlike hot cakes. I know where I couldt dispose of fifty million dollarsoff dem in Cermany alone. "

He was most unctuous and pleading. 

Cowperwood understood this quite as well as Gotloeb, if not better. Hewas not at all satisfied with the thought of obtaining a beggarlytwenty-year extension for his giant schemes when cities likePhiladelphia, Boston, New York, and Pittsburg were apparently glad togrant their corporations franchises which would not expire forninety-nine years at the earliest, and in most cases were given inperpetuity. This was the kind of franchise favored by the greatmoneyed houses of New York and Europe, and which Gotloeb, and evenAddison, locally, were demanding. 

"It is certainly important that we get these franchises renewed forfifty years, " Addison used to say to him, and it was seriously anddisagreeably true. 

The various lights of Cowperwood's legal department, constantly on thesearch for new legislative devices, were not slow to grasp the importof the situation. It was not long before the resourceful Mr. JoelAvery appeared with a suggestion. 

"Did you notice what the state legislature of New York is doing inconnection with the various local transit problems down there?" askedthis honorable gentleman of Cowperwood, one morning, ambling in whenannounced and seating himself in the great presence. A half-burnedcigar was between his fingers, and a little round felt hat lookedpeculiarly rakish above his sinister, intellectual, constructive faceand eyes. 

"No, I didn't, " replied Cowperwood, who had actually noted and ponderedupon the item in question, but who did not care to say so. "I sawsomething about it, but I didn't pay much attention to it. What of it?"

"Well, it plans to authorize a body of four or five men--one branch inNew York, one in Buffalo, I presume--to grant all new franchises andextend old ones with the consent of the various local communitiesinvolved. They are to fix the rate of compensation to be paid to thestate or the city, and the rates of fare. They can regulate transfers, stock issues, and all that sort of thing. I was thinking if at anytime we find this business of renewing the franchises too uncertainhere we might go into the state legislature and see what can be doneabout introducing a public-service commission of that kind into thisstate. We are not the only corporation that would welcome it. Ofcourse, it would be better if there were a general or special demandfor it outside of ourselves. It ought not to originate with us. "

He stared at Cowperwood heavily, the latter returning a reflective gaze. 

"I'll think it over, " he said. "There may be something in that. "

Henceforth the thought of instituting such a commission never leftCowperwood's mind. It contained the germ of a solution--thepossibility of extending his franchises for fifty or even a hundredyears. 

This plan, as Cowperwood was subsequently to discover, was a thing moreor less expressly forbidden by the state constitution of Illinois. Thelatter provided that no special or exclusive privilege, immunity, orfranchise whatsoever should be granted to any corporation, association, or individual. Yet, "What is a little matter like the constitutionbetween friends, anyhow?" some one had already asked. There are fadsin legislation as well as dusty pigeonholes in which phases of olderlaw are tucked away and forgotten. Many earlier ideals of theconstitution-makers had long since been conveniently obscured ornullified by decisions, appeals to the federal government, appeals tothe state government, communal contracts, and the like--fine cobwebbyfigments, all, but sufficient, just the same, to render inoperative theoriginal intention. Besides, Cowperwood had but small respect foreither the intelligence or the self-protective capacity of such men asconstituted the rural voting element of the state. From his lawyersand from others he had heard innumerable droll stories of life in thestate legislature, and the state counties and towns--on the bench, atthe rural huskings where the state elections were won, in countryhotels, on country roads and farms. "One day as I was getting on thetrain at Petunkey, " old General Van Sickle, or Judge Dickensheets, orex-Judge Avery would begin--and then would follow some amazingnarration of rural immorality or dullness, or political or socialmisconception. Of the total population of the state at this time overhalf were in the city itself, and these he had managed to keep incontrol. For the remaining million, divided between twelve smallcities and an agricultural population, he had small respect. What didthis handful of yokels amount to, anyhow?--dull, frivoling, barn-dancing boors. 

The great state of Illinois--a territory as large as England proper andas fertile as Egypt, bordered by a great lake and a vast river, andwith a population of over two million free-born Americans--wouldscarcely seem a fit subject for corporate manipulation and control. Yet a more trade-ridden commonwealth might not have been found anywhereat this time within the entire length and breadth of the universe. Cowperwood personally, though contemptuous of the bucolic mass whenregarded as individuals, had always been impressed by this greatcommunity of his election. Here had come Marquette and Joliet, LaSalle and Hennepin, dreaming a way to the Pacific. Here Lincoln andDouglas, antagonist and protagonist of slavery argument, had contested;here had arisen "Joe" Smith, propagator of that strange American dogmaof the Latter-Day Saints. What a state, Cowperwood sometimes thought;what a figment of the brain, and yet how wonderful! He had crossed itoften on his way to St. Louis, to Memphis, to Denver, and had beentouched by its very simplicity--the small, new wooden towns, soredolent of American tradition, prejudice, force, and illusion. Thewhite-steepled church, the lawn-faced, tree-shaded village streets, thelong stretches of flat, open country where corn grew in serried rows orwhere in winter the snow bedded lightly--it all reminded him a littleof his own father and mother, who had been in many respects suited tosuch a world as this. Yet none the less did he hesitate to press onthe measure which was to adjust his own future, to make profitable hisissue of two hundred million dollars' worth of Union Traction, tosecure him a fixed place in the financial oligarchy of America and ofthe world. 

The state legislature at this time was ruled over by a small group ofwire-pulling, pettifogging, corporation-controlled individuals who cameup from the respective towns, counties, and cities of the state, butwho bore the same relation to the communities which they representedand to their superiors and equals in and out of the legislative hallsat Springfield that men do to such allies anywhere in any given field. Why do we call them pettifogging and dismiss them? Perhaps they werepettifogging, but certainly no more so than any other shrewd rat oranimal that burrows its way onward--and shall we say upward? Thedeepest controlling principle which animated these individuals was theoldest and first, that of self-preservation. Picture, for example, acommon occurrence--that of Senator John H. Southack, conversing with, perhaps, Senator George Mason Wade, of Gallatin County, behind alegislative door in one of the senate conference chambers toward theclose of a session--Senator Southack, blinking, buttonholing hiswell-dressed colleague and drawing very near; Senator Wade, curious, confidential, expectant (a genial, solid, experienced, slightly paunchybut well-built Senator Wade--and handsome, too). 

"You know, George, I told you there would be something eventually inthe Quincy water-front improvement if it ever worked out. Well, hereit is. Ed Truesdale was in town yesterday. " (This with a knowing eye, as much as to say, "Mum's the word. ") "Here's five hundred; count it. "

A quick flashing out of some green and yellow bills from a vest pocket, a light thumbing and counting on the part of Senator Wade. A flare ofcomprehension, approval, gratitude, admiration, as though to signify, "This is something like. " "Thanks, John. I had pretty near forgot allabout it. Nice people, eh? If you see Ed again give him my regards. When that Bellville contest comes up let me know. "

Mr. Wade, being a good speaker, was frequently in request to stir upthe populace to a sense of pro or con in connection with somelegislative crisis impending, and it was to some such futureopportunity that he now pleasantly referred. O life, O politics, Onecessity, O hunger, O burning human appetite and desire on every hand!

Mr. Southack was an unobtrusive, pleasant, quiet man of the type thatwould usually be patronized as rural and pettifogging by men high incommercial affairs. He was none the less well fitted to his task, acapable and diligent beneficiary and agent. He was well dressed, middle-aged, --only forty-five--cool, courageous, genial, with eyes thatwere material, but not cold or hard, and a light, springy, energeticstep and manner. A holder of some C. W. & I. R. R. Shares, a directorof one of his local county banks, a silent partner in the EffinghamHerald, he was a personage in his district, one much revered by localswains. Yet a more game and rascally type was not to be found in allrural legislation. 

It was old General Van Sickle who sought out Southack, havingremembered him from his earlier legislative days. It was Avery whoconducted the negotiations. Primarily, in all state scheming atSpringfield, Senator Southack was supposed to represent the C. W. I. , one of the great trunk-lines traversing the state, and incidentallyconnecting Chicago with the South, West, and East. This road, having alarge local mileage and being anxious to extend its franchises inChicago and elsewhere, was deep in state politics. By a curiouscoincidence it was mainly financed by Haeckelheimer, Gotloeb & Co. , ofNew York, though Cowperwood's connection with that concern was not asyet known. Going to Southack, who was the Republican whip in thesenate, Avery proposed that he, in conjunction with Judge Dickensheetsand one Gilson Bickel, counsel for the C. W. I. , should now undertaketo secure sufficient support in the state senate and house for a schemeintroducing the New York idea of a public-service commission into thegoverning machinery of the state of Illinois. This measure, be itnoted, was to be supplemented by one very interesting and importantlittle proviso to the effect that all franchise-holding corporationsshould hereby, for a period of fifty years from the date of theenactment of the bill into law, be assured of all their rights, privileges, and immunities--including franchises, of course. This wasjustified on the ground that any such radical change as that involvedin the introduction of a public-service commission might disturb thepeace and well-being of corporations with franchises which still hadyears to run. 

Senator Southack saw nothing very wrong with this idea, though henaturally perceived what it was all about and whom it was trulydesigned to protect. 

"Yes, " he said, succinctly, "I see the lay of that land, but what do Iget out of it?"

"Fifty thousand dollars for yourself if it's successful, ten thousandif it isn't--provided you make an honest effort; two thousand dollarsapiece for any of the boys who see fit to help you if we win. Is thatperfectly satisfactory?"

"Perfectly, " replied Senator Southack. 

Chapter LV

Cowperwood and the Governor

A Public-service-commission law might, ipso facto, have been quietlypassed at this session, if the arbitrary franchise-extending provisohad not been introduced, and this on the thin excuse that so novel achange in the working scheme of the state government might bring abouthardship to some. This redounded too obviously to the benefit of oneparticular corporation. The newspaper men--as thick as flies about thehalls of the state capitol at Springfield, and essentially watchful andloyal to their papers--were quick to sense the true state of affairs. Never were there such hawks as newspapermen. These wretches (employedby sniveling, mud-snouting newspapers of the opposition) were not onlyin the councils of politicians, in the pay of rival corporations, inthe confidence of the governor, in the secrets of the senators andlocal representatives, but were here and there in one another'sconfidence. A piece of news--a rumor, a dream, a fancy--whispered bySenator Smith to Senator Jones, or by Representative Smith toRepresentative Jones, and confided by him in turn to Charlie White, ofthe Globe, or Eddie Burns, of the Democrat, would in turn becommunicated to Robert Hazlitt, of the Press, or Harry Emonds, of theTranscript. 

All at once a disturbing announcement in one or other of the papers, noone knowing whence it came. Neither Senator Smith nor Senator Joneshad told any one. No word of the confidence imposed in Charlie Whiteor Eddie Burns had ever been breathed. But there you were--the thingwas in the papers, the storm of inquiry, opinion, opposition was on. No one knew, no one was to blame, but it was on, and the battle hadhenceforth to be fought in the open. 

Consider also the governor who presided at this time in the executivechamber at Springfield. He was a strange, tall, dark, osseous man who, owing to the brooding, melancholy character of his own disposition, hada checkered and a somewhat sad career behind him. Born in Sweden, hehad been brought to America as a child, and allowed or compelled tofight his own way upward under all the grinding aspects of poverty. Owing to an energetic and indomitable temperament, he had through yearsof law practice and public labors of various kinds built up for himselfa following among Chicago Swedes which amounted to adoration. He hadbeen city tax-collector, city surveyor, district attorney, and for sixor eight years a state circuit judge. In all these capacities he hadmanifested a tendency to do the right as he saw it and playfair--qualities which endeared him to the idealistic. Honest, and witha hopeless brooding sympathy for the miseries of the poor, he had ascircuit judge, and also as district attorney, rendered variousdecisions which had made him very unpopular with the rich andpowerful--decisions in damage cases, fraud cases, railroad claim cases, where the city or the state was seeking to oust various powerfulrailway corporations from possession of property--yards, water-frontages, and the like, to which they had no just claim. At thesame time the populace, reading the news items of his doings andhearing him speak on various and sundry occasions, conceived a greatfancy for him. He was primarily soft-hearted, sweet-minded, fiery, abrilliant orator, a dynamic presence. In addition he waswoman-hungry--a phase which homely, sex-starved intellectuals the worldover will understand, to the shame of a lying age, that because ofquixotic dogma belies its greatest desire, its greatest sorrow, itsgreatest joy. All these factors turned an ultra-conservative elementin the community against him, and he was considered dangerous. At thesame time he had by careful economy and investment built up a fairsized fortune. Recently, however, owing to the craze for sky-scrapers, he had placed much of his holdings in a somewhat poorly constructed andtherefore unprofitable office building. Because of this errorfinancial wreck was threatening him. Even now he was knocking at thedoors of large bonding companies for assistance. 

This man, in company with the antagonistic financial element and thenewspapers, constituted, as regards Cowperwood'spublic-service-commission scheme, a triumvirate of difficulties noteasy to overcome. The newspapers, in due time, catching wind of thetrue purport of the plan, ran screaming to their readers with thehorrible intelligence. In the offices of Schryhart, Arneel, Hand, andMerrill, as well as in other centers of finance, there was considerablepuzzling over the situation, and then a shrewd, intelligent deductionwas made. 

"Do you see what he's up to, Hosmer?" inquired Schryhart of Hand. "Hesees that we have him scotched here in Chicago. As things stand now hecan't go into the city council and ask for a franchise for more thantwenty years under the state law, and he can't do that for three orfour years yet, anyhow. His franchises don't expire soon enough. Heknows that by the time they do expire we will have public sentimentaroused to such a point that no council, however crooked it may be, will dare to give him what he asks unless he is willing to make a heavyreturn to the city. If he does that it will end his scheme of sellingany two hundred million dollars of Union Traction at six per cent. Themarket won't back him up. He can't pay twenty per cent. To the cityand give universal transfers and pay six per cent. On two hundredmillion dollars, and everybody knows it. He has a fine scheme ofmaking a cool hundred million out of this. Well, he can't do it. Wemust get the newspapers to hammer this legislative scheme of his todeath. When he comes into the local council he must pay twenty orthirty per cent. Of the gross receipts of his roads to the city. Hemust give free transfers from every one of his lines to every otherone. Then we have him. I dislike to see socialistic ideas fostered, but it can't be helped. We have to do it. If we ever get him out ofhere we can hush up the newspapers, and the public will forget aboutit; at least we can hope so. "

In the mean time the governor had heard the whisper of "boodle"--a wordof the day expressive of a corrupt legislative fund. Not at all asmall-minded man, nor involved in the financial campaign being wagedagainst Cowperwood, nor inclined to be influenced mentally oremotionally by superheated charges against the latter, he neverthelessspeculated deeply. In a vague way he sensed the dreams of Cowperwood. The charge of seducing women so frequently made against thestreet-railway magnate, so shocking to the yoked conventionalists, didnot disturb him at all. Back of the onward sweep of the generations hehimself sensed the mystic Aphrodite and her magic. He realized thatCowperwood had traveled fast--that he was pressing to the utmost agreat advantage in the face of great obstacles. At the same time heknew that the present street-car service of Chicago was by no meansbad. Would he be proving unfaithful to the trust imposed on him by thegreat electorate of Illinois if he were to advantage Cowperwood'scause? Must he not rather in the sight of all men smoke out theanimating causes here--greed, over-weening ambition, colossalself-interest as opposed to the selflessness of a Christian ideal andof a democratic theory of government?

Life rises to a high plane of the dramatic, and hence of the artistic, whenever and wherever in the conflict regarding material possessionthere enters a conception of the ideal. It was this that lit foreverthe beacon fires of Troy, that thundered eternally in the horses' hoofsat Arbela and in the guns at Waterloo. Ideals were here at stake--thedreams of one man as opposed perhaps to the ultimate dreams of a cityor state or nation--the grovelings and wallowings of a democracyslowly, blindly trying to stagger to its feet. In thisconflict--taking place in an inland cottage-dotted state where men wereclowns and churls, dancing fiddlers at country fairs--were opposed, asthe governor saw it, the ideals of one man and the ideals of men. 

