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FROM THE BOOKS
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ates of AmericaTHE FINANCIERTHE FINANCIER

CHAPTER I

HE Philadelphia into which Frank Algernon Cowperwood

was born was a city of two hundred and fifty thou-
sand and more. It was set with handsome parks, notable build-
ings, and crowded with historic memories. Many of the things
that we and he knew later were not then in existence—the tele-
graph, telephone, express company, ocean steamer, city deliy-
ery of mails. ‘There were no postage-stamps or registered letters.
The street car had not arrived. In its place were hosts of
omnibuses, and for longer travel the slowly developing railroad
system still largely connected by canals.

Cowperwood’s father was a bank clerk at the time of Frank’s
birth, but ten years later, when the boy was already beginning to
turn a_yery—sensible, vigorous eye onthe world, Mr. Henry
Worthington Cowperwood, because of the death of the bank’s
president and the consequent moving ahead of the other officers,
fell heir to the place vacated by the promoted teller, at the, to
him, munificent salary of thirty-five hundred dollars a year. At
once he decided, as he told his wife joyously, to remove his family
from 21 Buttonwood Street to 124 New Market Street, a much
better neighborhood, where there was a nice brick house of three
stories in height as opposed to their present two-storied domicile.
There was the probability that some day they would come into
something even better, but for the present this was sufficient.
He was exceedingly grateful.

Henry Worthington Cowperwood was a man who believed
only—what- he saw—and was content to be what he was—a
banker, or a prospective one. He was at this time a significant
figure—tall, lean, inquisitorial, clerkly—with nice, smooth,
closely-cropped side whiskers coming to almost the lower lobes
of his ears. His upper lip was smooth and curiously long, and
he had a long, straight nose and a chin that tended to be pointed.
His eyebrows were bushy, emphasizing vague, grayish-green eyes,

I2 THE FINANCIER

 

and his hair was short and smooth and nicely parted. He wore
a frock-coat always—it was quite the thing in financial circles
in those days and a high hat. And he kept his hands and nails
immaculately clean. His manner might have been called severe,
though really it was more cultivated than austere.

Being ambitious to get ahead socially and financially, he was
very careful of whom or with whom he talked. He was as
much afraid of expressing a rabid or unpopular political or social
opinion as he was of being seen with an evil character, though
he had really no opinion of great political significance to express.
He was neither anti- nor pro-slavery, though the air was stormy
with abolition sentiment and its opposition. He believed sincerely
that vast fortunes were to be made out of railroads if one only
had the capital and that curious thing, a magnetic personality—
the. ability to win the confidence“of others. He was sure that
Andrew Jackson was all wrong in his opposition to Nicholas
Biddle and the United States Bank, one of the great issues of
the day; and he was worried, as he might well be, by the perfect
storm of wildcat money which was floating about and which was
constantly coming to his bank—discounted, of course, and
handed out again to anxious borrowers at a profit. His bank was
the Third National of Philadelphia, located in that center of all
Philadelphia and indeed, at that time, of practically all national
finance—Third Street—and its owners conducted a brokerage
business as a side line. “There was a perfect plague of State
banks, great and small, in those days, issuing notes practically
without regulation upon insecure and unknown assets and failing
and suspending with astonishing rapidity; and a knowledge of
all these was an important requirement of Mr. Cowperwood’s
position. As a result, he had become the soul of caution. Un-
fortunately, for him, he lacked in a great measure the two things
that are necessary for distinction in any field—magnetism and
vision. He was not destined to be a great financier, though he
was marked out to be a moderately successful one.

Mrs. Cowperwood was of a religious temperament—a small
woman, with light-brown hair and clear, brown eyes, who had
been very attractive in her day, but had become rather prim and
matter-of-fact and inclined to take very seriously the maternal
care of her three sons and one daughter. The former, captained
by Frank, the eldest, were a source of considerable annoyance toTHE FINANCIER 3

her, for they were forever making expeditions to different parts
of the city, getting in with bad boys, probably, and seeing and
hearing things they should neither see nor hear.
Frank—Cowperwood;-even_at ten, was a natural-born leader.
At the day school he attended, and later at the Central High
School, he was looked upon as one whose common sense could
unquestionably be-trusted_in all cases. He was a sturdy youth,
courageous. and defiant.. From the very start of his life, he
wanted to know about economics and politics. He cared nothing
for books. He was a clean, stocky, shapely boy, with a bright,
clean-cut, incisive face; large, clear, gray eyes; a wide forehead;
short, bristly, dark-brown hair. He-had_an_ incisive, quick-
motioned, self-sufficient manner, and was forever asking ques-
tions with a keen desire for an intelligent reply. He never had
an ache or pain, ate his food with gusto, and ruled his brothers
with a rod of iron. ‘Come on, Joe!” “Hurry, Ed!” These
commands were issued in no rough but always a sure way,
and Joe and Ed came. ‘They looked up to Frank from the
first as a.master, and what he had to say was listened to eagerly.
He was forever pondering, pondering—one fact astonishing him
quite as much as another—for he could not figure out how this
thing he had come into—this life—was organized. How did all
these people get into the world? What were they doing here?
Who started things, anyhow? His mother told him the story
of Adam and Eve, but he didn’t believe it. There was a fish-
market not so very far from his home, and there, on his way
to see his father at the bank, or conducting his brothers on
after-school expeditions, he liked to look at a certain tank in
front of one store where were kept odd specimens of sea-life
brought in by the Delaware Bay fishermen. He saw once there
a sea-horse—just a queer little sea-animal that looked some-
what like a horse—and another time he saw an electric eel
which Benjamin Franklin’s discovery had explained. One day
he saw a squid and a lobster put in the tank, and in connection
with them was witness to a tragedy which stayed with him
all his life and cleared things up considerably intellectually.
The lobster, it appeared from the talk of the idle bystanders,
was offered no food, as the squid was considered his rightful
prey. He lay at the bottom of the clear glass tank on the
yellow sand, apparently seeing nothing—you could not tell in4 THE FINANCIER

which way his beady, black buttons of eyes were looking—
but apparently they were never off the body of the squid.
The latter, pale and waxy in texture, looking very much like
pork fat or jade, moved about in torpedo fashion; but his
movements were apparently never out of the eyes of his enemy,
for by degrees small portions of his body began to disappear,
snapped off by the relentless claws of his pursuer. ‘The
lobster would leap like a catapult to.where~the.squid was ap-
parently idly dreaming, and the squid, very alert, would dart
away, shooting out at the same time a cloud of ink, behind which
it would disappear. It was-not-always-completely successful,
however. Small portions of its body or its tail were frequently
left in the claws of the monster below. Fascinated by the
drama, young Cowperwood came daily to watch.

One morning he stood in front of the tank, his nose almost
pressed to the glass. Only a portion of the squid remained,
and his ink-bag was emptier than ever. In the corner of the
tank sat the-lobster, poised apparently for action.