Governor Swanson decided after mature deliberation to veto the bill. Cowperwood, debonair as ever, faithful as ever to his logic and hisconception of individuality, was determined that no stone should beleft unturned that would permit him to triumph, that would carry himfinally to the gorgeous throne of his own construction. Having firstengineered the matter through the legislature by a tortuous process, fired upon at every step by the press, he next sent variousindividuals--state legislators, representatives of the C. W. & I. , members of outside corporations to see the governor, but Swanson wasadamant. He did not see how he could conscientiously sanction thebill. Finally, one day, as he was seated in his Chicago businessoffice--a fateful chamber located in the troublesome building which wassubsequently to wreck his fortune and which was the raison d'etre of apresent period of care and depression--enter the smug, comfortablepresence of Judge Nahum Dickensheets, at present senior counsel of theNorth Chicago Street Railway. He was a very mountain of a manphysically--smooth-faced, agreeably clothed, hard and yet ingratiatingof eye, a thinker, a reasoner. Swanson knew much of him by reputationand otherwise, although personally they were no more than speakingacquaintances. 

"How are you, Governor? I'm glad to see you again. I heard you wereback in Chicago. I see by the morning papers that you have thatSouthack public-service bill up before you. I thought I would comeover and have a few words with you about it if you have no objection. I've been trying to get down to Springfield for the last three weeks tohave a little chat with you before you reached a conclusion one way orthe other. Do you mind if I inquire whether you have decided to vetoit?"

The ex-judge, faintly perfumed, clean and agreeable, carried in hishand a large-sized black hand-satchel which he put down beside him onthe floor. 

"Yes, Judge, " replied Swanson, "I've practically decided to veto it. Ican see no practical reason for supporting it. As I look at it now, it's specious and special, not particularly called for or necessary atthis time. "

The governor talked with a slight Swedish accent, intellectual, individual. 

A long, placid, philosophic discussion of all the pros and cons of thesituation followed. The governor was tired, distrait, but ready tolisten in a tolerant way to more argument along a line with which hewas already fully familiar. He knew, of course, that Dickensheets wascounsel for the North Chicago Street Railway Company. 

"I'm very glad to have heard what you have to say, Judge, " finallycommented the governor. I don't want you to think I haven't given thismatter serious thought--I have. I know most of the things that havebeen done down at Springfield. Mr. Cowperwood is an able man; I don'tcharge any more against him than I do against twenty other agenciesthat are operating down there at this very moment. I know what hisdifficulties are. I can hardly be accused of sympathizing with hisenemies, for they certainly do not sympathize with me. I am not evenlistening to the newspapers. This is a matter of faith in democracy--adifference in ideals between myself and many other men. I haven'tvetoed the bill yet. I don't say that something may not arise to makeme sign it. My present intention, unless I hear something much morefavorable in its behalf than I have already heard, is to veto it. 

"Governor, " said Dickensheets, rising, "let me thank you for yourcourtesy. I would be the last person in the world to wish to influenceyou outside the line of your private convictions and your personalsense of fair play. At the same time I have tried to make plain to youhow essential it is, how only fair and right, that this localstreet-railway-franchise business should be removed out of the realm ofsentiment, emotion, public passion, envy, buncombe, and all the otherinfluences that are at work to frustrate and make difficult the work ofMr. Cowperwood. All envy, I tell you. His enemies are willing tosacrifice every principle of justice and fair play to see himeliminated. That sums it up. 

"That may all be true, " replied Swanson. "Just the same, there isanother principle involved here which you do not seem to see or do notcare to consider--the right of the people under the state constitutionto a consideration, a revaluation, of their contracts at the time andin the manner agreed upon under the original franchise. What youpropose is sumptuary legislation; it makes null and void an agreementbetween the people and the street-railway companies at a time when thepeople have a right to expect a full and free consideration of thismatter aside from state legislative influence and control. To persuadethe state legislature, by influence or by any other means, to step inat this time and interfere is unfair. The propositions involved inthose bills should be referred to the people at the next election forapproval or not, just as they see fit. That is the way this mattershould be arranged. It will not do to come into the legislature andinfluence or buy votes, and then expect me to write my signature underthe whole matter as satisfactory. "

Swanson was not heated or antipathetic. He was cool, firm, well-intentioned. 

Dickensheets passed his hand over a wide, high temple. He seemed to bemeditating something--some hitherto untried statement or course ofaction. 

"Well, Governor, " he repeated, "I want to thank you, anyhow. You havebeen exceedingly kind. By the way, I see you have a large, roomy safehere. " He had picked up the bag he was carrying. "I wonder if I mightleave this here for a day or two in your care? It contains some papersthat I do not wish to carry into the country with me. Would you mindlocking it up in your safe and letting me have it when I send for it?"

"With pleasure, " replied the governor. 

He took it, placed it in lower storage space, and closed and locked thedoor. The two men parted with a genial hand-shake. The governorreturned to his meditations, the judge hurried to catch a car. 

About eleven o'clock the next morning Swanson was still working in hisoffice, worrying greatly over some method whereby he could raise onehundred thousand dollars to defray interest charges, repairs, and otherpayments, on a structure that was by no means meeting expenses and washence a drain. At this juncture his office door opened, and his veryyouthful office-boy presented him the card of F. A. Cowperwood. Thegovernor had never seen him before. Cowperwood entered brisk, fresh, forceful. He was as crisp as a new dollar bill--as clean, sharp, firmly limned. 

"Governor Swanson, I believe?"

"Yes, sir. "

The two were scrutinizing each other defensively. 

"I am Mr. Cowperwood. I come to have a very few words with you. I willtake very little of your time. I do not wish to go over any of thearguments that have been gone over before. I am satisfied that youknow all about them. "

"Yes, I had a talk with Judge Dickensheets yesterday. "

"Just so, Governor. Knowing all that you do, permit me to put one morematter before you. I know that you are, comparatively, a poorman--that every dollar you have is at present practically tied in thisbuilding. I know of two places where you have applied for a loan ofone hundred thousand dollars and have been refused because you haven'tsufficient security to offer outside of this building, which ismortgaged up to its limit as it stands. The men, as you must know, whoare fighting you are fighting me. I am a scoundrel because I amselfish and ambitious--a materialist. You are not a scoundrel, but adangerous person because you are an idealist. Whether you veto thisbill or not, you will never again be elected Governor of Illinois ifthe people who are fighting me succeed, as they will succeed, infighting you. "

Swanson's dark eyes burned illuminatively. He nodded his head inassent. 

"Governor, I have come here this morning to bribe you, if I can. I donot agree with your ideals; in the last analysis I do not believe thatthey will work. I am sure I do not believe in most of the things thatyou believe in. Life is different at bottom perhaps from what eitheryou or I may think. Just the same, as compared with other men, Isympathize with you. I will loan you that one hundred thousand dollarsand two or three or four hundred thousand dollars more besides if youwish. You need never pay me a dollar--or you can if you wish. Suityourself. In that black bag which Judge Dickensheets brought hereyesterday, and which is in your safe, is three hundred thousand dollarsin cash. He did not have the courage to mention it. Sign the bill andlet me beat the men who are trying to beat me. I will support you inthe future with any amount of money or influence that I can bring tobear in any political contest you may choose to enter, state ornational. "

Cowperwood's eyes glowed like a large, genial collie's. There was asuggestion of sympathetic appeal in them, rich and deep, and, even morethan that, a philosophic perception of ineffable things. Swanson arose. "You really don't mean to say that you are trying to bribe me openly, do you?" he inquired. In spite of a conventional impulse to burstforth in moralistic denunciation, solemnly phrased, he was compelledfor the moment to see the other man's viewpoint. They were working indifferent directions, going different ways, to what ultimate end?

"Mr. Cowperwood, " continued the governor, his face a physiognomy out ofGoya, his eye alight with a kind of understanding sympathy, "I supposeI ought to resent this, but I can't. I see your point of view. I'msorry, but I can't help you nor myself. My political belief, myideals, compel me to veto this bill; when I forsake these I am donepolitically with myself. I may not be elected governor again, but thatdoes not matter, either. I could use your money, but I won't. I shallhave to bid you good morning. "

He moved toward the safe, slowly, opened it, took out the bag andbrought it over. 

"You must take that with you, " he added. 

The two men looked at each other a moment curiously, sadly--the onewith a burden of financial, political, and moral worry on his spirit, the other with an unconquerable determination not to be worsted even indefeat. 

"Governor, " concluded Cowperwood, in the most genial, contented, undisturbed voice, "you will live to see another legislature pass andanother governor sign some such bill. It will not be done thissession, apparently, but it will be done. I am not through, because mycase is right and fair. Just the same, after you have vetoed the bill, come and see me, and I will loan you that one hundred thousand if youwant it. "

Cowperwood went out. Swanson vetoed the bill. It is on record thatsubsequently he borrowed one hundred thousand dollars from Cowperwoodto stay him from ruin. 

Chapter LVI

The Ordeal of Berenice

At the news that Swanson had refused to sign the bill and that thelegislature lacked sufficient courage to pass it over his veto bothSchryhart and Hand literally rubbed their hands in comfortablesatisfaction. 

"Well, Hosmer, " said Schryhart the next day, when they met at theirfavorite club--the Union League--"it looks as though we were makingsome little progress, after all, doesn't it? Our friend didn't succeedin turning that little trick, did he?"

He beamed almost ecstatically upon his solid companion. 

"Not this time. I wonder what move he will decide to make next. "

"I don't see very well what it can be. He knows now that he can't gethis franchises without a compromise that will eat into his profits, andif that happens he can't sell his Union Traction stock. Thislegislative scheme of his must have cost him all of three hundredthousand dollars, and what has he to show for it? The new legislature, unless I'm greatly mistaken, will be afraid to touch anything inconnection with him. It's hardly likely that any of the Springfieldpoliticians will want to draw the fire of the newspapers again. "

Schryhart felt very powerful, imposing--sleek, indeed--now that histheory of newspaper publicity as a cure was apparently beginning towork. Hand, more saturnine, more responsive to the uncertainty ofthings mundane--the shifty undercurrents that are perpetually sappingand mining below--was agreeable, but not sure. Perhaps so. 

In regard to his Eastern life during this interlude, Cowperwood hadbeen becoming more and more keenly alive to the futility of the attemptto effect a social rescue for Aileen. "What was the use?" he oftenasked himself, as he contemplated her movements, thoughts, plans, ascontrasted with the natural efficiency, taste, grace, and subtlety of awoman like Berenice. He felt that the latter could, if she would, smooth over in an adroit way all the silly social antagonisms whichwere now afflicting him. It was a woman's game, he frequently toldhimself, and would never be adjusted till he had the woman. 

Simultaneously Aileen, looking at the situation from her own point ofview and nonplussed by the ineffectiveness of mere wealth when notcombined with a certain social something which she did not appear tohave, was, nevertheless, unwilling to surrender her dream. What wasit, she asked herself over and over, that made this great differencebetween women and women? The question contained its own answer, but shedid not know that. She was still good-looking--very--and an adept inself-ornamentation, after her manner and taste. So great had been thenewspaper palaver regarding the arrival of a new multimillionaire fromthe West and the palace he was erecting that even tradesmen, clerks, and hall-boys knew of her. Almost invariably, when called upon tostate her name in such quarters, she was greeted by a slight start ofrecognition, a swift glance of examination, whispers, even opencomment. That was something. Yet how much more, and how differentwere those rarefied reaches of social supremacy to which popular reputebears scarcely any relationship at all. How different, indeed? Fromwhat Cowperwood had said in Chicago she had fancied that when they tookup their formal abode in New York he would make an attempt tostraighten out his life somewhat, to modify the number of hisindifferent amours and to present an illusion of solidarity and unity. Yet, now that they had actually arrived, she noticed that he was moreconcerned with his heightened political and financial complications inIllinois and with his art-collection than he was with what might happento be going on in the new home or what could be made to happen there. As in the days of old, she was constantly puzzled by his persistentevenings out and his sudden appearances and disappearances. Yet, determine as she might, rage secretly or openly as she would, she couldnot cure herself of the infection of Cowperwood, the lure thatsurrounded and substantiated a mind and spirit far greater than anyother she had ever known. Neither honor, virtue, consistent charity, nor sympathy was there, but only a gay, foamy, unterrified sufficiencyand a creative, constructive sense of beauty that, like sunlit spray, glowing with all the irradiative glories of the morning, danced andfled, spun driftwise over a heavy sea of circumstance. Life, howeverdark and somber, could never apparently cloud his soul. Brooding andidling in the wonder palace of his construction, Aileen could see whathe was like. The silver fountain in the court of orchids, thepeach-like glow of the pink marble chamber, with its birds and flowers, the serried brilliance of his amazing art-collections were all likehim, were really the color of his soul. To think that after all shewas not the one to bind him to subjection, to hold him by golden yetsteely threads of fancy to the hem of her garment! To think that heshould no longer walk, a slave of his desire, behind the chariot of herspiritual and physical superiority. Yet she could not give up. 

By this time Cowperwood had managed through infinite tact and a stoicdisregard of his own aches and pains to re-establish at least atemporary working arrangement with the Carter household. To Mrs. Carter he was still a Heaven-sent son of light. Actually in a mournfulway she pleaded for Cowperwood, vouching for his disinterestedness andlong-standing generosity. Berenice, on the other hand, was sweptbetween her craving for a great state for herself--luxury, power--andher desire to conform to the current ethics and morals of life. Cowperwood was married, and because of his attitude of affection forher his money was tainted. She had long speculated on his relation toAileen, the basis of their differences, had often wondered why neithershe nor her mother had ever been introduced. What type of woman wasthe second Mrs. Cowperwood? Beyond generalities Cowperwood had nevermentioned her. Berenice actually thought to seek her out in someinconspicuous way, but, as it chanced, one night her curiosity wasrewarded without effort. She was at the opera with friends, and herescort nudged her arm. 

"Have you noticed Box 9--the lady in white satin with the green laceshawl?"

"Yes. " Berenice raised her glasses. 

"Mrs. Frank Algernon Cowperwood, the wife of the Chicago millionaire. They have just built that house at 68th Street. He has part lease ofnumber 9, I believe. "

Berenice almost started, but retained her composure, giving merely anindifferent glance. A little while after, she adjusted her glassescarefully and studied Mrs. Cowperwood. She noted curiously thatAileen's hair was somewhat the color of her own--more carroty red. Shestudied her eyes, which were slightly ringed, her smooth cheeks andfull mouth, thickened somewhat by drinking and dissipation. Aileen wasgood-looking, she thought--handsome in a material way, though so mucholder than herself. Was it merely age that was alienating Cowperwood, or was it some deep-seated intellectual difference? Obviously Mrs. Cowperwood was well over forty--a fact which did not give Berenice anysense of satisfaction or of advantage. She really did not care enough. It did occur to her, however, that this woman whom she was observinghad probably given the best years of her life to Cowperwood--thebrilliant years of her girlhood. And now he was tired of her! Therewere small carefully powdered lines at the tails of Aileen's eyes andat the corners of her mouth. At the same time she seemedpreternaturally gay, kittenish, spoiled. With her were two men--one awell-known actor, sinisterly handsome, a man with a brutal, uncleanreputation, the other a young social pretender--both unknown toBerenice. Her knowledge was to come from her escort, a loquaciousyouth, more or less versed, as it happened, in the gay life of the city. 

"I hear that she is creating quite a stir in Bohemia, " he observed. "Ifshe expects to enter society it's a poor way to begin, don't you think?"

"Do you know that she expects to?"

"All the usual signs are out--a box here, a house on Fifth Avenue. "

This study of Aileen puzzled and disturbed Berenice a little. Nevertheless, she felt immensely superior. Her soul seemed to soarover the plain Aileen inhabited. The type of the latter's escortssuggested error--a lack of social discrimination. Because of the highposition he had succeeded in achieving Cowperwood was entitled, nodoubt, to be dissatisfied. His wife had not kept pace with him, or, rather, had not eluded him in his onward flight--had not run swiftlybefore, like a winged victory. Berenice reflected that if she weredealing with such a man he should never know her truly--he should bemade to wonder and to doubt. Lines of care and disappointment shouldnever mar her face. She would scheme and dream and conceal and evade. He should dance attendance, whoever he was. 

Nevertheless, here she herself was, at twenty-two, unmarried, herbackground insecure, the very ground on which she walked treacherous. Braxmar knew, and Beales Chadsey, and Cowperwood. At least three orfour of her acquaintances must have been at the Waldorf on that fatalnight. How long would it be before others became aware? She triedeluding her mother, Cowperwood, and the situation generally by freelyaccepting more extended invitations and by trying to see whether therewas not some opening for her in the field of art. She thought ofpainting and essayed several canvases which she took to dealers. Thework was subtle, remote, fanciful--a snow scene with purple edges; athinking satyr, iron-like in his heaviness, brooding over a cloudyvalley; a lurking devil peering at a praying Marguerite; a Dutchinterior inspired by Mrs. Batjer, and various dancing figures. Phlegmatic dealers of somber mien admitted some promise, but pointedout the difficulty of sales. Beginners were numerous. Art was long. If she went on, of course. . . . Let them see other things. She turnedher thoughts to dancing. 

This art in its interpretative sense was just being introduced intoAmerica, a certain Althea Baker having created a good deal of stir insociety by this means. With the idea of duplicating or surpassing thesuccess of this woman Berenice conceived a dance series of her own. One was to be "The Terror"--a nymph dancing in the spring woods, buteventually pursued and terrorized by a faun; another, "The Peacock, " afantasy illustrative of proud self-adulation; another, "The Vestal, " astudy from Roman choric worship. After spending considerable time atPocono evolving costumes, poses, and the like, Berenice finally hintedat the plan to Mrs. Batjer, declaring that she would enjoy the artisticoutlet it would afford, and indicating at the same time that it mightprovide the necessary solution of a problem of ways and means. 

"Why, Bevy, how you talk!" commented Mrs. Batjer. "And with yourpossibilities. Why don't you marry first, and do your dancingafterward? You might compel a certain amount of attention that way. "

"Because of hubby? How droll! Whom would you suggest that I marry atonce?"

"Oh, when it comes to that--" replied Mrs. Batjer, with a slightreproachful lift in her voice, and thinking of Kilmer Duelma. "Butsurely your need isn't so pressing. If you were to take upprofessional dancing I might have to cut you afterward--particularly ifany one else did. "

She smiled the sweetest, most sensible smile. Mrs. Batjer accompaniedher suggestions nearly always with a slight sniff and cough. Berenicecould see that the mere fact of this conversation made a slightdifference. In Mrs. Batjer's world poverty was a dangerous topic. Themere odor of it suggested a kind of horror--perhaps the equivalent oferror or sin. Others, Berenice now suspected, would take affright evenmore swiftly. 

Subsequent to this, however, she made one slight investigation of thoserealms that govern professional theatrical engagements. It was a mostdisturbing experience. The mere color and odor of the stuffy offices, the gauche, material attendants, the impossible aspirants andparticipants in this make-believe world! The crudeness! The effrontery!The materiality! The sensuality! It came to her as a sickening breathand for the moment frightened her. What would become of refinementthere? What of delicacy? How could one rise and sustain an individualdignity and control in such a world as this?

Cowperwood was now suggesting as a binding link that he should buy ahome for them in Park Avenue, where such social functions as would beof advantage to Berenice and in some measure to himself as anoccasional guest might be indulged in. Mrs. Carter, a fool of comfort, was pleased to welcome this idea. It promised to give her absolutefinancial security for the future. 

"I know how it is with you, Frank, " she declared. "I know you needsome place that you can call a home. The whole difficulty will be withBevy. Ever since that miserable puppy made those charges against me Ihaven't been able to talk to her at all. She doesn't seem to want todo anything I suggest. You have much more influence with her than Ihave. If you explain, it may be all right. "

Instantly Cowperwood saw an opportunity. Intensely pleased with thisconfession of weakness on the part of the mother, he went to Berenice, but by his usual method of indirect direction. 

"You know, Bevy, " he said, one afternoon when he found her alone, "Ihave been wondering if it wouldn't be better if I bought a large housefor you and your mother here in New York, where you and she could doentertaining on a large scale. Since I can't spend my money on myself, I might as well spend it on some one who would make an interesting useof it. You might include me as an uncle or father's cousin orsomething of that sort, " he added, lightly. 

Berenice, who saw quite clearly the trap he was setting for her, wasnonplussed. At the same time she could not help seeing that a house, if it were beautifully furnished, would be an interesting asset. People in society loved fixed, notable dwellings; she had observedthat. What functions could not be held if only her mother's past werenot charged against her! That was the great difficulty. It was almostan Arabian situation, heightened by the glitter of gold. AndCowperwood was always so diplomatic. He came forward with such abland, engaging smile. His hands were so shapely and seeking. 

"A house such as you speak of would enlarge the debt beyond payment, Ipresume, " she remarked, sardonically and with a sad, almostcontemptuous gesture. Cowperwood realized how her piercing intellectwas following his shifty trail, and winced. She must see that her fatewas in his hands, but oh! if she would only surrender, how swiftlyevery dollar of his vast fortune should be piled humbly at her feet. She should have her heart's desire, if money would buy it. She couldsay to him go, and he would go; come, and he would come. 

"Berenice, " he said, getting up, "I know what you think. You fancy Iam trying to further my own interests in this way, but I'm not. Iwouldn't compromise you ultimately for all the wealth of India. I havetold you where I stand. Every dollar that I have is yours to do withas you choose on any basis that you may care to name. I have no futureoutside of you, none except art. I do not expect you to marry me. Take all that I have. Wipe society under your feet. Don't think thatI will ever charge it up as a debt. I won't. I want you to hold yourown. Just answer me one question; I won't ever ask another. "

"Yes?"

"If I were single now, and you were not in love or married, would youconsider me at all?"

His eyes pleaded as never had they pleaded before. 

She started, looked concerned, severe, then relaxed as suddenly. "Letme see, " she said, with a slight brightening of the eyes and a toss ofher head. "That is a second cousin to a proposal, isn't it? You haveno right to make it. You aren't single, and aren't likely to be. Whyshould I try to read the future?"

She walked indifferently out of the room, and Cowperwood stayed amoment to think. Obviously he had triumphed in a way. She had nottaken great offense. She must like him and would marry him if only. . . 

Only Aileen. 

And now he wished more definitely and forcefully than ever that he werereally and truly free. He felt that if ever he wished to attainBerenice he must persuade Aileen to divorce him. 

Chapter LVII

Aileen's Last Card

It was not until some little time after they were established in thenew house that Aileen first came upon any evidence of the existence ofBerenice Fleming. In a general way she assumed that there werewomen--possibly some of whom she had known--Stephanie, Mrs. Hand, Florence Cochrane, or later arrivals--yet so long as they were notobtruded on her she permitted herself the semi-comforting thought thatthings were not as bad as they might be. So long, indeed, asCowperwood was genuinely promiscuous, so long as he trotted here andthere, not snared by any particular siren, she could not despair, for, after all, she had ensnared him and held him deliciously--withoutvariation, she believed, for all of ten years--a feat which no otherwoman had achieved before or after. Rita Sohlberg might havesucceeded--the beast! How she hated the thought of Rita! By this time, however, Cowperwood was getting on in years. The day must come when hewould be less keen for variability, or, at least, would think it nolonger worth while to change. If only he did not find some one woman, some Circe, who would bind and enslave him in these Later years as shehad herself done in his earlier ones all might yet be well. At thesame time she lived in daily terror of a discovery which was soon tofollow. 

She had gone out one day to pay a call on some one to whom Rhees Grier, the Chicago sculptor, had given her an introduction. Crossing CentralPark in one of the new French machines which Cowperwood had purchasedfor her indulgence, her glance wandered down a branch road to whereanother automobile similar to her own was stalled. It was early in theafternoon, at which time Cowperwood was presumably engaged in WallStreet. Yet there he was, and with him two women, neither of whom, inthe speed of passing, could Aileen quite make out. She had her carhalted and driven to within seeing-distance behind a clump of bushes. A chauffeur whom she did not know was tinkering at a handsome machine, while on the grass near by stood Cowperwood and a tall, slender girlwith red hair somewhat like Aileen's own. Her expression was aloof, poetic, rhapsodical. Aileen could not analyze it, but it fixed herattention completely. In the tonneau sat an elderly lady, whom Aileenat once assumed to be the girl's mother. Who were they? What wasCowperwood doing here in the Park at this hour? Where were they going?With a horrible retch of envy she noted upon Cowperwood's face a smilethe like and import of which she well knew. How often she had seen ityears and years before! Having escaped detection, she ordered herchauffeur to follow the car, which soon started, at a safe distance. She saw Cowperwood and the two ladies put down at one of the greathotels, and followed them into the dining-room, where, from behind ascreen, after the most careful manoeuvering, she had an opportunity ofstudying them at her leisure. She drank in every detail of Berenice'sface--the delicately pointed chin, the clear, fixed blue eyes, thestraight, sensitive nose and tawny hair. Calling the head waiter, sheinquired the names of the two women, and in return for a liberal tipwas informed at once. "Mrs. Ira Carter, I believe, and her daughter, Miss Fleming, Miss Berenice Fleming. Mrs. Carter was Mrs. Flemingonce. " Aileen followed them out eventually, and in her own car pursuedthem to their door, into which Cowperwood also disappeared. The nextday, by telephoning the apartment to make inquiry, she learned thatthey actually lived there. After a few days of brooding she employed adetective, and learned that Cowperwood was a constant visitor at theCarters', that the machine in which they rode was his maintained at aseparate garage, and that they were of society truly. Aileen wouldnever have followed the clue so vigorously had it not been for the lookshe had seen Cowperwood fix on the girl in the Park and in therestaurant--an air of soul-hunger which could not be gainsaid. 

Let no one ridicule the terrors of unrequited love. Its tentacles arecancerous, its grip is of icy death. Sitting in her boudoirimmediately after these events, driving, walking, shopping, calling onthe few with whom she had managed to scrape an acquaintance, Aileenthought morning, noon, and night of this new woman. The pale, delicateface haunted her. What were those eyes, so remote in their gaze, surveying? Love? Cowperwood? Yes! Yes! Gone in a flash, andpermanently, as it seemed to Aileen, was the value of this house, herdream of a new social entrance. And she had already suffered so much;endured so much. Cowperwood being absent for a fortnight, she moped inher room, sighed, raged, and then began to drink. Finally she sent foran actor who had once paid attention to her in Chicago, and whom shehad later met here in the circle of the theaters. She was not so muchburning with lust as determined in her drunken gloom that she wouldhave revenge. For days there followed an orgy, in which wine, bestiality, mutual recrimination, hatred, and despair were involved. Sobering eventually, she wondered what Cowperwood would think of hernow if he knew this? Could he ever love her any more? Could he eventolerate her? But what did he care? It served him right, the dog! Shewould show him, she would wreck his dream, she would make her own lifea scandal, and his too! She would shame him before all the world. Heshould never have a divorce! He should never be able to marry a girllike that and leave her alone--never, never, never! When Cowperwoodreturned she snarled at him without vouchsafing an explanation. 

He suspected at once that she had been spying upon his manoeuvers. Moreover, he did not fail to notice her heavy eyes, superheated cheeks, and sickly breath. Obviously she had abandoned her dream of a socialvictory of some kind, and was entering on a career of what--debauchery?Since coming to New York she had failed utterly, he thought, to makeany single intelligent move toward her social rehabilitation. Thebanal realms of art and the stage, with which in his absence or neglectshe had trifled with here, as she had done in Chicago, were worse thanuseless; they were destructive. He must have a long talk with her oneof these days, must confess frankly to his passion for Berenice, andappeal to her sympathy and good sense. What scenes would follow! Yetshe might succumb, at that. Despair, pride, disgust might move her. Besides, he could now bestow upon her a very large fortune. She couldgo to Europe or remain here and live in luxury. He would always remainfriendly with her--helpful, advisory--if she would permit it. 

The conversation which eventually followed on this topic was of suchstuff as dreams are made of. It sounded hollow and unnatural withinthe walls where it took place. Consider the great house in upper FifthAvenue, its magnificent chambers aglow, of a stormy Sunday night. Cowperwood was lingering in the city at this time, busy with a group ofEastern financiers who were influencing his contest in the statelegislature of Illinois. Aileen was momentarily consoled by thethought that for him perhaps love might, after all, be a thing apart--athing no longer vital and soul-controlling. To-night he was sitting inthe court of orchids, reading a book--the diary of Cellini, which someone had recommended to him--stopping to think now and then of things inChicago or Springfield, or to make a note. Outside the rain wassplashing in torrents on the electric-lighted asphalt of FifthAvenue--the Park opposite a Corot-like shadow. Aileen was in themusic-room strumming indifferently. She was thinking of timespast--Lynde, from whom she had not heard in half a year; Watson Skeet, the sculptor, who was also out of her ken at present. When Cowperwoodwas in the city and in the house she was accustomed from habit toremain indoors or near. So great is the influence of past customs ofdevotion that they linger long past the hour when the act ceases tobecome valid. 

"What an awful night!" she observed once, strolling to a window to peerout from behind a brocaded valance. 

"It is bad, isn't it?" replied Cowperwood, as she returned. "Hadn'tyou thought of going anywhere this evening?"

"No--oh no, " replied Aileen, indifferently. She rose restlessly fromthe piano, and strolled on into the great picture-gallery. Stoppingbefore one of Raphael Sanzio's Holy Families, only recently hung, shepaused to contemplate the serene face--medieval, Madonnaesque, Italian. 

The lady seemed fragile, colorless, spineless--without life. Werethere such women? Why did artists paint them? Yet the little Christ wassweet. Art bored Aileen unless others were enthusiastic. She cravedonly the fanfare of the living--not painted resemblances. She returnedto the music-room, to the court of orchids, and was just about to goup-stairs to prepare herself a drink and read a novel when Cowperwoodobserved:

"You're bored, aren't you?"

"Oh no; I'm used to lonely evenings, " she replied, quietly and withoutany attempt at sarcasm. 

Relentless as he was in hewing life to his theory--hammering substanceto the form of his thought--yet he was tender, too, in the manner of arainbow dancing over an abyss. For the moment he wanted to say, "Poorgirlie, you do have a hard time, don't you, with me?" but he reflectedinstantly how such a remark would be received. He meditated, holdinghis book in his hand above his knee, looking at the purling water thatflowed and flowed in sprinkling showers over the sportive marblefigures of mermaids, a Triton, and nymphs astride of fishes. 

"You're really not happy in this state, any more, are you?" heinquired. "Would you feel any more comfortable if I stayed awayentirely?"

His mind had turned of a sudden to the one problem that was frettinghim and to the opportunities of this hour. 

"You would, " she replied, for her boredom merely concealed herunhappiness in no longer being able to command in the least hisinterest or his sentiment. 

"Why do you say that in just that way?" he asked. 

"Because I know you would. I know why you ask. You know well enoughthat it isn't anything I want to do that is concerned. It's what youwant to do. You'd like to turn me off like an old horse now that youare tired of me, and so you ask whether I would feel any morecomfortable. What a liar you are, Frank! How really shifty you are! Idon't wonder you're a multimillionaire. If you could live long enoughyou would eat up the whole world. Don't you think for one moment thatI don't know of Berenice Fleming here in New York, and how you'redancing attendance on her--because I do. I know how you have beenhanging about her for months and months--ever since we have been here, and for long before. You think she's wonderful now because she's youngand in society. I've seen you in the Waldorf and in the Park hanging onher every word, looking at her with adoring eyes. What a fool you are, to be so big a man! Every little snip, if she has pink cheeks and adoll's face, can wind you right around her finger. Rita Sohlberg didit; Stephanie Platow did it; Florence Cochrane did it; CecilyHaguenin--and Heaven knows how many more that I never heard of. Isuppose Mrs. Hand still lives with you in Chicago--the cheap strumpet!Now it's Berenice Fleming and her frump of a mother. From all I canlearn you haven't been able to get her yet--because her mother's tooshrewd, perhaps--but you probably will in the end. It isn't you somuch as your money that they're after. Pah! Well, I'm unhappy enough, but it isn't anything you can remedy any more. Whatever you could doto make me unhappy you have done, and now you talk of my being happieraway from you. Clever boy, you! I know you the way I know my tenfingers. You don't deceive me at any time in any way any more. Ican't do anything about it. I can't stop you from making a fool ofyourself with every woman you meet, and having people talk from one endof the country to the other. Why, for a woman to be seen with you isenough to fix her reputation forever. Right now all Broadway knowsyou're running after Berenice Fleming. Her name will soon be as sweetas those of the others you've had. She might as well give herself toyou. If she ever had a decent reputation it's gone by now, you candepend upon that. "

These remarks irritated Cowperwood greatly--enraged him--particularlyher references to Berenice. What were you to do with such a woman? hethought. Her tongue was becoming unbearable; her speech in itspersistence and force was that of a termagant. Surely, surely, he hadmade a great mistake in marrying her. At the same time the control ofher was largely in his own hands even yet. 