The boy stayed as long as he could, the bitter struggle fascinat-
ing him. Now, maybe, or in an hour or a day, the squid might
die, slain by the lobster, and the lobster would eat him. He
looked again at the greenish-copperish engine of destruction in the
corner and wondered when this would be. To-night, maybe.
He would come back to-night.

He returned that night, and lo! the expected had happened.
There was a little crowd around the tank. The lobster was in
the corner. Before him was the squid cut in two and partially
devoured.

“He got him at last,” observed one bystander. “I was standing
right here an hour ago, and up he leaped and grabbed him. The
squid was too tired. He wasn’t quick enough. He did back up,
but that lobster he calculated on his doing that. He’s been
figuring on his movements for a long time now. He got him
to-day.”

Frank only stared. Too bad he had missed this. The
least touch of sorrow for the squid came to him as he stared
at it slain. Then he gazed at the victor.

“That’s the way it has to be, I guess,” he commented to him-
self. “That squid wasn’t quick enough.” He figured it out.
‘’The squid couldn’t kill the lobster—he had no weapon. ‘TheDPTHE FINANCIER 5

lobster could kill the squid—he was heavily armed. ‘There was
nothing for the squid to feed on; the lobster had the squid as
prey. What was the result to be? What else could it be?
He didn’t have a chance,” he concluded finally, as he trotted
on homeward.

The incident made a great impression on him. It answered
in a rough way that riddle which had been annoying him so
much in the past :/‘How is life organized?” ‘Things lived on
each other—that was it./ Lobsters lived on squids and other
things. What lived on lobsters? Men, of course! Sure, that
was it! And what lived on men? he asked himself. Was it
other men? Wild animals lived on men. And there were
Indians and cannibals. And some men were killed by storms and
accidents. He wasn’t so sure about men living on men; but
men did kill each other. How about wars and street fights and
mobs? He had seen a mob once. It attacked the Public Ledger
building as he was coming home from school. His father had
explained why. It was about the slaves. That was it! Sure,
men lived on men.__Look-at-the slaves. “hey were men.That’s
what all this excitement was about these days. Men killing other
men—negroes.

He went on home quite pleased with himself at his solution.

“Mother!” he exclaimed, as he entered the house, “he finally
got him!”

“Got who? What got what?” she inquired in amazement.
“Go wash your hands.”

“Why, that lobster got that squid I was telling you and pa
about the other day.”

“Well, that’s too bad. What makes you take any interest. in
such things? Run, wash your hands.”

“Well, you don’t often see anything like that. I never did.”

He went out in the back yard, where there was a hydrant and
a post with a little table on it, and on that a shining tin-pan and
a bucket of water. Here he washed his face and hands.

“Say, papa,” he said to his father, later, “you know that
squid ?”

SoVeSi

‘Well, he’s dead. The lobster got him.”

His father continued reading. “Well, that’s too bad,” he
said, indifferently.ih RENAN CIE R

But for days and weeks Frank thought of this and of the life
he was tossed into, for he was already pondering on what he

should be in this world, and how he should get along. From
ld like

seeing his father count money, he was sure that he woul
banking; and Third Street, where his father’s office was, seemed
to him the cleanest, most fascinating street in the worldCHAPTER II

HE growth of young Frank Algernon Cowperwood was
through years of what might be called a comfortable and
happy family-existence. Buttonwood Street, where he spent the
first ten years of his life, was a lovely place for a boy to live.
It contained mostly small two and three-story red brick houses,
with small white marble steps leading up to the front door, and
thin, white marble trimmings outlining the front door and win-
dows. ‘There were trees in the street—plenty of them. ‘The
road pavement was of big, round cobblestones, made bright
and clean by the rains; and the sidewalks were of red brick, and
always damp and cool. In the rear was a yard, with trees and
grass and sometimes flowers, for the lots were almost always
one hundred feet deep, and the house-fronts, crowding close to
the pavement in front, left a comfortable space in the rear.
The Cowperwoods, father and mother, were not so lean and
narrow that they could not enter into the_natural tendency to
be-happy—and—joyous with their children; and so this family,
which increased at the rate of a child every two or three years
after Frank’s birth until there were four children, was quite an
interesting affair when he was ten and they were ready to move
into the New Market Street home. Henry Worthington Cow-
perwood’s connections.were increased as-his position grew more
responsible, and gradually he was becoming quite-a-personage.
He already knew a number of the more prosperous merchants
who dealt with his bank, and because as a clerk his duties neces-
sitated his calling at other banking-houses, he had come to be
familiar with and favorably known in the Bank of the United
States, the Drexels, the Edwards, and others. The brokers
knew him as representing a very sound organization, and while
he was not-considered~brilliant. mentally, he--was known.-as a
most reliable and trustworthy individual.
In this progress of his father young Cowperwood definitely

»
/8 ‘eho EF PNA NCTE R

shared. He was quite often allowed to come to the bank on
Saturdays, when he would watch with great interest the deft

 

exchange of bills at the brokerage end of the busin He
vanted to know where all the types of money came from, why
discounts were demanded and received, what the men did with
all the money they received. His father, pleased at his interest,
was glad to explain so that even at this early age ‘om ten to
fifteen—the boy gained a wide knowledge of the condition of the
country financially—what a State bank was and what a national
one; what brokers did; what stocks were, and why they fluc-
tuated in value. He began to see clearly what was meant by
money as a medium of exchange, and how all values were cal-
culated according to one primary value, that of gold. He was

a financier by instinct, and_all the knowledge that pertained
to that great art was as natural to him as the emotions and
subtleties of life are to a poet., This medium of exchange,
gold, interested him intensely. When his father explained to
him how it was mined, he dreamed that he owned a gold mine
and waked to wish that he did. He was likewise curious about
stocks and bonds and he learned that some stocks and bonds
were not worth the paper they were written on, and that others
were worth much more than their face value indicated.

“There, my son,” said his father to him one day, “you won’t
often see a bundle of those around this neighborhood.” He re-
ferred to a series of shares in the British East India Company,
deposited as collateral at two-thirds of their face value for a loan
of one hundred thousand dollars. A Philadelphia magnate
had hypothecated them for the use of the ready cash. Young
Cowperwood looked at them curiously.

“They don’t look like much, do they?” he commented.

“They are worth just four times their face value,” said his
father, archly.

Frank reéxamined them. ‘The British East India Company,”
he read. “Ten pounds—that’s pretty near fifty dollars.”

“Forty-eight, thirty-five,’ commented his father, dryly. “Well,
if we had a bundle of those we wouldn’t need to work very hard.
You'll notice there are scarcely any pin-marks on them. ‘They
aren’t sent around very much. I don’t suppose these have ever
been used as collateral before.”
Young Cowperwood gave them back after a time, but notie ETN AN CLE R 9

without a keen sense of the vast ramifications of finance. What
was the East India Company? What did it do? His father
told him.