"Aileen, " he said, coolly, at the end of her speech, "you talk toomuch. You rave. You're growing vulgar, I believe. Now let me tellyou something. " And he fixed her with a hard, quieting eye. "I have noapologies to make. Think what you please. I know why you say what youdo. But here is the point. I want you to get it straight and clear. It may make some difference eventually if you're any kind of a woman atall. I don't care for you any more. If you want to put it anotherway--I'm tired of you. I have been for a long while. That's why I'verun with other women. If I hadn't been tired of you I wouldn't havedone it. What's more, I'm in love with somebody else--BereniceFleming, and I expect to stay in love. I wish I were free so I couldrearrange my life on a different basis and find a little comfort beforeI die. You don't really care for me any more. You can't. I'll admitI have treated you badly; but if I had really loved you I wouldn't havedone it, would I? It isn't my fault that love died in me, is it? Itisn't your fault. I'm not blaming you. Love isn't a bunch of coalsthat can be blown by an artificial bellows into a flame at any time. It's out, and that's an end of it. Since I don't love you and can't, why should you want me to stay near you? Why shouldn't you let me goand give me a divorce? You'll be just as happy or unhappy away from meas with me. Why not? I want to be free again. I'm miserable here, andhave been for a long time. I'll make any arrangement that seems fairand right to you. I'll give you this house--these pictures, though Ireally don't see what you'd want with them. " (Cowperwood had nointention of giving up the gallery if he could help it. ) "I'll settleon you for life any income you desire, or I'll give you a fixed sumoutright. I want to be free, and I want you to let me be. Now whywon't you be sensible and let me do this?"

During this harangue Cowperwood had first sat and then stood. At thestatement that his love was really dead--the first time he had everbaldly and squarely announced it--Aileen had paled a little and put herhand to her forehead over her eyes. It was then he had arisen. He wascold, determined, a little revengeful for the moment. She realized nowthat he meant this--that in his heart was no least feeling for all thathad gone before--no sweet memories, no binding thoughts of happy hours, days, weeks, years, that were so glittering and wonderful to her inretrospect. Great Heavens, it was really true! His love was dead; hehad said it! But for the nonce she could not believe it; she would not. It really couldn't be true. 

"Frank, " she began, coming toward him, the while he moved away to evadeher. Her eyes were wide, her hands trembling, her lips moving in anemotional, wavy, rhythmic way. "You really don't mean that, do you?Love isn't wholly dead, is it? All the love you used to feel for me?Oh, Frank, I have raged, I have hated, I have said terrible, uglythings, but it has been because I have been in love with you! All thetime I have. You know that. I have felt so bad--O God, how bad I havefelt! Frank, you don't know it--but my pillow has been wet many andmany a night. I have cried and cried. I have got up and walked thefloor. I have drunk whisky--plain, raw whisky--because something hurtme and I wanted to kill the pain. I have gone with other men, oneafter another--you know that--but, oh! Frank, Frank, you know that Ididn't want to, that I didn't mean to! I have always despised thethought of them afterward. It was only because I was lonely andbecause you wouldn't pay any attention to me or be nice to me. Oh, howI have longed and longed for just one loving hour with you--one night, one day! There are women who could suffer in silence, but I can't. Mymind won't let me alone, Frank--my thoughts won't. I can't helpthinking how I used to run to you in Philadelphia, when you would meetme on your way home, or when I used to come to you in Ninth Street oron Eleventh. Oh, Frank, I probably did wrong to your first wife. Isee it now--how she must have suffered! But I was just a silly girlthen, and I didn't know. Don't you remember how I used to come to youin Ninth Street and how I saw you day after day in the penitentiary inPhiladelphia? You said then you would love me always and that you wouldnever forget. Can't you love me any more--just a little? Is it reallytrue that your love is dead? Am I so old, so changed? Oh, Frank, pleasedon't say that--please don't--please, please please! I beg of you!"

She tried to reach him and put a hand on his arm, but he stepped aside. To him, as he looked at her now, she was the antithesis of anything hecould brook, let alone desire artistically or physically. The charmwas gone, the spell broken. It was another type, another point of viewhe required, but, above all and principally, youth, youth--the spirit, for instance, that was in Berenice Fleming. He was sorry--in his way. He felt sympathy, but it was like the tinkling of a far-offsheep-bell--the moaning of a whistling buoy heard over the thrash ofnight-black waves on a stormy sea. 

"You don't understand how it is, Aileen, " he said. "I can't helpmyself. My love is dead. It is gone. I can't recall it. I can'tfeel it. I wish I could, but I can't; you must understand that. Somethings are possible and some are not. "

He looked at her, but with no relenting. Aileen, for her part, saw inhis eyes nothing, as she believed, save cold philosophic logic--the manof business, the thinker, the bargainer, the plotter. At the thought ofthe adamantine character of his soul, which could thus definitely closeits gates on her for ever and ever, she became wild, angry, feverish--not quite sane. 

"Oh, don't say that!" she pleaded, foolishly. "Please don't. Pleasedon't say that. It might come back a little if--if--you would onlybelieve in it. Don't you see how I feel? Don't you see how it is?"

She dropped to her knees and clasped him about the waist. "Oh, Frank!Oh, Frank! Oh, Frank!" she began to call, crying. "I can't stand it! Ican't! I can't! I can't! I shall die. "

"Don't give way like that, Aileen, " he pleaded. "It doesn't do anygood. I can't lie to myself. I don't want to lie to you. Life is tooshort. Facts are facts. If I could say and believe that I loved you Iwould say so now, but I can't. I don't love you. Why should I saythat I do?"

In the content of Aileen's nature was a portion that was purelyhistrionic, a portion that was childish--petted and spoiled--a portionthat was sheer unreason, and a portion that was splendid emotion--deep, dark, involved. At this statement of Cowperwood's which seemed tothrow her back on herself for ever and ever to be alone, she firstpleaded willingness to compromise--to share. She had not foughtStephanie Platow, she had not fought Florence Cochrane, nor CecilyHaguenin, nor Mrs. Hand, nor, indeed, anybody after Rita, and she wouldfight no more. She had not spied on him in connection withBerenice--she had accidentally met them. True, she had gone with othermen, but? Berenice was beautiful, she admitted it, but so was she inher way still--a little, still. Couldn't he find a place for her yet inhis life? Wasn't there room for both?

At this expression of humiliation and defeat Cowperwood was sad, sick, almost nauseated. How could one argue? How make her understand?

"I wish it were possible, Aileen, " he concluded, finally and heavily, "but it isn't. "

All at once she arose, her eyes red but dry. 

"You don't love me, then, at all, do you? Not a bit?"

"No, Aileen, I don't. I don't mean by that that I dislike you. I don'tmean to say that you aren't interesting in your way as a woman and thatI don't sympathize with you. I do. But I don't love you any more. Ican't. The thing I used to feel I can't feel any more. "

She paused for a moment, uncertain how to take this, the while shewhitened, grew more tense, more spiritual than she had been in many aday. Now she felt desperate, angry, sick, but like the scorpion thatringed by fire can turn only on itself. What a hell life was, she toldherself. How it slipped away and left one aging, horribly alone! Lovewas nothing, faith nothing--nothing, nothing!

A fine light of conviction, intensity, intention lit her eye for themoment. "Very well, then, " she said, coolly, tensely. "I know whatI'll do. I'll not live this way. I'll not live beyond to-night. Iwant to die, anyhow, and I will. "

It was by no means a cry, this last, but a calm statement. It shouldprove her love. To Cowperwood it seemed unreal, bravado, a momentaryrage intended to frighten him. She turned and walked up the grandstaircase, which was near--a splendid piece of marble and bronzefifteen feet wide, with marble nereids for newel-posts, and dancingfigures worked into the stone. She went into her room quite calmly andtook up a steel paper-cutter of dagger design--a knife with a handle ofbronze and a point of great sharpness. Coming out and going along thebalcony over the court of orchids, where Cowperwood still was seated, she entered the sunrise room with its pool of water, its birds, itsbenches, its vines. Locking the door, she sat down and then, suddenlybaring an arm, jabbed a vein--ripped it for inches--and sat there tobleed. Now she would see whether she could die, whether he would lether. 

Uncertain, astonished, not able to believe that she could be so rash, not believing that her feeling could be so great, Cowperwood stillremained where she had left him wondering. He had not been so greatlymoved--the tantrums of women were common--and yet-- Could she really becontemplating death? How could she? How ridiculous! Life was sostrange, so mad. But this was Aileen who had just made this threat, and she had gone up the stairs to carry it out, perhaps. Impossible!How could it be? Yet back of all his doubts there was a kind ofsickening feeling, a dread. He recalled how she had assaulted RitaSohlberg. 

He hurried up the steps now and into her room. She was not there. Hewent quickly along the balcony, looking here and there, until he cameto the sunrise room. She must be there, for the door was shut. Hetried it--it was locked. 

"Aileen, " he called. "Aileen! Are you in there?" No answer. Helistened. Still no answer. "Aileen!" he repeated. "Are you in there?What damned nonsense is this, anyhow?"

"George!" he thought to himself, stepping back; "she might do it, too--perhaps she has. " He could not hear anything save the oddchattering of a toucan aroused by the light she had switched on. Perspiration stood out on his brow. He shook the knob, pushed a bellfor a servant, called for keys which had been made for every door, called for a chisel and hammer. 

"Aileen, " he said, "if you don't open the door this instant I will seethat it is opened. It can be opened quick enough. "

Still no sound. 

"Damn it!" he exclaimed, becoming wretched, horrified. A servantbrought the keys. The right one would not enter. A second was on theother side. "There is a bigger hammer somewhere, " Cowperwood said. "Get it! Get me a chair!" Meantime, with terrific energy, using a largechisel, he forced the door. 

There on one of the stone benches of the lovely room sat Aileen, thelevel pool of water before her, the sunrise glow over every thing, tropic birds in their branches, and she, her hair disheveled, her facepale, one arm--her left--hanging down, ripped and bleeding, trickling athick stream of rich, red blood. On the floor was a pool of blood, fierce, scarlet, like some rich cloth, already turning darker in places. 

Cowperwood paused--amazed. He hurried forward, seized her arm, made abandage of a torn handkerchief above the wound, sent for a surgeon, saying the while: "How could you, Aileen? How impossible! To try totake your life! This isn't love. It isn't even madness. It's foolishacting. "

"Don't you really care?" she asked. 

"How can you ask? How could you really do this?"

He was angry, hurt, glad that she was alive, shamed--many things. 

"Don't you really care?" she repeated, wearily. 

"Aileen, this is nonsense. I will not talk to you about it now. Haveyou cut yourself anywhere else?" he asked, feeling about her bosom andsides. 

"Then why not let me die?" she replied, in the same manner. "I willsome day. I want to. "

"Well, you may, some day, " he replied, "but not to-night. I scarcelythink you want to now. This is too much, Aileen--really impossible. "

He drew himself up and looked at her--cool, unbelieving, the light ofcontrol, even of victory, in his eyes. As he had suspected, it was nottruly real. She would not have killed herself. She had expected himto come--to make the old effort. Very good. He would see her safelyin bed and in a nurse's hands, and would then avoid her as much aspossible in the future. If her intention was genuine she would carryit out in his absence, but he did not believe she would. 

Chapter LVIII

A Marauder Upon the Commonwealth

The spring and summer months of 1897 and the late fall of 1898witnessed the final closing battle between Frank Algernon Cowperwoodand the forces inimical to him in so far as the city of Chicago, thestate of Illinois, and indeed the United States of America, wereconcerned. When in 1896 a new governor and a new group of staterepresentatives were installed Cowperwood decided that it would beadvisable to continue the struggle at once. By the time this newlegislature should convene for its labors a year would have passedsince Governor Swanson had vetoed the originalpublic-service-commission bill. By that time public sentiment asaroused by the newspapers would have had time to cool. Already throughvarious favorable financial interests--particularly Haeckelheimer, Gotloeb & Co. And all the subsurface forces they represented--he hadattempted to influence the incoming governor, and had in part succeeded. 

The new governor in this instance--one Corporal A. E. Archer--orex-Congressman Archer, as he was sometimes called--was, unlike Swanson, a curious mixture of the commonplace and the ideal--one of thoseshiftily loyal and loyally shifty who make their upward way by devious, if not too reprehensible methods. He was a little man, stocky, brown-haired, brown-eyed, vigorous, witty, with the ordinarypolitician's estimate of public morality--namely, that there is no suchthing. A drummer-boy at fourteen in the War of the Rebellion, aprivate at sixteen and eighteen, he had subsequently been breveted forconspicuous military service. At this later time he was head of theGrand Army of the Republic, and conspicuous in various stirringeleemosynary efforts on behalf of the old soldiers, their widows andorphans. A fine American, flag-waving, tobacco-chewing, foul-swearinglittle man was this--and one with noteworthy political ambitions. Other Grand Army men had been conspicuous in the lists for Presidentialnominations. Why not he? An excellent orator in a high falsetto way, and popular because of good-fellowship, presence, force, he was bynature materially and commercially minded--therefore without basicappeal to the higher ranks of intelligence. In seeking the nominationfor governorship he had made the usual overtures and had in turn beensounded by Haeckelheimer, Gotloeb, and various other corporateinterests who were in league with Cowperwood as to his attitude inregard to a proposed public-service commission. At first he hadrefused to commit himself. Later, finding that the C. W. & I. And theChicago & Pacific (very powerful railroads both) were interested, andthat other candidates were running him a tight chase in thegubernatorial contest, he succumbed in a measure, declaring privatelythat in case the legislature proved to be strongly in favor of the ideaand the newspapers not too crushingly opposed he might be willing tostand as its advocate. Other candidates expressed similar views, butCorporal Archer proved to have the greater following, and waseventually nominated and comfortably elected. 

Shortly after the new legislature had convened, it so chanced that acertain A. S. Rotherhite, publisher of the South Chicago Journal, wasone day accidentally sitting as a visitor in the seat of a staterepresentative by the name of Clarence Mulligan. While so occupiedRotherhite was familiarly slapped on the back by a certain SenatorLadrigo, of Menard, and was invited to come out into the rotunda, where, posing as Representative Mulligan, he was introduced by SenatorLadrigo to a stranger by the name of Gerard. The latter, with but fewpreliminary remarks, began as follows:

"Mr. Mulligan, I want to fix it with you in regard to this Southackbill which is soon to come up in the house. We have seventy votes, butwe want ninety. The fact that the bill has gone to a second reading inthe senate shows our strength. I am authorized to come to terms withyou this morning if you would like. Your vote is worth two thousanddollars to you the moment the bill is signed. "

Mr. Rotherhite, who happened to be a newly recruited member of theOpposition press, proved very canny in this situation. 

"Excuse me, " he stammered, "I did not understand your name?"

"Gerard. G-er-ard. Henry A. Gerard, " replied this other. 

"Thank you. I will think it over, " was the response of the presumedRepresentative Mulligan. 

Strange to state, at this very instant the authentic Mulligan actuallyappeared--heralded aloud by several of his colleagues who happened tobe lingering near by in the lobby. Whereupon the anomalous Mr. Gerardand the crafty Senator Ladrigo discreetly withdrew. Needless to saythat Mr. Rotherhite hurried at once to the forces of righteousness. The press should spread this little story broadcast. It was a verymeaty incident; and it brought the whole matter once more into thefatal, poisonous field of press discussion. 

At once the Chicago papers flew to arms. The cry was raised that thesame old sinister Cowperwoodian forces were at work. The members ofthe senate and the house were solemnly warned. The sterling attitudeof ex-Governor Swanson was held up as an example to the presentGovernor Archer. "The whole idea, " observed an editorial in TrumanLeslie MacDonald's Inquirer, "smacks of chicane, political subtlety, and political jugglery. Well do the citizens of Chicago and the peopleof Illinois know who and what particular organization would prove thetrue beneficiaries. We do not want a public-service commission at thebehest of a private street-railway corporation. Are the tentacles ofFrank A. Cowperwood to envelop this legislature as they did the last?"

This broadside, coming in conjunction with various hostile rumblings inother papers, aroused Cowperwood to emphatic language. 

"They can all go to the devil, " he said to Addison, one day at lunch. "I have a right to an extension of my franchises for fifty years, and Iam going to get it. Look at New York and Philadelphia. Why, theEastern houses laugh. They don't understand such a situation. It'sall the inside work of this Hand-Schryhart crowd. I know what they'redoing and who's pulling the strings. The newspapers yap-yap every timethey give an order. Hyssop waltzes every time Arneel moves. LittleMacDonald is a stool-pigeon for Hand. It's got down so low now thatit's anything to beat Cowperwood. Well, they won't beat me. I'll finda way out. The legislature will pass a bill allowing for a fifty-yearfranchise, and the governor will sign it. I'll see to that personally. I have at least eighteen thousand stockholders who want a decent runfor their money, and I propose to give it to them. Aren't other mengetting rich? Aren't other corporations earning ten and twelve percent? Why shouldn't I? Is Chicago any the worse? Don't I employ twentythousand men and pay them well? All this palaver about the rights ofthe people and the duty to the public--rats! Does Mr. Hand acknowledgeany duty to the public where his special interests are concerned? OrMr. Schryhart? Or Mr. Arneel? The newspapers be damned! I know myrights. An honest legislature will give me a decent franchise to saveme from the local political sharks. "

By this time, however, the newspapers had become as subtle and powerfulas the politicians themselves. Under the great dome of the capitol atSpringfield, in the halls and conference chambers of the senate andhouse, in the hotels, and in the rural districts wherever any leastinformation was to be gathered, were their representatives--to see, tolisten, to pry. Out of this contest they were gaining prestige andcash. By them were the reform aldermen persuaded to call mass-meetingsin their respective districts. Property-owners were urged to organize;a committee of one hundred prominent citizens led by Hand and Schryhartwas formed. It was not long before the halls, chambers, andcommittee-rooms of the capitol at Springfield and the corridors of theone principal hotel were being tramped over almost daily by rampantdelegations of ministers, reform aldermen, and civil committeemen, whoarrived speechifying, threatening, and haranguing, and departed, onlyto make room for another relay. 

"Say, what do you think of these delegations, Senator?" inquired acertain Representative Greenough of Senator George Christian, ofGrundy, one morning, the while a group of Chicago clergymen accompaniedby the mayor and several distinguished private citizens passed throughthe rotunda on their way to the committee on railroads, where the housebill was privily being discussed. "Don't you think they speak well forour civic pride and moral upbringing?" He raised his eyes and crossedhis fingers over his waistcoat in the most sanctimonious andreverential attitude. 

"Yes, dear Pastor, " replied the irreverent Christian, without theshadow of a smile. He was a little sallow, wiry man with eyes like aferret, a small mustache and goatee ornamenting his face. "But do notforget that the Lord has called us also to this work. "

"Even so, " acquiesced Greenough. "We must not weary in well doing. Theharvest is truly plenteous and the laborers are few. "

"Tut, tut, Pastor. Don't overdo it. You might make me larf, " repliedChristian; and the twain parted with knowing and yet weary smiles. 

Yet how little did the accommodating attitude of these gentlemen availin silencing the newspapers. The damnable newspapers! They were here, there, and everywhere reporting each least fragment of rumor, conversation, or imaginary programme. Never did the citizens ofChicago receive so keen a drilling in statecraft--its subtleties andramifications. The president of the senate and the speaker of thehouse were singled out and warned separately as to their duty. A pagea day devoted to legislative proceeding in this quarter was practicallythe custom of the situation. Cowperwood was here personally on thescene, brazen, defiant, logical, the courage of his convictions in hiseyes, the power of his magnetism fairly enslaving men. Throwing offthe mask of disinterestedness--if any might be said to have coveredhim--he now frankly came out in the open and, journeying toSpringfield, took quarters at the principal hotel. Like a general intime of battle, he marshaled his forces about him. In the warm, moonlit atmosphere of June nights when the streets of Springfield werequiet, the great plain of Illinois bathed for hundreds of miles fromnorth to south in a sweet effulgence and the rurals slumbering in theirsimple homes, he sat conferring with his lawyers and legislative agents. 

Pity in such a crisis the poor country-jake legislator torn between hisdesire for a justifiable and expedient gain and his fear lest he shouldbe assailed as a betrayer of the people's interests. To some of thesesmall-town legislators, who had never seen as much as two thousanddollars in cash in all their days, the problem was soul-racking. Mengathered in private rooms and hotel parlors to discuss it. They stoodin their rooms at night and thought about it alone. The sight of bigbusiness compelling its desires the while the people went begging wasdestructive. Many a romantic, illusioned, idealistic young countryeditor, lawyer, or statesman was here made over into a minor cynic orbribe-taker. Men were robbed of every vestige of faith or even ofcharity; they came to feel, perforce, that there was nothing outsidethe capacity for taking and keeping. The surface might appearcommonplace--ordinary men of the state of Illinois going here andthere--simple farmers and small-town senators and representativesconferring and meditating and wondering what they could do--yet ajungle-like complexity was present, a dark, rank growth of horrific butavid life--life at the full, life knife in hand, life blazing withcourage and dripping at the jaws with hunger. 

However, because of the terrific uproar the more cautious legislatorswere by degrees becoming fearful. Friends in their home towns, at theinstigation of the papers, were beginning to write them. Politicalenemies were taking heart. It meant too much of a sacrifice on thepart of everybody. In spite of the fact that the bait was apparentlywithin easy reach, many became evasive and disturbed. When a certainRepresentative Sparks, cocked and primed, with the bill in his pocket, arose upon the floor of the house, asking leave to have it spread uponthe minutes, there was an instant explosion. The privilege of thefloor was requested by a hundred. Another representative, Disback, being in charge of the opposition to Cowperwood, had made a count ofnoses and was satisfied in spite of all subtlety on the part of theenemy that he had at least one hundred and two votes, the necessarytwo-thirds wherewith to crush any measure which might originate on thefloor. Nevertheless, his followers, because of caution, voted it to asecond and a third reading. All sorts of amendments were made--one fora three-cent fare during the rush-hours, another for a 20 per cent. Taxon gross receipts. In amended form the measure was sent to the senate, where the changes were stricken out and the bill once more returned tothe house. Here, to Cowperwood's chagrin, signs were made manifestthat it could not be passed. "It can't be done, Frank, " said JudgeDickensheets. "It's too grilling a game. Their home papers are afterthem. They can't live. "

Consequently a second measure was devised--more soothing and lulling tothe newspapers, but far less satisfactory to Cowperwood. It conferredupon the Chicago City Council, by a trick of revising the old Horse andDummy Act of 1865, the right to grant a franchise for fifty instead offor twenty years. This meant that Cowperwood would have to return toChicago and fight out his battle there. It was a severe blow, yetbetter than nothing. Providing that he could win one more franchisebattle within the walls of the city council in Chicago, it would givehim all that he desired. But could he? Had he not come here to thelegislature especially to evade such a risk? His motives were enduringsuch a blistering exposure. Yet perhaps, after all, if the price werelarge enough the Chicago councilmen would have more real courage thanthese country legislators--would dare more. They would have to. 

So, after Heaven knows what desperate whisperings, conferences, arguments, and heartening of members, there was originated a secondmeasure which--after the defeat of the first bill, 104 to 49--wasintroduced, by way of a very complicated path, through the judiciarycommittee. It was passed; and Governor Archer, after heavy hours ofcontemplation and self-examination, signed it. A little man mentally, he failed to estimate an aroused popular fury at its true import tohim. At his elbow was Cowperwood in the clear light of day, snappinghis fingers in the face of his enemies, showing by the hard, cheerfulglint in his eye that he was still master of the situation, giving allassurance that he would yet live to whip the Chicago papers intosubmission. Besides, in the event of the passage of the bill, Cowperwood had promised to make Archer independently rich--a cashreward of five hundred thousand dollars. 

Chapter LIX

Capital and Public Rights

Between the passage on June 5, 1897, of the Mears bill--so christenedafter the doughty representative who had received a small fortune forintroducing it--and its presentation to the Chicago City Council inDecember of the same year, what broodings, plottings, politickings, andeditorializings on the part of all and sundry! In spite of the intensefeeling of opposition to Cowperwood there was at the same time in localpublic life one stratum of commercial and phlegmatic substance thatcould not view him in an altogether unfavorable light. They were inbusiness themselves. His lines passed their doors and served them. They could not see wherein his street-railway service differed so muchfrom that which others might give. Here was the type of materialistwho in Cowperwood's defiance saw a justification of his own materialpoint of view and was not afraid to say so. But as against these therewere the preachers--poor wind-blown sticks of unreason who saw onlywhat the current palaver seemed to indicate. Again there were theanarchists, socialists, single-taxers, and public-ownership advocates. There were the very poor who saw in Cowperwood's wealth and in thefabulous stories of his New York home and of his art-collection aheartless exploitation of their needs. At this time the feeling wasspreading broadcast in America that great political and economicchanges were at hand--that the tyranny of iron masters at the top wasto give way to a richer, freer, happier life for the rank and file. Anational eight-hour-day law was being advocated, and the publicownership of public franchises. And here now was a greatstreet-railway corporation, serving a population of a million and ahalf, occupying streets which the people themselves created by theirpresence, taking toll from all these humble citizens to the amount ofsixteen or eighteen millions of dollars in the year and giving inreturn, so the papers said, poor service, shabby cars, no seats atrush-hours, no universal transfers (as a matter of fact, there were inoperation three hundred and sixty-two separate transfer points) and noadequate tax on the immense sums earned. The workingman who read thisby gas or lamp light in the kitchen or parlor of his shabby flat orcottage, and who read also in other sections of his paper of the free, reckless, glorious lives of the rich, felt himself to be defrauded of aportion of his rightful inheritance. It was all a question ofcompelling Frank A. Cowperwood to do his duty by Chicago. He must notagain be allowed to bribe the aldermen; he must not be allowed to havea fifty-year franchise, the privilege of granting which he had alreadybought from the state legislature by the degradation of honest men. Hemust be made to succumb, to yield to the forces of law and order. Itwas claimed--and with a justice of which those who made the charge wereby no means fully aware--that the Mears bill had been put through thehouse and senate by the use of cold cash, proffered even to thegovernor himself. No legal proof of this was obtainable, butCowperwood was assumed to be a briber on a giant scale. By thenewspaper cartoons he was represented as a pirate commander orderinghis men to scuttle another vessel--the ship of Public Rights. He waspictured as a thief, a black mask over his eyes, and as a seducer, throttling Chicago, the fair maiden, while he stole her purse. Thefame of this battle was by now becoming world-wide. In Montreal, inCape Town, in Buenos Ayres and Melbourne, in London and Paris, men werereading of this singular struggle. At last, and truly, he was anational and international figure. His original dream, however, modified by circumstances, had literally been fulfilled. 

Meanwhile be it admitted that the local elements in finance which hadbrought about this terrific onslaught on Cowperwood were not a littledisturbed as to the eventual character of the child of their owncreation. Here at last was a public opinion definitely inimical toCowperwood; but here also were they themselves, tremendousprofit-holders, with a desire for just such favors as Cowperwoodhimself had exacted, deliberately setting out to kill the goose thatcould lay the golden egg. Men such as Haeckelheimer, Gotloeb, Fishel, tremendous capitalists in the East and foremost in the directorates ofhuge transcontinental lines, international banking-houses, and thelike, were amazed that the newspapers and the anti-Cowperwood elementshould have gone so far in Chicago. Had they no respect for capital?Did they not know that long-time franchises were practically the basisof all modern capitalistic prosperity? Such theories as were now beingadvocated here would spread to other cities unless checked. Americamight readily become anti-capitalistic--socialistic. Public ownershipmight appear as a workable theory--and then what?

"Those men out there are very foolish, " observed Mr. Haeckelheimer atone time to Mr. Fishel, of Fishel, Stone & Symons. "I can't see thatMr. Cowperwood is different from any other organizer of his day. Heseems to me perfectly sound and able. All his companies pay. Thereare no better investments than the North and West Chicago railways. Itwould be advisable, in my judgment, that all the lines out there shouldbe consolidated and be put in his charge. He would make money for thestockholders. He seems to know how to run street-railways. "

"You know, " replied Mr. Fishel, as smug and white as Mr. Haeckelheimer, and in thorough sympathy with his point of view, "I have been thinkingof something like that myself. All this quarreling should be hushedup. It's very bad for business--very. Once they get thatpublic-ownership nonsense started, it will be hard to stop. There hasbeen too much of it already. "

Mr. Fishel was stout and round like Mr. Haeckelheimer, but muchsmaller. He was little more than a walking mathematical formula. Inhis cranium were financial theorems and syllogisms of the second, third, and fourth power only. 

And now behold a new trend of affairs. Mr. Timothy Arneel, attacked bypneumonia, dies and leaves his holdings in Chicago City to his eldestson, Edward Arneel. Mr. Fishel and Mr. Haeckelheimer, through agentsand then direct, approach Mr. Merrill in behalf of Cowperwood. Thereis much talk of profits--how much more profitable has been theCowperwood regime over street-railway lines than that of Mr. Schryhart. Mr. Fishel is interested in allaying socialistic excitement. So, bythis time, is Mr. Merrill. Directly hereafter Mr. Haeckelheimerapproaches Mr. Edward Arneel, who is not nearly so forceful as hisfather, though he would like to be so. He, strange to relate, has comerather to admire Cowperwood and sees no advantage in a policy that canonly tend to municipalize local lines. Mr. Merrill, for Mr. Fishel, approaches Mr. Hand. "Never! never! never!" says Hand. Mr. Haeckelheimer approaches Mr. Hand. "Never! never! never! To the devilwith Mr. Cowperwood!" But as a final emissary for Mr. Haeckelheimer andMr. Fishel there now appears Mr. Morgan Frankhauser, the partner of Mr. Hand in a seven-million-dollar traction scheme in Minneapolis and St. Paul. Why will Mr. Hand be so persistent? Why pursue a scheme ofrevenge which only stirs up the masses and makes municipal ownership avalid political idea, thus disturbing capital elsewhere? Why not tradehis Chicago holdings to him, Frankhauser, for Pittsburg tractionstock--share and share alike--and then fight Cowperwood all he pleaseson the outside?

Mr. Hand, puzzled, astounded, scratching his round head, slaps a heavyhand on his desk. "Never!" he exclaims. "Never, by God--as long as Iam alive and in Chicago!" And then he yields. Life does shifty things, he is forced to reflect in a most puzzled way. Never would he havebelieved it! "Schryhart, " he declared to Frankhauser, "will never comein. He will die first. Poor old Timothy--if he were alive--hewouldn't either. "

"Leave Mr. Schryhart out of it, for Heaven's sake, " pleaded Mr. Frankhauser, a genial American German. "Haven't I troubles enough?"

Mr. Schryhart is enraged. Never! never! never! He will sell outfirst--but he is in a minority, and Mr. Frankhauser, for Mr. Fishel orMr. Haeckelheimer, will gladly take his holdings. 

Now behold in the autumn of 1897 all rival Chicago street-railway linesbrought to Mr. Cowperwood on a platter, as it were--a golden platter. 

"Ve haff it fixed, " confidentially declared Mr. Gotloeb to Mr. Cowperwood, over an excellent dinner in the sacred precincts of theMetropolitan Club in New York. Time, 8. 30 P. M. Wine--sparklingburgundy. "A telegram come shusst to-day from Frankhauser. A nice mandot. You shouldt meet him sometime. Hant--he sells out his stock toFrankhauser. Merrill unt Edward Arneel vork vit us. Ve hantleefferyt'ing for dem. Mr. Fishel vill haff his friends pick up all delocal shares he can, unt mit dees tree ve control de board. Schryhartiss out. He sess he vill resign. Very goot. I don't subbose dot villmake you veep any. It all hintges now on vether you can get dotfifty-year-franchise ordinance troo de city council or not. Haeckelheimer sess he prefers you to all utters to run t'ings. He villleef everytink positifely in your hands. Frankhauser sess de same. Vot Haeckelheimer sess he doess. Now dere you are. It's up to you. Ivish you much choy. It is no small chop you haff, beating denewspapers, unt you still haff Hant unt Schryhart against you. Mr. Haeckelheimer askt me to pay his complimends to you unt to say vill youdine vit him next veek, or may he dine vit you--vicheffer iss mostconveniend. So. "

In the mayor's chair of Chicago at this time sat a man named Walden H. Lucas. Aged thirty-eight, he was politically ambitious. He had theelements of popularity--the knack or luck of fixing public attention. A fine, upstanding, healthy young buck he was, subtle, vigorous, acool, direct, practical thinker and speaker, an eager enigmatic dreamerof great political honors to come, anxious to play his cards justright, to make friends, to be the pride of the righteous, and yet thenot too uncompromising foe of the wicked. In short, a youthful, hopefulWestern Machiavelli, and one who could, if he chose, serve the cause ofthe anti-Cowperwood struggle exceedingly well indeed. 