At home also he listened to considerable talk of financial in-
vestment and adventure. He heard, for one thing, of a curious
character by the name of Steemberger, a great beef speculator
from Virginia, who was attracted to Philadelphia in those days
by the hope of large and easy credits. Steemberger, so his father
said, was close to Nicholas Biddle, Lardner, and others of
the United States Bank, or at least friendly with them, and
seemed to be able to obtain from that organization nearly all
that he asked for. His operations in the purchase of cattle
in Virginia, Ohio, and other States were vast, amounting, in
fact, to an entire monopoly of the business of supplying beef to
Eastern cities. He was a big man, enormous, with a face, his
father said, something like that-of a>pig;-and he wore a high
beaver hat and a long frock-coat which hung loosely about his
big chest and stomach. He had managed to force the price of
beef up to thirty cents a pound, causing all the retailers and
consumers to rebel, and this was what made him so censpicuous.
He used to come to the brokerage end of the elder Cowper-
wood’s bank, with as much as one hundred thousand or two
hundred thousand dollars in twelve months—post-notes of
the United States Bank in denominations of one thousand,
five thousand, and ten thousand dollars. “These he would cash at
from ten to twelve per cent. under their face value, having
previously given the United States Bank his own note at four
months for the entire amount. He would take his pay from the
Third National brokerage counter in packages of Virginia, Ohio,
and western Pennsylvania bank-notes at par, because he made his
disbursements principally in those States. The Third National
would in the first place realize a profit of from four to five per
cent. on the original transaction; and as it took the Western
bank-notes at a discount, it also made a profit on those.

There was another man his father talked about—one Francis
J. Grund, a_famous newspaper correspondent and lobbyist at
Washington, who possessed the faculty of unearthing secrets of
every ‘ind, especially those relating to financial legislation.
The secrets of the President and the Cabinet, as well as of
the Senate and the House of Representatives, seemed to be10 ehh, hLNAIN CLE

open to him. Grund had been about, years before, purchasing
through one or two brokers large amounts of the various kinds
of Texas debt certificates and bonds. “The Republic of Texas,
in its struggle for independence from Mexico, had issued bonds
and certificates in great variety, amounting in value to ten or
fifteen million dollars. Later, in connection with the scheme
to make Texas a State of the Union, a bill was passed pro-
viding a contribution on the part of the United States of five
million dollars, to be applied to the extinguishment of this old
debt. Grund knew of this, and also of the fact that some of this
debt, owing to the peculiar conditions of issue, was to be paid in
full, while other portions were to be scaled down, and there was
to be a false or pre-arranged failure to pass the bill at one session
in order to frighten off the outsiders who might have heard and
begun to buy the old certificates for profit. He acquainted the
Third National Bank with this fact, and of course the informa-
tion came to Cowperwood as teller. He told his wife about it,
and so his son, in this roundabout way, heard it, and his clear,
big eyes glistened. He wondered why his father did not take
advantage of the situation and buy some ‘Texas certificates
for himself.Grund, so his father said, and possibly three or
four others, had made over a hundred thousand dollars apiece.
It wasn’t exactly legitimate, he seemed to think, and yet it was,
too. Why shouldn’t such inside information be rewarded?
Somehow, Frank realized that his father was too honest, too
cautious, but when he grew up, he told himself, he was going
to be a broker, or a financier, or a banker, and 5G some of these
things.

Just at this time there came to the Cowperwoods an uncle
who had not previously appeared in the life of the family. He
was a brother of Mrs. Cowperwood’s—Seneca Davis by name—
solid, unctuous, five feet ten in height, with a big, round body,
a round, smooth head rather bald, a clear, ruddy complexion,
blue eyes, and what little hair he had of a sandy hue. He was
exceedingly well dressed according to standards prevailing in
those days, indulging in flowered waistcoats, long, light-colored
frock-coats, and the invariable (for a fairly prosperous man)
high hat. Frank was fascinated by him at once. He had been a
planter in Cuba and still owned a big ranch there and could
tell him tales of Cuban life—rebellions, ambuscades, hand-to-THE FINANCIER i

hand fighting with machetes on his own plantation, and things of
that sort. He brought with him a collection of Indian curios,
to say nothing of an independent fortune and several slaves—one,
named Manuel, a tall, raw-boned black, was his constant at-
tendant, a body-servant, as it were. He shipped raw sugar from
his plantation in boat-loads to the Southwark wharves in Phila-
delphia. Erank liked him because he took life in a hearty, jovial
way, rather rough and offhand for this somewhat quiet and
reserved household.

“Why, Nancy Arabella,” he said to Mrs. Cowperwood on
arriving one Sunday afternoon, and throwing the household into
joyous astonishment at his unexpected and unheralded appearance,
“you haven’t grown an inch! I thought when you married old
brother Hy here that you were going to fatten up like your
brother. But look at you! I swear to Heaven you don’t
weigh five pounds.” And he jounced her up and down by the
waist, much to the perturbation of the children, who had never
before seen their mother so familiarly handled.

Henry Cowperwood was exceedingly interested in and pleased
at the arrival of this rather prosperous relative; for twelve years
before, when he was married, Seneca Davis had not taken much
notice of him.

“Look at these little putty-faced ¢
“They ought to come down to my ranch in Cuba and get tanned
up. That would take away this waxy look.” And he pinched
the cheek of Anna Adelaide, now five years old. “TI tell you,
Henry, you have a rather nice place here.’”’ And he looked at
the main room of the rather conventional three-story house

Philadelphians,” he continued.

with a critical eye.

Measuring twenty by twenty-four and finished in imitation
cherry, with a set of new Sheraton parlor furniture it presented
a quaintly harmonious aspect. Since Henry had become teller
the family had acquired a piano—a decided luxury in those
days—brought from Europe; and it was intended that Anna
Adelaide, when she was old enough, should learn to play. There
were a few uncommon ornaments in the room—a gas chandelier
for one thing, a glass bowl with goldfish in it, some rare and
highly polished shells, and a marble Cupid bearing a basket of
flowers. It was summer time, the windows were open, and the
trees ov/side, with their widely extended green branches, were12 THE FINANCIER

pleasantly visible shading the brick sidewalk. Uncle Seneca
strolled out into the back yard.

“Well, this is pleasant enough,” he observed, noting a large
elm and seeing that the yard was partially paved with bi ick and
enclosed within brick walls, up the sides of which vines were
climbing. ‘Where’s your hammock? Don’t you string a ham-
mock here in summer? Down on my veranda at San Pedro I
have six or seven.”

“We hadn’t thought of putting one up because of the neigh-
bors, but it would be nice,” agreed Mrs. Cowperwood. “Henry
will have to get one.”

“T have two or three in my trunks over at the hotel. My
niggers make ’em down there. I'll send Manuel over with them
in the morning.”

He plucked at the vines, tweaked Edward’s ear, told Joseph,
the second boy, he would bring him an Indian tomahawk, and
went back into the house.

“This is the lad that interests me,” he said, after a time,
laying a hand on the shoulder of Frank. ‘What did you name
him in full, Henry?”

“Frank Algernon.”

“Well, you might have named him after me. There’s some-
thing to this boy. How would you like to come down to Cuba
and be a planter, my boy?”

“I’m not so sure that I’d like to,” replied the eldest.

“Well, that’s straight-spoken.._What have you against it?”