Cowperwood, disturbed, visits the mayor in his office. 

"Mr. Lucas, what is it you personally want? What can I do for you? Isit future political preferment you are after?"

"Mr. Cowperwood, there isn't anything you can do for me. You do notunderstand me, and I do not understand you. You cannot understand mebecause I am an honest man. "

"Ye gods!" replied Cowperwood. "This is certainly a case ofself-esteem and great knowledge. Good afternoon. "

Shortly thereafter the mayor was approached by one Mr. Carker, who wasthe shrewd, cold, and yet magnetic leader of Democracy in the state ofNew York. Said Carker:

"You see, Mr. Lucas, the great money houses of the East are interestedin this local contest here in Chicago. For example, Haeckelheimer, Gotloeb & Co. Would like to see a consolidation of all the lines on abasis that will make them an attractive investment for buyers generallyand will at the same time be fair and right to the city. A twenty-yearcontract is much too short a term in their eyes. Fifty is the leastthey could comfortably contemplate, and they would prefer a hundred. It is little enough for so great an outlay. The policy now beingpursued here can lead only to the public ownership of public utilities, and that is something which the national Democratic party at large cancertainly not afford to advocate at present. It would antagonize themoney element from coast to coast. Any man whose political record wasdefinitely identified with such a movement would have no possiblechance at even a state nomination, let alone a national one. He couldnever be elected. I make myself clear, do I not?"

"You do. "

"A man can just as easily be taken from the mayor's office in Chicagoas from the governor's office at Springfield, " pursued Mr. Carker. "Mr. Haeckelheimer and Mr. Fishel have personally asked me to call onyou. If you want to be mayor of Chicago again for two years orgovernor next year, until the time for picking a candidate for thePresidency arrives, suit yourself. In the mean time you will beunwise, in my judgment, to saddle yourself with this public-ownershipidea. The newspapers in fighting Mr. Cowperwood have raised an issuewhich never should have been raised. "

After Mr. Carker's departure, arrived Mr. Edward Arneel, of localrenown, and then Mr. Jacob Bethal, the Democratic leader in SanFrancisco, both offering suggestions which if followed might result inmutual support. There were in addition delegations of powerfulRepublicans from Minneapolis and from Philadelphia. Even the presidentof the Lake City Bank and the president of the Prairie National--onceanti-Cowperwood--arrived to say what had already been said. So itwent. Mr. Lucas was greatly nonplussed. A political career was surelya difficult thing to effect. Would it pay to harry Mr. Cowperwood ashe had set out to do? Would a steadfast policy advocating the cause ofthe people get him anywhere? Would they be grateful? Would theyremember? Suppose the current policy of the newspapers should bemodified, as Mr. Carker had suggested that it might be. What a messand tangle politics really were!

"Well, Bessie, " he inquired of his handsome, healthy, semi-blonde wife, one evening, "what would you do if you were I?"

She was gray-eyed, gay, practical, vain, substantially connected in sofar as family went, and proud of her husband's position and future. Hehad formed the habit of talking over his various difficulties with her. 

"Well, I'll tell you, Wally, " she replied. "You've got to stick tosomething. It looks to me as though the winning side was with thepeople this time. I don't see how the newspapers can change now afterall they've done. You don't have to advocate public ownership oranything unfair to the money element, but just the same I'd stick to mypoint that the fifty-year franchise is too much. You ought to makethem pay the city something and get their franchise without bribery. They can't do less than that. I'd stick to the course you've begun on. You can't get along without the people, Wally. You just must havethem. If you lose their good will the politicians can't help you much, nor anybody else. "

Plainly there were times when the people had to be considered. Theyjust had to be!

Chapter LX

The Net

The storm which burst in connection with Cowperwood's machinations atSpringfield early in 1897, and continued without abating until thefollowing fall, attracted such general attention that it was largelyreported in the Eastern papers. F. A. Cowperwood versus the state ofIllinois--thus one New York daily phrased the situation. Themagnetizing power of fame is great. Who can resist utterly the lusterthat surrounds the individualities of some men, causing them to glowwith a separate and special effulgence? Even in the case of Berenicethis was not without its value. In a Chicago paper which she foundlying one day on a desk which Cowperwood had occupied was an extendededitorial which interested her greatly. After reciting his variousmisdeeds, particularly in connection with the present statelegislature, it went on to say: "He has an innate, chronic, unconquerable contempt for the rank and file. Men are but slaves andthralls to draw for him the chariot of his greatness. Never in all hishistory has he seen fit to go to the people direct for anything. InPhiladelphia, when he wanted public-franchise control, he soughtprivily and by chicane to arrange his affairs with a venal citytreasurer. In Chicago he has uniformly sought to buy and convert tohis own use the splendid privileges of the city, which should reallyredound to the benefit of all. Frank Algernon Cowperwood does notbelieve in the people; he does not trust them. To him they constituteno more than a field upon which corn is to be sown, and from which itis to be reaped. They present but a mass of bent backs, their kneesand faces in the mire, over which as over a floor he strides tosuperiority. His private and inmost faith is in himself alone. Uponthe majority he shuts the gates of his glory in order that the sight oftheir misery and their needs may not disturb nor alloy his selfishbliss. Frank Algernon Cowperwood does not believe in the people. "

This editorial battle-cry, flung aloft during the latter days of thecontest at Springfield and taken up by the Chicago papers generally andby those elsewhere, interested Berenice greatly. As she thought ofhim--waging his terrific contests, hurrying to and fro between New Yorkand Chicago, building his splendid mansion, collecting his pictures, quarreling with Aileen--he came by degrees to take on the outlines of asuperman, a half-god or demi-gorgon. How could the ordinary rules oflife or the accustomed paths of men be expected to control him? Theycould not and did not. And here he was pursuing her, seeking her outwith his eyes, grateful for a smile, waiting as much as he dared on herevery wish and whim. 

Say what one will, the wish buried deep in every woman's heart is thather lover should be a hero. Some, out of the veriest stick or stone, fashion the idol before which they kneel, others demand the hardreality of greatness; but in either case the illusion ofparagon-worship is maintained. 

Berenice, by no means ready to look upon Cowperwood as an acceptedlover, was nevertheless gratified that his erring devotion was thetribute of one able apparently to command thought from the whole world. Moreover, because the New York papers had taken fire from his greatstruggle in the Middle West and were charging him with bribery, perjury, and intent to thwart the will of the people, Cowperwood nowcame forward with an attempt to explain his exact position to Bereniceand to justify himself in her eyes. During visits to the Carter houseor in entr'actes at the opera or the theater, he recounted to her bitby bit his entire history. He described the characters of Hand, Schryhart, Arneel, and the motives of jealousy and revenge which hadled to their attack upon him in Chicago. "No human being could getanything through the Chicago City Council without paying for it, " hedeclared. "It's simply a question of who's putting up the money. " Hetold how Truman Leslie MacDonald had once tried to "shake him down" forfifty thousand dollars, and how the newspapers had since found itpossible to make money, to increase their circulation, by attackinghim. He frankly admitted the fact of his social ostracism, attributingit partially to Aileen's deficiencies and partially to his own attitudeof Promethean defiance, which had never yet brooked defeat. 

"And I will defeat them now, " he said, solemnly, to Berenice one dayover a luncheon-table at the Plaza when the room was nearly empty. Hisgray eyes were a study in colossal enigmatic spirit. "The governorhasn't signed my fifty-year franchise bill" (this was before theclosing events at Springfield), "but he will sign it. Then I have onemore fight ahead of me. I'm going to combine all the traffic lines outthere under one general system. I am the logical person to provide it. Later on, if public ownership ever arrives, the city can buy it. "

"And then--" asked Berenice sweetly, flattered by his confidences. 

"Oh, I don't know. I suppose I'll live abroad. You don't seem to bevery much interested in me. I'll finish my picture collection--"

"But supposing you should lose?"

"I don't contemplate losing, " he remarked, coolly. "Whatever happens, I'll have enough to live on. I'm a little tired of contest. "

He smiled, but Berenice saw that the thought of defeat was a gray one. With victory was his heart, and only there. Owing to the nationalpublicity being given to Cowperwood's affairs at this time the effectupon Berenice of these conversations with him was considerable. At thesame time another and somewhat sinister influence was working in hisfavor. By slow degrees she and her mother were coming to learn thatthe ultra-conservatives of society were no longer willing to acceptthem. Berenice had become at last too individual a figure to beoverlooked. At an important luncheon given by the Harris Haggertys, some five months after the Beales Chadsey affair, she had been pointedout to Mrs. Haggerty by a visiting guest from Cincinnati as some onewith whom rumor was concerning itself. Mrs. Haggerty wrote to friendsin Louisville for information, and received it. Shortly after, at thecoming-out party of a certain Geraldine Borga, Berenice, who had beenher sister's schoolmate, was curiously omitted. She took sharp note ofthat. Subsequently the Haggertys failed to include her, as they hadalways done before, in their generous summer invitations. This was truealso of the Lanman Zeiglers and the Lucas Demmigs. No direct affrontwas offered; she was simply no longer invited. Also one morning sheread in the Tribune that Mrs. Corscaden Batjer had sailed for Italy. No word of this had been sent to Berenice. Yet Mrs. Batjer wassupposedly one of her best friends. A hint to some is of more availthan an open statement to others. Berenice knew quite well in whichdirection the tide was setting. 

True, there were a number--the ultra-smart of the smart world--whoprotested. Mrs. Patrick Gilbennin, for instance: "No! You don't tellme? What a shame! Well, I like Bevy and shall always like her. She'sclever, and she can come here just as long as she chooses. It isn'ther fault. She's a lady at heart and always will be. Life is socruel. " Mrs. Augustus Tabreez: "Is that really true? I can't believeit. Just the same, she's too charming to be dropped. I for onepropose to ignore these rumors just as long as I dare. She can comehere if she can't go anywhere else. " Mrs. Pennington Drury: "That ofBevy Fleming! Who says so? I don't believe it. I like her anyhow. Theidea of the Haggertys cutting her--dull fools! Well, she can be myguest, the dear thing, as long as she pleases. As though her mother'scareer really affected her!"

Nevertheless, in the world of the dull rich--those who hold their ownby might of possession, conformity, owl-eyed sobriety, andignorance--Bevy Fleming had become persona non grata. How did she takeall this? With that air of superior consciousness which knows that noshift of outer material ill-fortune can detract one jot from an inwardmental superiority. The truly individual know themselves from thebeginning and rarely, if ever, doubt. Life may play fast and looseabout them, running like a racing, destructive tide in and out, butthey themselves are like a rock, still, serene, unmoved. Bevy Flemingfelt herself to be so immensely superior to anything of which she was apart that she could afford to hold her head high even now Just thesame, in order to remedy the situation she now looked about her with aneye single to a possible satisfactory marriage. Braxmar had gone forgood. He was somewhere in the East--in China, she heard--hisinfatuation for her apparently dead. Kilmer Duelma was gonealso--snapped up--an acquisition on the part of one of those familieswho did not now receive her. However, in the drawing-rooms where shestill appeared--and what were they but marriage markets?--one or twoaffairs did spring up--tentative approachments on the part of scions ofwealth. They were destined to prove abortive. One of these youths, Pedro Ricer Marcado, a Brazilian, educated at Oxford, promised much forsincerity and feeling until he learned that Berenice was poor in herown right--and what else? Some one had whispered something in his ear. Again there was a certain William Drake Bowdoin, the son of a famousold family, who lived on the north side of Washington Square. After aball, a morning musicale, and one other affair at which they metBowdoin took Berenice to see his mother and sister, who were charmed. "Oh, you serene divinity!" he said to her, ecstatically, one day. "Won't you marry me?" Bevy looked at him and wondered. "Let us waitjust a little longer, my dear, " she counseled. "I want you to be surethat you really love me. Shortly thereafter, meeting an old classmateat a club, Bowdoin was greeted as follows:

"Look here, Bowdoin. You're a friend of mine. I see you with thatMiss Fleming. Now, I don't know how far things have gone, and I don'twant to intrude, but are you sure you are aware of all the aspects ofthe case?"

"What do you mean?" demanded Bowdoin. "I want you to speak out. "

"Oh, pardon, old man. No offense, really. You know me. I couldn't. College--and all that. Just this, though, before you go any further. Inquire about. You may hear things. If they're true you ought toknow. If not, the talking ought to stop. If I'm wrong call on me foramends. I hear talk, I tell you. Best intentions in the world, oldman. I do assure you. "

More inquiries. The tongues of jealousy and envy. Mr. Bowdoin wassure to inherit three million dollars. Then a very necessary trip tosomewhere, and Berenice stared at herself in the glass. What was it?What were people saying, if anything? This was strange. Well, she wasyoung and beautiful. There were others. Still, she might have come tolove Bowdoin. He was so airy, artistic in an unconscious way. Really, she had thought better of him. 

The effect of all this was not wholly depressing. Enigmatic, disdainful, with a touch of melancholy and a world of gaiety andcourage, Berenice heard at times behind joy the hollow echo ofunreality. Here was a ticklish business, this living. For want oflight and air the finest flowers might die. Her mother's error was notso inexplicable now. By it had she not, after all, preserved herselfand her family to a certain phase of social superiority? Beauty was ofsuch substance as dreams are made of, and as fleeting. Not one's selfalone--one's inmost worth, the splendor of one's dreams--but otherthings--name, wealth, the presence or absence of rumor, and ofaccident--were important. Berenice's lip curled. But life could belived. One could lie to the world. Youth is optimistic, and Berenice, in spite of her splendid mind, was so young. She saw life as a game, agood chance, that could be played in many ways. Cowperwood's theory ofthings began to appeal to her. One must create one's own career, carveit out, or remain horribly dull or bored, dragged along at the chariotwheels of others. If society was so finicky, if men were sodull--well, there was one thing she could do. She must have life, life--and money would help some to that end. 

Besides, Cowperwood by degrees was becoming attractive to her; hereally was. He was so much better than most of the others, so verypowerful. She was preternaturally gay, as one who says, "Victory shallbe mine anyhow. "

Chapter LXI

The Cataclysm

And now at last Chicago is really facing the thing which it has mostfeared. A giant monopoly is really reaching out to enfold it with anoctopus-like grip. And Cowperwood is its eyes, its tentacles, itsforce! Embedded in the giant strength and good will of Haeckelheimer, Gotloeb & Co. , he is like a monument based on a rock of great strength. A fifty-year franchise, to be delivered to him by a majority offorty-eight out of a total of sixty-eight aldermen (in case theordinance has to be passed over the mayor's veto), is all that nowstands between him and the realization of his dreams. What a triumphfor his iron policy of courage in the face of all obstacles! What atribute to his ability not to flinch in the face of storm and stress!Other men might have abandoned the game long before, but not he. Whata splendid windfall of chance that the money element should of its ownaccord take fright at the Chicago idea of the municipalization ofpublic privilege and should hand him this giant South Side system as areward for his stern opposition to fol-de-rol theories. 

Through the influence of these powerful advocates he was invited tospeak before various local commercial bodies--the Board of Real EstateDealers, the Property Owners' Association, the Merchants' League, theBankers' Union, and so forth, where he had an opportunity to presenthis case and justify his cause. But the effect of his suavespeechifyings in these quarters was largely neutralized by newspaperdenunciation. "Can any good come out of Nazareth?" was the regularinquiry. That section of the press formerly beholden to Hand andSchryhart stood out as bitterly as ever; and most of the othernewspapers, being under no obligation to Eastern capital, felt it thepart of wisdom to support the rank and file. The most searching andelaborate mathematical examinations were conducted with a view toshowing the fabulous profits of the streetcar trust in future years. The fine hand of Eastern banking-houses was detected and their sinistermotives noised abroad. "Millions for everybody in the trust, but notone cent for Chicago, " was the Inquirer's way of putting it. Certainaltruists of the community were by now so aroused that in thedestruction of Cowperwood they saw their duty to God, to humanity, andto democracy straight and clear. The heavens had once more opened, andthey saw a great light. On the other hand the politicians--those inoffice outside the mayor--constituted a petty band of guerrillas orfree-booters who, like hungry swine shut in a pen, were ready to fallupon any and all propositions brought to their attention with but oneend in view: that they might eat, and eat heartily. In times of greatopportunity and contest for privilege life always sinks to its lowestdepths of materialism and rises at the same time to its highest reachesof the ideal. When the waves of the sea are most towering its hollowsare most awesome. 