“Nothing, except that I don’t know anything about it.’’

“What do you know?”

___The boy smiled wisely. ‘Not very much, I guess.

“Well, what are you interested in?”

“Money!”

“Aha! What’s bred in the bone, eh? Get something of that
from your father, eh? Well, that’s a good trait,/And spoken
like a man, too! We'll hear more about that later. Nancy,

”

you re breeding a financier here, I think. He talks like one.”

He looked at Frank carefully now. There was real force
in that sturdy young body—no doubt of it. Those large, clear
gray eyes were full of intelligence. They indicated much and
revealed nothing.© EE FINANCTER 13

“A smart boy!” he said to Henry, his brother-in-law. ‘I like
his get-up. You have a bright family.”

Henry Cowperwood smiled dryly. ‘This man, if he liked
Frank, might do much for the boy. He might eventually leave
him some of his fortune. He was wealthy and single.

Uncle-Seneca~ became a frequent visitor to the house—he
and his negro body-guard, Manuel, who spoke both English and
Spanish, much to the astonishment of the children; and he took
an increasing interest in Frank.

“When that boy gets old enough to find out what he wants
to do, I think I'll help him to-do it,” he observed to his sister one
day; and she told him she was very grateful. He talked to Frank
about his studies, and found that he cared little for books or
most of the study he was compelled to pursue. Grammar was
an abomination. Literature silly. Latin was of no use. History
—well, it was fairly interesting.

“TI like bookkeeping and arithmetic,” he observed. “I want to
get out and get to work, though. That’s what I want to do.”

“You’re pretty young, my son,” observed his uncle. ‘You're
only how old now? Fourteen?”

“Thirteen.”

“Well, you can’t leave school much before sixteen. You'll do
better if you stay until seventeen or eighteen. It can’t do you
any harm. You won't be a boy again.”

“T don’t want to be a boy. I want to get to work.”

“Don’t go too fast, son. You'll be a man soon enough. You
want to be a banker, do you?”

mess SIE!

“Well, when the time comes, if everything is all right and
you've behaved yourself and you still want to, I'll help you get
a start in business. If I were you and were going to be a banker,
I’d first spend a year or so in some good grain and commission
house. There’s good training to be had there. You'll learn a
lot that you ought to know. And, meantime, keep your health
and learn all you can. Wherever I am, you let me know, and
I'll write and find out how you’ve been conducting yourself.”

He gave the boy a ten-dollar gold piece with which to start
a bank-account. And, not strange to say, he liked the whole
Cowperwood househoid much better for this dynamic, self-
sufficient, sterling youth who was an integral part of it.CHAPTER III

  

T was in his thirteenth year that young Cowperwood entered
into his first business venture. Walking along Front 5treet

one day, a street of importing and wholesale establishments, he
saw an auctioneer’s flag hanging out before a wholesale grocery
and from the interior came the auctioneer’s voice: ‘What am I
bid for this exceptional lot of Java coffee, twenty-two bags all
told, which is now selling in the market for seven dollars and

thirty-two cents a bag wholesale? What am I bid? What am I

bid? The whole lot must go as one. What am I bid?”

‘Th; ? se : aw al ‘
“Kighteen dollars,” suggested a trader standing near the door,
aa aes
more to start the bidding than anything else. Frank paused.

““Twenty-two!” called another.

“Thirty!” a third. “Thirty-five!” a fourth, and so up to
seventy-five, less than half of what it was worth.

“I’m bid seventy-five! I’m bid seventy-five!” called the auc-
tioneer, loudly. ‘‘Any other offers? Going once at seventy-five;
am I offered eighty? Going twice at seventy-five, and’’—he
paused, one hand raised dramatically. ‘Then he brought it down
with a slap in the palm of the other—“‘‘sold to Mr. Silas Gregory
for seventy-five. Make a note of that, Jerry,” he called to his
red-haired, freckle-faced clerk beside him. “Then he turned to
another lot of grocery staples—this time starch, eleven barrels
of it.

Young Cowperwood was making a rapid calculation. If, as
the auctioneer said, coffee was worth seven dollars and thirty-
two cents a bag in the open market, and this buyer was getting
this coffee for seventy-five dollars, he was making then and there
eighty-six dollars and four cents, to say nothing of what his
profit would be if he sold it at retail. As he recalled, his mother
Was paying twenty-eight cents a pound. He drew nearer, his
books tucked under his arm, and watched these operations closely.
‘The starch, as he soon heard, was valued at ten dollars a barrel,
and it only brought six. Some kegs of vinegar were knocked
down at one-third their value, and so on. He began to wish he
could bid; but he had no money, just a little pocket change. ‘The
I4THE FINANCIER 15

auctioneer noticed him standing almost directly under his nose,
and was—impressed with the stolidity—solidity—of the boy’s
expression.

“T am going to offer you now a fine lot of Castile soap—seven
cases, no less—which, as you know, if you know anything about
soap, is now selling at fourteen cents a bar. “This soap is worth
anywhere at this moment eleven dollars and seventy-five cents a
case. What am I bid? What am I bid? What am I bid?”
He was talking fast in the usual style of auctioneers, with much
unnecessary emphasis; but Cowperwood was not unduly im-
pressed. He was already rapidly calculating for himself. Seven
cases at eleven dollars and seventy-five cents would be worth
just eighty-two dollars and twenty-five cents; and if it went at
half—if it went at half—

“Twelve dollars,’ commented one bidder.

“Fifteen,” bid another.

“Twenty,” called a third.

““Twenty-five,” a fourth.

Then it came to dollar raises, for Castile soap was not such a
vital commodity. ‘Twenty-six. ‘Twenty-seven.” ‘““I'wenty-
eight.” “Twenty-nine.” ‘There was a pause.

“Thirty,” observed young Cowperwood, decisively.

The auctioneer, a short lean-faced, spare man with bushy hair
and an incisive eye, looked at him curiously and almost incredu-
lously but without pausing. He had, somehow, in spite of him-
self, been impressed by the boy’s peculiar eye; and now he felt,
without knowing why, that the offer was probably legitimate
enough, and that the boy had the money. He might be the son
of a grocer.

“I’m bid thirty! I’m bid thirty! I’m bid thirty for this fine
lot of Castile soap. It’s a fine lot. It’s worth fourteen cents a
bar. Will any one bid thirty-one? Will any one bid thirty-one ?
Will any one bid thirty-one?”

“Thirty-one,” said a voice.

“Thirty-two,” replied Cowperwood.

The same process was repeated.

“P’m bid thirty-two! I’m bid thirty-two! Tm bid thirty-
two! Will anybody bid thirty-three? It’s fine soap. Seven
cases of fine Castile soap. Will anybody bid thirty-three Ph
Young Cowperwood’s mind was working. He had no money16 THE FINANCIER

with him: but his father was teller of the Third National Bank,
and he could quote him as reference. He could sell all of his
soap to the family grocer, surely; or, if not, to other grocers.
Other people were anxious to get this soap at this price. Why
not he?

The auctioneer paused.

“Thirty-two once! Am I bid thirty-three? Thirty-two twice!
Am I bid thirty-three? ‘Thirty-two three times! Seven fine
cases of soap. Am I bid anything more? Once, twice! ‘Three
times! Am I bid anything more?’—his hand was up again—
“and sold to Mr.—?” He leaned over and looked curiously into
the face of his young bidder.

“Frank Cowperwood, son of the teller of the Third National
Bank,” replied the boy, decisively.

“Oh, yes,” said the man, fixed by his glance.

“Will you wait while I run up to the bank and get the
money ?”

“Yes. Don’t be gone long. If you’re not here in an hour [’ll
sell it again.”

Young Cowperwood made no reply. He hurried out and ran
fast; first, to his mother’s grocer, whose store was within a block
of his home.

Thirty feet from the door he slowed up, put on a nonchalant
air, and, strolling in, looked about for Castile soap. ‘There it
was, the same kind, displayed in a box and looking just as his
soap looked.

“How much is this a bar, Mr. Dalrymple?” he inquired.

“Sixteen cents,” replied that worthy.

“Tf I could sell you seven boxes for sixty-two dollars just
like this, would you take them?”

“The same soap ?”

= es, Sit.”

Mr. Dalrymple calculated a moment.

“Yes, I think I would,” he replied, cautiously.

“Would you pay me to-day ?”

“T’d give you my note for it. Where is the soap?”

He was perplexed and somewhat astonished by this unex-
pected proposition on the part of his neighbor’s son. He knew
Mr. Cowperwood well—and Frank also.

“Will you take it if I bring it to you to-day?”ire HENAN CER

“Yes, I will,” he replied.
business ?”

17

“Are you going into the soap

“No. But I know where I can get some of that soap cheap.”

He hurried out again and ran to his father’s bank. It was
after banking hours; but he knew how to get in, and he knew
that his father would be glad to see him make thirty dollars.
He only wanted to borrow the money for a day.

“What’s the trouble, Frank?” asked his father, looking
from his desk when he appeared, breathless and red faced.

“I want you to loan me thirty-two dollars! Will you?”

“Why, yes, I might. What do you want to do with it?”

“I want to buy some soap—seven boxes of Castile soap. I
know where I can get it and sell it. Mr. Dalrymple will take
it. He’s already offered me sixty-two for it. I can get it for
thirty-two. Will you let me have the money? I’ve got to run
back and pay the auctioneer.”

His father smiled. This was the most business-like attitude
hé had seen his son manifest. He was so keen, so alert for a
boy. of thirteen.

up

“Why, Frank,” he said, going over to a drawer where some
bills were, “are you going to become a financier already? You're
sure you’re not going to lose on this? You know what you’re
doing, do you?”

“You let me have the money, father, will you?” he pleaded.
“Fil show you in a little bit. Just let me have it. You can
trust me.”

He was like a young hound on the scent of game. His father
could not resist his appeal.

“Why, certainly, Frank,” he replied. ‘“I’ll trust you.” And
he counted out six five-dollar certificates of the Third National’s
own issue and two ones. ‘There you are.”

Frank ran out of the building with a briefly spoken thanks
and returned to the auction room as fast as his legs would
carry him. When he came in, sugar was being auctioned.
He made his way to the auctioneer’s clerk.

“T want to pay for that soap,” he suggested.

“Now?”

“Yes. Will you give me a receipt?”

SEDs”

“Do you deliver this?”18 fat FINAN CT? ER

 

 

“No. No delivery. You have to take it away in twenty-
four hours.”

That difficulty did not trouble him.

“All right,” he said, and pocketed his paper testimony of

purchase.

The auctioneer watched him as he went out. In h an
hour he was back with a drayman—an idle levee-wharf hanger-
on who was waiting for a job.

Frank had bargained with him to deliver the soap for sixty
cents. In still another half-hour he was before the door of

the astonished Mr. Dalrymple whom he had come out 1 look
at the boxes before attempting to remove them. His was
to have them carried on to his own home if the operation for

failed yugh. Though it was his first great

any reason failed to go thr:
venture, he was as cool as glass.

“Yes,” said Mr. Dalrymple, scratching his gray head re-
flectively. ‘‘Yes, that’s the same soap. I’ll take it. I'll be as
good as my word. Where'd you get it, Frank?”

“At Bixom’s auction up here,” he replied, frankly and blandly.

Mr. Dalrymple had the drayman bring in the soap; and after
some formality—because the agent in this case was a boy—
made out his note at thirty days and gave it to him.

Frank thanked him and pocketed the note. He decided to
go back to his father’s bank and discount it, as he had seen
others doing, thereby paying his father back and getting his own
profit in ready money. It couldn’t be done ordinarily on any
day after business hours; but his father would make an ex-
ception in his case.

He hurried back, whistling; and his father glanced up smiling
when he came in.

“Well, Frank, how’d you make out?” he asked.

~Here’s a note at thirty days,” he said, producing the paper
Dalrymple had given him. “Do you want to discount that for
me? You can take your thirty-two out of that.”

His father examined it closely. ‘Sixty-two dollars!” he ob-
served. “Mr. Dalrymple! That’s good paper! Yes, I can. It
will cost you ten per cent.,” he added, jestingly. ‘Why don’t
you just hold it, though? I’ll let you have the thirty-two dollars
until the end of the month.”THE FINANCIER 19

“Oh, no,” said his son, “you discount it and take your money.
I may want mine.”

His father smiled at his business-like air. ‘‘All right,” he
said. “I'll fix it to-morrow. Tell me just how you did this.”
And his son told him.

At seven o’clock that evening Frank’s mother heard about it,
and in due time Uncle Seneca.

“What'd I tell you, Cowperwood?” he asked. ‘He-has-stuff
in him, that-youngster._Look-out for-him.”’

Mrs. Cowperwood looked at her boy curiously at dinner.
Was this the son she had nursed at her bosom not so very
long before? Surely he was developing rapidly.

“Well, Frank, I hope you can do that often,” she said.

“T hope so, too, ma,” was his rather noncommittal reply.

Auction sales were not to be discovered every day, however,
and his home grocer was only open to one such transaction in
a reasonable period of time, but from the very first young Cow-
perwood knew how to make money. He took subscriptions for a
boys’ paper; handled the agency for the sale of a new kind of
ice-skate, and once organized a band of neighborhood youths
into a union for the purpose of purchasing their summer straw
hats at wholesale. It was not his idea that he could get rich
by saving. From the first he had the-notion that liberal s spend-
ing was better, and that somehow he would get along.

It was in this year, or a little earlier, that he began to take
an interest in girls. He had from the first a keen eye for the
beautiful among them; and, being-good-looking and magnetic
himself, it was not difficult for him to attract the sympathetic
interest of those in whom he was interested. A twelve-year old
girl, Patience Barlow, who lived further up the street, was the
first to attract his attention or be attracted by him. Black hair
and snapping black eyes were her portion, with pretty pigtails
down her back, and dainty feet and ankles to match a dainty
figure. She was a Quakeress, the daughter of Quaker parents,
wearing a demure little bonnet. Her disposition, however, was
vivacious, and she liked this self-reliant, self-sufficient, straight-
spoken boy. One day, after an exchange of glances from time
to time, he said, with a smile and the courage that was innate
in him:

“You live up my way, don’t you?”20 THE FINANCIER

“Yes,” she replied, a little flustered—this last manifested in
a nervous swinging of her school-bag—‘I live at number one-
forty-one.”