Finally the summer passed, the council assembled, and with the firstbreath of autumn chill the very air of the city was touched by apremonition of contest. Cowperwood, disappointed by the outcome of hisvarious ingratiatory efforts, decided to fall back on his old reliablemethod of bribery. He fixed on his price--twenty thousand dollars foreach favorable vote, to begin with. Later, if necessary, he would raiseit to twenty-five thousand, or even thirty thousand, making the totalcost in the neighborhood of a million and a half. Yet it was a smallprice indeed when the ultimate return was considered. He planned tohave his ordinance introduced by an alderman named Ballenberg, atrusted lieutenant, and handed thereafter to the clerk, who would readit, whereupon another henchman would rise to move that it be referredto the joint committee on streets and alleys, consisting of thirty-fourmembers drawn from all the standing committees. By this committee itwould be considered for one week in the general council-chamber, wherepublic hearings would be held. By keeping up a bold front Cowperwoodthought the necessary iron could be put into his followers to enablethem to go through with the scorching ordeal which was sure to follow. Already aldermen were being besieged at their homes and in theprecincts of the ward clubs and meeting-places. Their mail was beingpacked with importuning or threatening letters. Their very childrenwere being derided, their neighbors urged to chastise them. Ministerswrote them in appealing or denunciatory vein. They were spied upon andabused daily in the public prints. The mayor, shrewd son of battle thathe was, realizing that he had a whip of terror in his hands, excited bythe long contest waged, and by the smell of battle, was not backward inurging the most drastic remedies. 

"Wait till the thing comes up, " he said to his friends, in a greatcentral music-hall conference in which thousands participated, and whenthe matter of ways and means to defeat the venal aldermen was beingdiscussed. "We have Mr. Cowperwood in a corner, I think. He cannot doanything for two weeks, once his ordinance is in, and by that time weshall be able to organize a vigilance committee, ward meetings, marching clubs, and the like. We ought to organize a great centralmass-meeting for the Sunday night before the Monday when the bill comesup for final hearing. We want overflow meetings in every ward at thesame time. I tell you, gentlemen, that, while I believe there areenough honest voters in the city council to prevent the Cowperwoodcrowd from passing this bill over my veto, yet I don't think the matterought to be allowed to go that far. You never can tell what theserascals will do once they see an actual cash bid of twenty or thirtythousand dollars before them. Most of them, even if they were lucky, would never make the half of that in a lifetime. They don't expect tobe returned to the Chicago City Council. Once is enough. There aretoo many others behind them waiting to get their noses in the trough. Go into your respective wards and districts and organize meetings. Call your particular alderman before you. Don't let him evade you orquibble or stand on his rights as a private citizen or a publicofficer. Threaten--don't cajole. Soft or kind words won't go withthat type of man. Threaten, and when you have managed to extract apromise be on hand with ropes to see that he keeps his word. I don'tlike to advise arbitrary methods, but what else is to be done? Theenemy is armed and ready for action right now. They're just waiting fora peaceful moment. Don't let them find it. Be ready. Fight. I'myour mayor, and ready to do all I can, but I stand alone with a merepitiful veto right. You help me and I'll help you. You fight for meand I'll fight for you. "

Witness hereafter the discomfiting situation of Mr. Simon Pinski at 9P. M. On the second evening following the introduction of the ordinance, in the ward house of the Fourteenth Ward Democratic Club. Rotund, flaccid, red-faced, his costume a long black frock-coat and silk hat, Mr. Pinski was being heckled by his neighbors and business associates. He had been called here by threats to answer for his prospective highcrimes and misdemeanors. By now it was pretty well understood thatnearly all the present aldermen were criminal and venal, and inconsequence party enmities were practically wiped out. There were nolonger for the time being Democrats and Republicans, but only pro oranti Cowperwoods--principally anti. Mr. Pinski, unfortunately, hadbeen singled out by the Transcript, the Inquirer, and the Chronicle asone of those open to advance questioning by his constituents. Of mixedJewish and American extraction, he had been born and raised in theFourteenth and spoke with a decidedly American accent. He was neithersmall nor large--sandy-haired, shifty-eyed, cunning, and on mostoccasions amiable. Just now he was decidedly nervous, wrathy, andperplexed, for he had been brought here against his will. His slightlyoleaginous eye--not unlike that of a small pig--had been fixeddefinitely and finally on the munificent sum of thirty thousanddollars, no less, and this local agitation threatened to deprive him ofhis almost unalienable right to the same. His ordeal took place in alarge, low-ceiled room illuminated by five very plain, thin, two-armedgas-jets suspended from the ceiling and adorned by posters ofprizefights, raffles, games, and the "Simon Pinski PleasureAssociation" plastered here and there freely against dirty, long-unwhitewashed walls. He stood on the low raised platform at theback of the room, surrounded by a score or more of his ward henchmen, all more or less reliable, all black-frocked, or at least in theirSunday clothes; all scowling, nervous, defensive, red-faced, andfearing trouble. Mr. Pinski has come armed. This talk of the mayor'sconcerning guns, ropes, drums, marching clubs, and the like has beengiven very wide publicity, and the public seems rather eager for aChicago holiday in which the slaughter of an alderman or so mightfurnish the leading and most acceptable feature. 

"Hey, Pinski!" yells some one out of a small sea of new and decidedlyunfriendly faces. (This is no meeting of Pinski followers, but aconglomerate outpouring of all those elements of a distrait populacebent on enforcing for once the principles of aldermanic decency. Thereare even women here--local church-members, and one or two advancedcivic reformers and W. C. T. U. Bar-room smashers. Mr. Pinski has beensummoned to their presence by the threat that if he didn't come thenoble company would seek him out later at his own house. )

"Hey, Pinski! You old boodler! How much do you expect to get out ofthis traction business?" (This from a voice somewhere in the rear. )

Mr. Pinski (turning to one side as if pinched in the neck). "The manthat says I am a boodler is a liar! I never took a dishonest dollar inmy life, and everybody in the Fourteenth Ward knows it. "

The Five Hundred People Assembled. "Ha! ha! ha! Pinski never took adollar! Ho! ho! ho! Whoop-ee!"

Mr. Pinski (very red-faced, rising). "It is so. Why should I talk toa lot of loafers that come here because the papers tell them to call menames? I have been an alderman for six years now. Everybody knows me. "

A Voice. "You call us loafers. You crook!"

Another Voice (referring to his statement of being known). "You betthey do!"

Another Voice (this from a small, bony plumber in workclothes). "Hey, you old grafter! Which way do you expect to vote? For or against thisfranchise? Which way?"

Still Another Voice (an insurance clerk). "Yes, which way?"

Mr. Pinski (rising once more, for in his nervousness he is constantlyrising or starting to rise, and then sitting down again). "I have aright to my own mind, ain't I? I got a right to think. What for am Ian alderman, then? The constitution. . . "

An Anti-Pinski Republican (a young law clerk). "To hell with theconstitution! No fine words now, Pinski. Which way do you expect tovote? For or against? Yes or no?"

A Voice (that of a bricklayer, anti-Pinski). "He daresn't say. He'sgot some of that bastard's money in his jeans now, I'll bet. "

A Voice from Behind (one of Pinski's henchmen--a heavy, pugilisticIrishman). "Don't let them frighten you, Sim. Stand your ground. Theycan't hurt you. We're here. "

Pinski (getting up once more). "This is an outrage, I say. Ain't Igon' to be allowed to say what I think? There are two sides to everyquestion. Now, I think whatever the newspapers say that Cowperwood--"

A Journeyman Carpenter (a reader of the Inquirer). "You're bribed, youthief! You're beating about the bush. You want to sell out. "

The Bony Plumber. "Yes, you crook! You want to get away with thirtythousand dollars, that's what you want, you boodler!"

Mr. Pinski (defiantly, egged on by voices from behind). "I want to befair--that's what. I want to keep my own mind. The constitution giveseverybody the right of free speech--even me. I insist that thestreet-car companies have some rights; at the same time the people haverights too. "

A Voice. "What are those rights?"

Another Voice. "He don't know. He wouldn't know the people's rightsfrom a sawmill. "

Another Voice. "Or a load of hay. "

Pinski (continuing very defiantly now, since he has not yet beenslain). "I say the people have their rights. The companies ought tobe made to pay a fair tax. But this twenty-year-franchise idea is toolittle, I think. The Mears bill now gives them fifty years, and Ithink all told--"

The Five Hundred (in chorus). "Ho, you robber! You thief! You boodler!Hang him! Ho! ho! ho! Get a rope!"

Pinski (retreating within a defensive circle as various citizensapproach him, their eyes blazing, their teeth showing, their fistsclenched). "My friends, wait! Ain't I goin' to be allowed to finish?"

A Voice. "We'll finish you, you stiff!"

A Citizen (advancing; a bearded Pole). "How will you vote, hey? Tellus that! How? Hey?"

A Second Citizen (a Jew). "You're a no-good, you robber. I know youfor ten years now already. You cheated me when you were in the grocerybusiness. "

A Third Citizen (a Swede. In a sing-song voice). "Answer me this, Mr. Pinski. If a majority of the citizens of the Fourteenth Ward don'twant you to vote for it, will you still vote for it?"

Pinski (hesitating). 

The Five Hundred. "Ho! look at the scoundrel! He's afraid to say. Hedon't know whether he'll do what the people of this ward want him todo. Kill him! Brain him!"

A Voice from Behind. "Aw, stand up, Pinski. Don't be afraid. " Pinski(terrorized as the five hundred make a rush for the stage). "If thepeople don't want me to do it, of course I won't do it. Why should I?Ain't I their representative?"

A Voice. "Yes, when you think you're going to get the wadding kickedout of you. "

Another Voice. "You wouldn't be honest with your mother, you bastard. You couldn't be!"

Pinski. "If one-half the voters should ask me not to do it I wouldn'tdo it. "

A Voice. "Well, we'll get the voters to ask you, all right. We'll getnine-tenths of them to sign before to-morrow night. "

An Irish-American (aged twenty-six; a gas collector; coming close toPinski). "If you don't vote right we'll hang you, and I'll be there tohelp pull the rope myself. "

One of Pinski's Lieutenants. "Say, who is that freshie? We want to layfor him. One good kick in the right place will just about finish him. "

The Gas Collector. "Not from you, you carrot-faced terrier. Comeoutside and see. " (Business of friends interfering). 

The meeting becomes disorderly. Pinski is escorted out byfriends--completely surrounded--amid shrieks and hisses, cat-calls, cries of "Boodler!" "Thief!" "Robber!"

There were many such little dramatic incidents after the ordinance hadbeen introduced. 

Henceforth on the streets, in the wards and outlying sections, andeven, on occasion, in the business heart, behold the marchingclubs--those sinister, ephemeral organizations which on demand of themayor had cropped out into existence--great companies of theunheralded, the dull, the undistinguished--clerks, working-men, smallbusiness men, and minor scions of religion or morality; all tramping toand fro of an evening, after working-hours, assembling in cheap hallsand party club-houses, and drilling themselves to what end? That theymight march to the city hall on the fateful Monday night when thestreet-railway ordinances should be up for passage and demand ofunregenerate lawmakers that they do their duty. Cowperwood, comingdown to his office one morning on his own elevated lines, was theobserver of a button or badge worn upon the coat lapel of stolid, inconsequential citizens who sat reading their papers, unconscious ofthat presence which epitomized the terror and the power they allfeared. One of these badges had for its device a gallows with a freenoose suspended; another was blazoned with the query: "Are we going tobe robbed?" On sign-boards, fences, and dead walls huge posters, fourby six feet in dimension, were displayed. 

 WALDEN H. LUCAS

 against the

 BOODLERS =========================== Every citizen of Chicago should come down to the City Hall

 TO-NIGHT MONDAY, DEC. 12 =========================== and every Monday night thereafter while the Street-car Franchises are under consideration, and see that the interests of the city are protected against

 BOODLEISM ========= Citizens, Arouse and Defeat the Boodlers!

In the papers were flaring head-lines; in the clubs, halls, andchurches fiery speeches could nightly be heard. Men were drunk nowwith a kind of fury of contest. They would not succumb to this Titanwho was bent on undoing them. They would not be devoured by thisgorgon of the East. He should be made to pay an honest return to thecity or get out. No fifty-year franchise should be granted him. TheMears law must be repealed, and he must come into the city councilhumble and with clean hands. No alderman who received as much as adollar for his vote should in this instance be safe with his life. 

Needless to say that in the face of such a campaign of intimidationonly great courage could win. The aldermen were only human. In thecouncil committee-chamber Cowperwood went freely among them, explainingas he best could the justice of his course and making it plain that, although willing to buy his rights, he looked on them as no more thanhis due. The rule of the council was barter, and he accepted it. Hisunshaken and unconquerable defiance heartened his followers greatly, and the thought of thirty thousand dollars was as a buttress againstmany terrors. At the same time many an alderman speculated solemnly asto what he would do afterward and where he would go once he had soldout. 

At last the Monday night arrived which was to bring the final test ofstrength. Picture the large, ponderous structure of blackgranite--erected at the expense of millions and suggesting somewhat thesomnolent architecture of ancient Egypt--which served as the city halland county court-house combined. On this evening the four streetssurrounding it were packed with thousands of people. To this throngCowperwood has become an astounding figure: his wealth fabulous, hisheart iron, his intentions sinister--the acme of cruel, plottingdeviltry. Only this day, the Chronicle, calculating well the hour andthe occasion, has completely covered one of its pages with an intimate, though exaggerated, description of Cowperwood's house in New York: hiscourt of orchids, his sunrise room, the baths of pink and bluealabaster, the finishings of marble and intaglio. Here Cowperwood wasrepresented as seated in a swinging divan, his various books, arttreasures, and comforts piled about him. The idea was vaguelysuggested that in his sybaritic hours odalesques danced before him andunnamable indulgences and excesses were perpetrated. 

At this same hour in the council-chamber itself were assembling ashungry and bold a company of gray wolves as was ever gathered under oneroof. The room was large, ornamented to the south by tall windows, itsceiling supporting a heavy, intricate chandelier, its sixty-sixaldermanic desks arranged in half-circles, one behind the other; itswoodwork of black oak carved and highly polished; its walls a darkblue-gray decorated with arabesques in gold--thus giving to allproceedings an air of dignity and stateliness. Above the speaker'shead was an immense portrait in oil of a former mayor--poorly done, dusty, and yet impressive. The size and character of the place gave onordinary occasions a sort of resonance to the voices of the speakers. To-night through the closed windows could be heard the sound of distantdrums and marching feet. In the hall outside the council door werepacked at least a thousand men with ropes, sticks, a fife-and-drumcorps which occasionally struck up "Hail! Columbia, Happy Land, " "MyCountry, 'Tis of Thee, " and "Dixie. " Alderman Schlumbohm, heckled towithin an inch of his life, followed to the council door by threehundred of his fellow-citizens, was there left with the admonition thatthey would be waiting for him when he should make his exit. He was atlast seriously impressed. 

"What is this?" he asked of his neighbor and nearest associate, Alderman Gavegan, when he gained the safety of his seat. "A freecountry?"

"Search me!" replied his compatriot, wearily. "I never seen such aband as I have to deal with out in the Twentieth. Why, my God! a mancan't call his name his own any more out here. It's got so now thenewspapers tell everybody what to do. "

Alderman Pinski and Alderman Hoherkorn, conferring together in onecorner, were both very dour. "I'll tell you what, Joe, " said Pinski tohis confrere; "it's this fellow Lucas that has got the people sostirred up. I didn't go home last night because I didn't want thosefellows to follow me down there. Me and my wife stayed down-town. Butone of the boys was over here at Jake's a little while ago, and he saysthere must 'a' been five hundred people around my house at six o'clock, already. Whad ye think o' that?"

"Same here. I don't take much stock in this lynching idea. Still, youcan't tell. I don't know whether the police could help us much or not. It's a damned outrage. Cowperwood has a fair proposition. What's thematter with them, anyhow?"