“T know the house,” he said. “I’ve seen you go in there. You
go to the same school my sister does, don’t you? Aren't you
Patience Barlow?”

He had heard some of the boys speak her name.

“Yes. How do you know?”

“Oh, I’ve heard,” he smiled. “I’ve seen you. Do you like
licorice?”

He fished in his coat and pulled out some fresh sticks that
were sold at the time.

“Thank you,” she said, sweetly, taking one.

“Tt isn’t very good. I’ve been carrying it a long time. I had
some taffy the other day.’’

“Oh, it’s all right,” she replied, chewing the end of hers.

“Don’t you know my sister, Anna Cowperwood?” he re-
curred, by way of self-introduction. “She’s in a lower grade
than you are, but I thought maybe you might have seen her.”

“T think I know who she is. I’ve seen her coming home
from school.”

“T live right over there,” he confided, pointing to his own
home as he drew near to it, as if she didn’t know. “I'll see
you around here now, I guess.”

“Do you know Ruth Merriam?” she asked, when he was about
ready to turn off into the cobblestone road to reach his own
door.

“No, why?”

“She’s giving a party next Tuesday,” she volunteered, seem-
ingly pointlessly, but only seemingly.

“Where does she live?”

“There in twenty-eight.”

“T’d like to go,” he affirmed, warmly, as he swung away from
her.

“Maybe she'll ask you,” she called back, growing more
courageous as the distance between them widened. “I'll ask
her.”

“’Thanks,” he smiled.

And she began to run-gayly onward.

He looked after her with a smiling face. She was veryPie EI NAN CLE R 21

pretty. He felt a keen desire to kiss her, and what might
transpire at Ruth Merriam’s party rose vividly before his eyes.

This was just one of the early love affairs, or puppy loves,
that held his mind from time to time in the mixture of after
events.._Patience Barlow was kissed by him in secret ways many
times before he found another girl. She and others of the street
ran out to play in the snow of a winter’s night, or lingered
after dusk before her own door when the days grew dark early.
It was so easy to catch and kiss her then, and to talk to her
foolishly at parties. “Then came Dora Fitler, when he was six-
teen years old and she was fourteen; and Marjorie Stafford,
when he was seventeen and she was fifteen. Dora Fitler was a
brunette, and Marjorie Stafford was as fair as the morning,
with bright-red cheeks, bluish-gray eyes, and flaxen hair, and
as plump as a partridge.

It was at seventeen that he decided to leave school. He had
not graduated. He had only finished the third year in high
school; but he had had enough. . Ever.since his thirteenth year
his_mind had been on finance; that is, in the form in which
he saw it manifested in Third Street. There had been odd
things which he had been able to do to earn a little money
now and then. His Uncle Seneca had allowed him to act
as assistant weigher at the sugar-docks in Southwark, where
three-hundred-pound bags were weighed into the government
bonded warehouses under the eyes of United States inspectors.
In certain emergencies he was called to assist his father, and
was paid for it. He even made an arrangement with Mr, Dal-
rymple to assist him on Saturdays; but when his father became
cashier of his bank, receiving an income of four thousand dollars
a year, shortly after Frank had reached his fifteenth year, it
was self-evident that Frank could no longer continue in such
lowly employment.

Just at this time his Uncle-Seneca, again back in Philadelphia
and stouter and more domineering than ever, said to him one
day:

“Now, Frank, if you’re ready for it, I think I know where
there’s a good opening for you. There won’t be any salary “8
it for the first year, but if you mind your p’s and q’s, they ll
probably give you something as a gift at the end of that time.22 THE FINANCIER

Do you know of Henry Waterman & Company down in Second
Street?”

“T’ve seen their place.”

“Well, they tell me they might make a place for you as a
bookkeeper. They’re brokers in a w ay—grain and commission
men. You say you want to get in that line. When school’s
out, you go down and see Mr. W aterman—tell him I sent you,
and he'll make a place for you, I think. Let me know how you
come out.”

Uncle Seneca was married now, having, because of his wealth,
attracted the attention of a poor but ambitious Philadelphia
society matron; and because of this the general connections of
the Cowperwoods were considered vastly improved. Henry
Cowperwood was planning to move with his family rather tar
out on North Front Street, which commanded at that time a
beautiful view of the river and was witnessing the construction
of some charming dwellings. His four thousand dollars a
year in these pre-Civil-War times was considerable. He was
making what he considered judicious and conservative invest-
ments and because of his cautious, conservative, clock-like con-
duct it was thought he might reasonably expect some day to
be vice-president, and possibly president, of his bank.

This offer of Uncle Seneca to get him in with Waterman &
Company seemed to Frank just the thing to start him off
right. So he reported to that organization at 74 South Second
Street one day in June, and was cordially received by Mr. Henry
Waterman, Sr. There was, he soon learned, a Henry Water-
man, Jr., a young man of twenty-five, and a George Water-
man, a brother, aged fifty, who was the confidential inside man.
Henry Waterman, Sr., a man fifty-five years of age, was the
general head of the organization, inside and out—traveling
about the nearby territory to see customers when that was neces-
sary, coming into final counsel in cases where his brother could

not adjust matters, suggesting and advising new ventures which

his associates and hirelings carried out. He was, to look at, a
Yry wTwhne nf an ch , t ——

phlegmatic type of man—short, stout, wrinkled about the eyes,

rather protuberant as to stomach, red-necked, red-faced, the least
bit pop-eyed, but shrewd, kindly, good-natured, and witty. He
had, because of his naturally common-sense ideas and rather
pleasing disposition, built up a sound and successful businessEE eR Ny AIN © Teh. 23

here. He was getting along in years and would gladly have
welcomed the hearty codperation of his son, if the latter had
been entirely suited to the business.

He was not, however. Not as democratic, as quick-witted,
or as pleased with the work in hand as was his father, the
business actually offended him. And if the trade had been
left to his care, it would have rapidly disappeared. His father
foresaw this, was grieved, and was hoping some young man would
eventually appear who would be interested in the business, handle
it in the same spirit in which it had been handled, and who
would not crowd his son out.

Then came young Cowperwood, spoken of to him by Seneca
Davis. He looked him over critically. Yes, this boy might do,
he thought. T’here-was something easy.and sufficient about him.
He-did-not-appearto-be in the least flustered or disturbed. He
knew how to keep books, he said, though he knew nothing of
the details of the grain and commission business. It was in-
teresting to him. He would like to try it.

“JT like that fellow,” Henry Waterman confided to his brother
the moment Frank had gone with instructions to report the fol-
lowing morning. ‘“There’s something to him. He’s the cleanest,
briskest, most alive thing that’s walked in here in many a day.”

“Yes,” said George, a much leaner and slightly taller man,
with dark, blurry, reflective eyes and a thin, largely vanished
growth of brownish-black hair which contrasted strangely with
the egg-shaped whiteness of his bald head. “Yes, he’s a nice
young man. It’s a wonder his father don’t take him in his bank.”

“Well, he may not be able to,” said his brother. ‘“He’s only
the cashier there.”

“That’s right.”

“Well, we'll give him a trial. I bet anything he makes
good. He’s a likely-looking youth.”

Henry got up and walked out into the main entrance looking
into Second Street. The cool cobble pavements, shaded from the
eastern sun by the wall of buildings on the east—of which his
was a part—the noisy trucks and drays, the busy crowds hurry-
ing to and fro, pleased him. He looked at the buildings over the
way—all three and four stories, and largely of gray stone and
crowded with life—and thanked his stars that he had originally24 THE FINANCIER

located in so prosperous a neighborhood. If he had only bought
more property at the time he bought this!

“T wish that Cowperwood boy would turn out to be the kind
of man I want,” he observed to himself, meditatively. “He
could save me a lot of running these days.”

Curiously, after only three or four minutes of conversation
with the boy, he sensed this marked quality of efficiency. Some-
thing told him he would do well.CHAPTER IV

HE appearance of Frank Cowperwood at this time was, to

say the least, prepossessing and satisfactory. Nature had
destined him to be about five feet ten inches tall. His head was
large, shapely, notably commercial in aspect, thickly covered with
crisp, dark-brown hair and fixed on a pair of square shoulders
and a stocky body. Already his eyes had the look that subtle
years of thought bring. ‘They were inscrutable. You could
tell-nothing by his eyes. He walked with a light, confident,
springy step. Life had given him no severe shocks nor rude
awakenings. He had not been compelled to suffer illness or pain
or deprivation of any kind. He saw people richer than himself,
but he hoped to be rich. His family was respected, his father
well placed. He owed no man anything. Once he had let a
small note of his become overdue at the bank, but his father
raised such a row that he never forgot it. “I would rather
crawl on my hands and knees than let my paper go to protest,”
the old gentleman observed; and this fixed in his mind what
scarcely needed to be so sharply emphasized—the significance of /
credit. No paper of his ever went to protest or became over’+¥©
after that through any negligence of his.

He-turned out to be the most efficient clerk that th~¢ house a
Waterman & Co. had ever known. They put him 0” the books
at first as assistant bookkeeper, vice Mr. Thon. Prixler, dis-
missed, and in two weeks George said: “YW 7Y don C we make
Cowperwood head bookkeeper? He knoy*VS MOre In a minute
than that fellow Sampson will ever knoy“ i

z : _ge, but don’t fuss so. He

All right, make the transfer, Geox :

; I want to see if he can’t
won’t be a bookkeeper long, though

oe me after a bit.”
handle some of these transfers for

The books of Messrs. Wate O04” & Co., though fairly com-
: ee » Frank. _He went through them
plicated, were child’s play te

: a +ich surprised his erstwhile superior
with an ease and rapidity P P ,

Mr. Sampson.

2526 THE FINANCIER

“Why, that fellow,” Sampson told another clerk on the first
day he had seen Cowperwood work, “he’s too brisk. He’s going
to make a bad break. I know that kind. Wait a little bit until
we get one of those rush credit and transfer days.”

But the bad break Mr. Sampson anticipated did not mate-
rialize. In less than a week Cowperwood knew t finan-
cial condition of the Messrs. Waterman as well as tl did

 

better—to a dollar. He knew how their accounts were dis-

tributed; from what section they drew the most business; who
7 . . -

sent poor produce and good—the varying prices for year told

that. To satisfy himself he ran back over certain accounts in

 

ying his suspicions. Bookkeeping did not in-
terest him except as a record, a demonstration of a firm’s life.
He knew he would not do this long. Something else would
happen; but he saw instantly what the grain and commission
business was—every detail of it. He saw where, for want of
greater activity in offering the goods consigned—quicker com-
munication with shippers and buyers, a better working agree-

ne <uritl Irrnindain SAmMmMicel ethic hb . cathe
ment with surrounding commission men—this house r, rather

irda ae marc Peete iver el +h; 2 . . oe 7 4
its customers, for it had nothing, endured severe losses. A man

 

L* 1 ¢ 6 .
would ship a tow-boat or a car-load of fruit or vegetables
against a supposedly rising or stable market; but if ten other

Sega he se
men did the same thing at the same time, or other commission

\men were flooded with fruit or vegetables, and there was no
\way of disposing of them within a reasonable time, the price had

L es rll

ins l Wy OCC re | to m th C he woul of Leu eC use

to the h S an outside man di ing of |] vs its,

but [ he ai 14 » S nyc! 12 So §S M I th Paced | kely,
The Watermans\ Henry and George, were greatly please

: jled their “counts There was 9 S
with the way he hanwW-ed their counts. ele. 5 a sense

ac
. . , . \. ~ “2 T }
‘ity in his very pxesence. He soon began

 

te ll B }
dksecurity.it ill Brother
. : ‘ 1*.° 7 1*
George’s attention to the "dition of certain accounts, making
$s as to their pos liquidation or dIsc¢ C ince
etal & 8 a : 1 1 . a 1 Ie xy roxy Rae log
which pleased that individual graitly. He saw a way of lighten-

ing his own labors through the in\elligence of this youth, while
at the same time developing a sens Of pleasant companionship
with him.

Brother Henry was for trying his on the outside. It wasTHE FINANCIER 27

not always possible to fill the orders with the stock on hand,
and somebody had to go into the street or the Exchange to buy
and usually he did this. One morning, when way-bills indicated
a probable glut of flour and a shortage of grain—Frank saw it
first—the elder Waterman called him into his office and said:

“Frank, I wish you would see what you can do with this
condition that confronts us on the street. By to-morrow we're
going to be overcrowded with flour. We can’t be paying storage
charges, and our orders won’t eat it up. We're short on grain.
Maybe you could trade out the flour to some of those brokers
and get me enough grain to fill these orders.”

“I'd like to try,” said his employee.

He knew from his books where the various commission-houses
were. He knew what the local merchants’ exchange, and the
various commission-merchants who dealt in these things, had to
offer. This was the thing he liked to do—adjust a trade difficulty
of this nature. It was pleasant to be out in the air again, to be
going from door to door. He objected to desk work and. pen
work and poring over books. As he said in later years, his
brain was his office. He hurried to the principal commission-
merchants, learning what the state of the flour market was,
and offering his surplus at the very rate he would have expected
to get for it if there had been no prospective glut. Did they
want to buy for immediate delivery (forty-eight hours being
immediate) six hundred barrels of prime flour? He would
offer it at nine dollars straight, in the barrel. ‘They did not. He
offered it in fractions, and some agreed to take one portion,
and some another. In about an hour he was all secure on this
save one lot of two hundred barrels, which he decided to offer
in one lump to a famous operator named Genderman with whom
his firm did no business. The latter, a big man with curly
gray hair, a gnarled and yet pudgy face, and little eyes that
peeked out shrewdly through fat eyelids, looked at Cowperwood
curiously when he came in.