Renewed sounds of "Marching Through Georgia" from without. 

Enter at this time Aldermen Ziner, Knudson, Revere, Rogers, Tiernan, and Kerrigan. Of all the aldermen perhaps Messrs. Tiernan and Kerriganwere as cool as any. Still the spectacle of streets blocked withpeople who carried torches and wore badges showing slip-nooses attachedto a gallows was rather serious. 

"I'll tell you, Pat, " said "Smiling Mike, " as they eventually made thedoor through throngs of jeering citizens; "it does look a little rough. Whad ye think?"

"To hell with them!" replied Kerrigan, angry, waspish, determined. "They don't run me or my ward. I'll vote as I damn please. "

"Same here, " replied Tiernan, with a great show of courage. "That goesfor me. But it's putty warm, anyhow, eh?"

"Yes, it's warm, all right, " replied Kerrigan, suspicious lest hiscompanion in arms might be weakening, "but that'll never make a quitterout of me. "

"Nor me, either, " replied the Smiling One. 

Enter now the mayor, accompanied by a fife-and-drum corps rendering"Hail to the Chief. " He ascends the rostrum. Outside in the halls thehuzzas of the populace. In the gallery overhead a picked audience. Asthe various aldermen look up they contemplate a sea of unfriendlyfaces. "Get on to the mayor's guests, " commented one alderman toanother, cynically. 

A little sparring for time while minor matters are considered, and thegallery is given opportunity for comment on the various communallights, identifying for itself first one local celebrity and thenanother. "There's Johnnie Dowling, that big blond fellow with theround head; there's Pinski--look at the little rat; there's Kerrigan. Get on to the emerald. Eh, Pat, how's the jewelry? You won't get anychance to do any grafting to-night, Pat. You won't pass no ordinanceto-night. "

Alderman Winkler (pro-Cowperwood). "If the chair pleases, I thinksomething ought to be done to restore order in the gallery and keepthese proceedings from being disturbed. It seems to me an outrage, that, on an occasion of this kind, when the interests of the peoplerequire the most careful attention--"

A Voice. "The interests of the people!"

Another Voice. "Sit down. You're bought!"

Alderman Winkler. "If the chair pleases--"

The Mayor. "I shall have to ask the audience in the gallery to keepquiet in order that the business in hand may be considered. " (Applause, and the gallery lapses into silence. )

Alderman Guigler (to Alderman Sumulsky). "Well trained, eh?"

Alderman Ballenberg (pro-Cowperwood, getting up--large, brown, florid, smooth-faced). "Before calling up an ordinance which bears my name Ishould like to ask permission of the council to make a statement. WhenI introduced this ordinance last week I said--"

A Voice. "We know what you said. "

Alderman Ballenberg. "I said that I did so by request. I want toexplain that it was at the request of a number of gentlemen who havesince appeared before the committee of this council that now has thisordinance--"

A Voice. "That's all right, Ballenberg. We know by whose request youintroduced it. You've said your little say. "

Alderman Ballenberg. "If the chair pleases--"

A Voice. "Sit down, Ballenberg. Give some other boodler a chance. "

The Mayor. "Will the gallery please stop interrupting. "

Alderman Horanek (jumping to his feet). "This is an outrage. Thegallery is packed with people come here to intimidate us. Here is agreat public corporation that has served this city for years, andserved it well, and when it comes to this body with a sensibleproposition we ain't even allowed to consider it. The mayor packs thegallery with his friends, and the papers stir up people to come downhere by thousands and try to frighten us. I for one--"

A Voice. "What's the matter, Billy? Haven't you got your money yet?"

Alderman Hvranek (Polish-American, intelligent, even artistic looking, shaking his fist at the gallery). "You dare not come down here and saythat, you coward!"

A Chorus of Fifty Voices. "Rats!" (also) "Billy, you ought to havewings. "

Alderman Tiernan (rising). "I say now, Mr. Mayor, don't you thinkwe've had enough of this?"

A Voice. "Well, look who's here. If it ain't Smiling Mike. "

Another Voice. "How much do you expect to get, Mike?"

Alderman Tiernan (turning to gallery). "I want to say I can lick anyman that wants to come down here and talk to me to my face. I'm notafraid of no ropes and no guns. These corporations have doneeverything for the city--"

A Voice. "Aw!"

Alderman Tiernan. "If it wasn't for the street-car companies wewouldn't have any city. "

Ten Voices. "Aw!"

Alderman Tiernan (bravely). "My mind ain't the mind of some people. "

A Voice. "I should say not. "

Alderman Tiernan. "I'm talking for compensation for the privileges weexpect to give. "

A Voice. "You're talking for your pocket-book. "

Alderman Tiernan. "I don't give a damn for these cheap skates andcowards in the gallery. I say treat these corporations right. Theyhave helped make the city. "

A Chorus of Fifty Voices. "Aw! You want to treat yourself right, that's what you want. You vote right to-night or you'll be sorry. "

By now the various aldermen outside of the most hardened characterswere more or less terrified by the grilling contest. It could do nogood to battle with this gallery or the crowd outside. Above them satthe mayor, before them reporters, ticking in shorthand every phrase andword. "I don't see what we can do, " said Alderman Pinski to AldermanHvranek, his neighbor. "It looks to me as if we might just as well nottry. "

At this point arose Alderman Gilleran, small, pale, intelligent, anti-Cowperwood. By prearrangement he had been scheduled to bring thesecond, and as it proved, the final test of strength to the issue. "Ifthe chair pleases, " he said, "I move that the vote by which theBallenberg fifty-year ordinance was referred to the joint committee ofstreets and alleys be reconsidered, and that instead it be referred tothe committee on city hall. "

This was a committee that hitherto had always been considered bymembers of council as of the least importance. Its principal dutiesconsisted in devising new names for streets and regulating the hours ofcity-hall servants. There were no perquisites, no graft. In a spiritof ribald defiance at the organization of the present session all themayor's friends--the reformers--those who could not be trusted--hadbeen relegated to this committee. Now it was proposed to take thisordinance out of the hands of friends and send it here, from whenceunquestionably it would never reappear. The great test had come. 

Alderman Hoberkorn (mouthpiece for his gang because the most skilful ina parliamentary sense). "The vote cannot be reconsidered. " He begins along explanation amid hisses. 

A Voice. "How much have you got?"

A Second Voice. "You've been a boodler all your life. "

Alderman Hoberkorn (turning to the gallery, a light of defiance in hiseye). "You come here to intimidate us, but you can't do it. You'retoo contemptible to notice. "

A Voice. "You hear the drums, don't you?"

A Second Voice. "Vote wrong, Hoberkorn, and see. We know you. "

Alderman Tiernan (to himself). "Say, that's pretty rough, ain't it?"

The Mayor. "Motion overruled. The point is not well taken. "

Alderman Guigler (rising a little puzzled). "Do we vote now on theGilleran resolution?"

A Voice. "You bet you do, and you vote right. "

The Mayor. "Yes. The clerk will call the roll. "

The Clerk (reading the names, beginning with the A's). "Altvast?"(pro-Cowperwood). 

Alderman Altvast. "Yea. " Fear had conquered him. 

Alderman Tiernan (to Alderman Kerrigan). "Well, there's one baby down. "

Alderman Kerrigan. "Yep. "

"Ballenberg?" (Pro-Cowperwood; the man who had introduced theordinance. )

"Yea. "

Alderman Tiernan. "Say, has Ballenberg weakened?"

Alderman Kerrigan. "It looks that way. "

"Canna?"

"Yea. "

"Fogarty?"

"Yea. "

Alderman Tiernan (nervously). "There goes Fogarty. "

"Hvranek?"

"Yea. "

Alderman Tiernan. "And Hvranek!"

Alderman Kerrigan (referring to the courage of his colleagues). "It'scoming out of their hair. "

In exactly eighty seconds the roll-call was in and Cowperwood hadlost--41 to 25. It was plain that the ordinance could never be revived. 

Chapter LXII

The Recompense

You have seen, perhaps, a man whose heart was weighted by a great woe. You have seen the eye darken, the soul fag, and the spirit congealunder the breath of an icy disaster. At ten-thirty of this particularevening Cowperwood, sitting alone in the library of his Michigan Avenuehouse, was brought face to face with the fact that he had lost. He hadbuilt so much on the cast of this single die. It was useless to say tohimself that he could go into the council a week later with a modifiedordinance or could wait until the storm had died out. He refusedhimself these consolations. Already he had battled so long and sovigorously, by every resource and subtlety which his mind had been ableto devise. All week long on divers occasions he had stood in thecouncil-chamber where the committee had been conducting its hearings. Small comfort to know that by suits, injunctions, appeals, and writs tointervene he could tie up this transit situation and leave it for yearsand years the prey of lawyers, the despair of the city, a hopelessmuddle which would not be unraveled until he and his enemies shouldlong be dead. This contest had been so long in the brewing, he hadgone about it with such care years before. And now the enemy had beenheartened by a great victory. His aldermen, powerful, hungry, fightingmen all--like those picked soldiers of the ancient Romanemperors--ruthless, conscienceless, as desperate as himself, had intheir last redoubt of personal privilege fallen, weakened, yielded. How could he hearten them to another struggle--how face the blazingwrath of a mighty populace that had once learned how to win? Othersmight enter here--Haeckelheimer, Fishel, any one of a half-dozenEastern giants--and smooth out the ruffled surface of the angry seathat he had blown to fury. But as for him, he was tired, sick ofChicago, sick of this interminable contest. Only recently he hadpromised himself that if he were to turn this great trick he wouldnever again attempt anything so desperate or requiring so much effort. He would not need to. The size of his fortune made it of little worth. Besides, in spite of his tremendous vigor, he was getting on. 

Since he had alienated Aileen he was quite alone, out of touch with anyone identified with the earlier years of his life. His all-desiredBerenice still evaded him. True, she had shown lately a kind ofwarming sympathy; but what was it? Gracious tolerance, perhaps--a senseof obligation? Certainly little more, he felt. He looked into thefuture, deciding heavily that he must fight on, whatever happened, andthen--

While he sat thus drearily pondering, answering a telephone call nowand then, the door-bell rang and the servant brought a card which hesaid had been presented by a young woman who declared that it wouldbring immediate recognition. Glancing at it, Cowperwood jumped to hisfeet and hurried down-stairs into the one presence he most craved. 

There are compromises of the spirit too elusive and subtle to be tracedin all their involute windings. From that earliest day when BereniceFleming had first set eyes on Cowperwood she had been moved by a senseof power, an amazing and fascinating individuality. Since then bydegrees he had familiarized her with a thought of individual freedom ofaction and a disregard of current social standards which weredestructive to an earlier conventional view of things. Following himthrough this Chicago fight, she had been caught by the wonder of hisdreams; he was on the way toward being one of the world's greatestmoney giants. During his recent trips East she had sometimes felt thatshe was able to read in the cast of his face the intensity of thisgreat ambition, which had for its ultimate aim--herself. So he hadonce assured her. Always with her he had been so handsome, sopleading, so patient. 

So here she was in Chicago to-night, the guest of friends at theRichelieu, and standing in Cowperwood's presence. 

"Why, Berenice!" he said, extending a cordial hand. 

"When did you arrive in town? Whatever brings you here?" He had oncetried to make her promise that if ever her feeling toward him changedshe would let him know of it in some way. And here she wasto-night--on what errand? He noted her costume of brown silk andvelvet--how well it seemed to suggest her cat-like grace!

"You bring me here, " she replied, with an indefinable something in hervoice which was at once a challenge and a confession. "I thought fromwhat I had just been reading that you might really need me now. "

"You mean--?" he inquired, looking at her with vivid eyes. There hepaused. 

"That I have made up my mind. Besides, I ought to pay some time. "

"Berenice!" he exclaimed, reproachfully. 

"No, I don't mean that, either, " she replied. "I am sorry now. I thinkI understand you better. Besides, " she added, with a sudden gaietythat had a touch of self-consolation in it, "I want to. "

"Berenice! Truly?"

"Can't you tell?" she queried. 

"Well, then, " he smiled, holding out his hands; and, to his amazement, she came forward. 

"I can't explain myself to myself quite, " she added, in a hurried low, eager tone, "but I couldn't stay away any longer. I had the feelingthat you might be going to lose here for the present. But I want youto go somewhere else if you have to--London or Paris. The world won'tunderstand us quite--but I do. "

"Berenice!" He smothered her cheek and hair. 

"Not so close, please. And there aren't to be any other ladies, unlessyou want me to change my mind. "

"Not another one, as I hope to keep you. You will share everything Ihave. . . "

For answer--

How strange are realities as opposed to illusion!

In Retrospect

The world is dosed with too much religion. Life is to be learned fromlife, and the professional moralist is at best but a manufacturer ofshoddy wares. At the ultimate remove, God or the life force, ifanything, is an equation, and at its nearest expression for man--thecontract social--it is that also. Its method of expression appears tobe that of generating the individual, in all his glittering variety andscope, and through him progressing to the mass with its problems. Inthe end a balance is invariably struck wherein the mass subdues theindividual or the individual the mass--for the time being. For, behold, the sea is ever dancing or raging. 

In the mean time there have sprung up social words and phrasesexpressing a need of balance--of equation. These are right, justice, truth, morality, an honest mind, a pure heart--all words meaning: abalance must be struck. The strong must not be too strong; the weaknot too weak. But without variation how could the balance bemaintained? Nirvana! Nirvana! The ultimate, still, equation. 

Rushing like a great comet to the zenith, his path a blazing trail, Cowperwood did for the hour illuminate the terrors and wonders ofindividuality. But for him also the eternal equation--the pathos ofthe discovery that even giants are but pygmies, and that an ultimatebalance must be struck. Of the strange, tortured, terrified reflectionof those who, caught in his wake, were swept from the normal and thecommonplace, what shall we say? Legislators by the hundred, who werehounded from politics into their graves; a half-hundred aldermen ofvarious councils who were driven grumbling or whining into the limbo ofthe dull, the useless, the commonplace. A splendid governor dreaming ofan ideal on the one hand, succumbing to material necessity on theother, traducing the spirit that aided him the while he torturedhimself with his own doubts. A second governor, more amenable, was tobe greeted by the hisses of the populace, to retire brooding anddiscomfited, and finally to take his own life. Schryhart and Hand, venomous men both, unable to discover whether they had reallytriumphed, were to die eventually, puzzled. A mayor whose greatesthour was in thwarting one who contemned him, lived to say: "It is agreat mystery. He was a strange man. " A great city struggled for ascore of years to untangle that which was all but beyond the power ofsolution--a true Gordian knot. 

And this giant himself, rushing on to new struggles and newdifficulties in an older land, forever suffering the goad of a restlessheart--for him was no ultimate peace, no real understanding, but onlyhunger and thirst and wonder. Wealth, wealth, wealth! A new grasp of anew great problem and its eventual solution. Anew the old urgentthirst for life, and only its partial quenchment. In Dresden a palacefor one woman, in Rome a second for another. In London a third for hisbeloved Berenice, the lure of beauty ever in his eye. The lives of twowomen wrecked, a score of victims despoiled; Berenice herself weary, yet brilliant, turning to others for recompense for her lost youth. And he resigned, and yet not--loving, understanding, doubting, caughtat last by the drug of a personality which he could not gainsay. 

What shall we say of life in the last analysis--"Peace, be still"? Orshall we battle sternly for that equation which we know will bemaintained whether we battle or no, in order that the strong become nottoo strong or the weak not too weak? Or perchance shall we say (sick ofdullness): "Enough of this. I will have strong meat or die!" And die?Or live?

Each according to his temperament--that something which he has not madeand cannot always subdue, and which may not always be subdued by othersfor him. Who plans the steps that lead lives on to splendid glories, or twist them into gnarled sacrifices, or make of them dark, disdainful, contentious tragedies? The soul within? And whence comesit? Of God?

What thought engendered the spirit of Circe, or gave to a Helen thelust of tragedy? What lit the walls of Troy? Or prepared the woes of anAndromache? By what demon counsel was the fate of Hamlet prepared? Andwhy did the weird sisters plan ruin to the murderous Scot?

 Double, double toil and trouble, Fire burn and cauldron bubble. 

In a mulch of darkness are bedded the roots of endless sorrows--and ofendless joys. Canst thou fix thine eye on the morning? Be glad. And ifin the ultimate it blind thee, be glad also! Thou hast lived.