“What’s your name, young man?” he asked, leaning back in
his wooden chair.

“Cowperwood.”

“So you work for Waterman & Company? You want to
make a record, no doubt. That’s why you came to me?”
Cowperwood merely smiled.DHE hINANCI ER

“Well, I’ll take your flour. I need it. Bill it to me.”

Cowperwood hurried out. He went direct to a firm of
brokers in Walnut Street, with whom his firm dealt, and had
them bid in the grain he needed at prevailing rates. ‘Then he

28

   

returned to the office.

“Well,” said Henry Waterman, when he reported, ‘“‘you did
that quick. Sold old Genderman two hundred barrels direct,
did you? ‘That’s doing pretty well. He isn’t ir books,
is he?”

SING, Silk.

“T thought not. Well, if you can do that sort of work on the
street you won't be on the books long.”

Thereafter, in the course of time, Frank became a familiar
figure in the commission district and on ’change (the Produce
Exchange), striking balances for his employer, picking up odd
lots of things they needed, soliciting new customers, breaking

gluts by disposing of odd lots in unexpected quarters. Indeed
ie:

the Watermans were astonished at his facility in this respect.
He had an uncanny faculty for getting appreciative hearings,
making friends, being introduced into new realms. New life
began to flow through the old channels of the Waterman com-
better satisfied. George was for
sending him out into the rural districts to drum up trade, and
this was eventually done.

Near Christmas-time Henry said to George: “We'll have to
make Cowperwood a liberal present. He hasn’t any salary.
How would five hundred dollars do?”

pany. ‘Their customers were

“That’s pretty much, seeing the way times are, but I guess
he’s worth it. He’s certainly done everything we’ve expected,
and more. He’s cut out for this business.”

“What does he say about it? Do you ever hear him say
whether he’s satisfied ?”

“Oh, he likes it pretty much, I guess. You see him as much
as do.”

“Well, we'll make it five hundred. That fellow wouldn’t
make a bad partner in this business some day. He has the
real knack for it. You see that he gets the five hundred dollars
with a word from both of us.”

So the night before Christmas, as Cowperwood was looking
over some way-bills and certificates of consignment preparatoryTHE FINANCEER 29

to leaving all in order for the intervening holiday, George Water-
man came to his desk.

“Hard at it,” he said, standing under the flaring gaslight and
looking at his brisk employee with great satisfaction.

It was early evening, and the snow was making a speckled
pattern through the windows in front.

“Just a few points before I wind up,” smiled Cowperwood.

“My brother and I have been especially pleased with the way
you have handled the work here during the past six months.
We wanted to make some acknowledgment, and we thought
about five hundred dollars would be right. Beginning January
first we'll give you a regular salary of thirty dollars a week.”

“T’m certainly much obliged to you,” said Frank. “I didn’t
expect that much. It’s a good deal. I’ve learned considerable
here that I’m glad to know.”

“Oh, don’t mention it. We know you’ve earned it. You
can stay with us as long as you like. We’re glad to have you
with us.”

Cowperwood smiled his hearty, genial smile. He was feeling
very comfortable under this evidence of approval. He looked
bright and cheery in his well-made clothes of English tweed.

On the way home that evening he speculated as to the nature
of this business. He knew he wasn’t going to stay there
long, even in spite of this gift and promise of salary. They were
grateful, of course; but why shouldn’t they be? He was efficient,
he knew that; under him things moved smoothly. It never
occurred to him that he belonged in the realm of clerkdom.
Those people were the kind of beings who ought to work for
him, and who would. There was nothing savage in his atti-
tude, no rage against fate, no dark fear of failure. “These two
men he worked for were already nothing more than characters
in his eyes—their business significated itself. He could see their
weaknesses and their shortcomings as a much older man might
have viewed a boy’s.

After dinner that evening, before leaving to call on his girl,
Marjorie Stafford, he told his father of the gift of five hun-
dred dollars and the promised salary.

“That’s splendid,” said the older man. ‘“You’re doing better
than I thought. I suppose you’ll stay there.”

“No, I won’t. I think I’ll quit sometime next year.”30 THE FINANCIER

 

“Why?”

“Well, it isn’t exactly what I want to do. It’s all right,
but I’d rather try my hand at brokerage, I think. ‘That appeals
to me.”

“Don’t you think you are doing them an injustice not to
tell them ?”

“Not at all. They need me.” All the while surveying him-
self in a mirror, eee his tie and adjusting his coat.

“Have you told your mother ?”

“No. I’m going to do it now.

He went out into ite dining-room, where his mother
and slipping his arms around her little body, said: “What do
you think, Mammy?”

“Well, what?” she asked, looking affectionately into his eyes.

“T got five hundred dollars to-night, and I get thirty a week
next year. What do you want for Christmas?”

“You don’t say! Isn’t that nice! Isn’t that fine! They
must like you. You’re getting to be quite a man, aren’t you?”

“What do you want for Christmas?”

“Nothing. I don’t want anything. I have my children.”

He smiled. ‘‘All right. Then nothing it is.”

But she knew he would buy her something.

He went out, pausing at the door to grab playfully at his
sister’s waist, and saying that he'd be back about midnight,
he had promised to take

was,

hurried to Marjorie’s house, because
her to a show.

“Anything you want for Christmas this year, Margy?” he
asked, after kissing her in the dimly-lighted hall. “I got five
hundred to-night.”

She was an innocent little thing, only fifteen, no guile, no
shrewdness.

“Oh, you needn’t get me ee

“Needn’t I?” he asked, squeezing her waist and kissing her
mouth again.

It was fine to be getting on this way in the world and having
such a good time.CHAPTER V

HE following October, having passed his eighteenth year

by nearly six months, and feeling sure that he would

never want anything to do with the grain and commission busi-

ness as conducted by the Waterman Company, Cowperwood

decided to sever his relations with them and enter the employ of
Tighe & Company, bankers and brokers.

Cowperwood’s meeting with Tighe & Company had come
about in the ordinary pursuance of his duties as outside man
for Waterman & Company. From the first Mr. Tighe took a
keen interest in this subtle young emissary.

‘“How’s business with you people?” he would ask, genially;
or, “Find that you’re getting many I. O. U.’s these days ?”

~Because of the unsettled condition of the-country, the over-
inflation of securities, the slavery agitation, and so forth, there
were_prospects of hard times. And Tighe—he could not have
told you why—was convinced that this young man was worth
talking to in regard to all this. He was not really old enough
to know, and yet he did know.

“Oh, things are going-pretty well with us, thank you, Mr.
Tighe,’ Cowperwood would answer.

“T tell you,” he said to Cowperwood one morning, “this
slavery agitation, if it doesn’t stop, is going to cause trouble.”

A negro slave belonging to a visitor from Cuba had just
been abducted and set free, because the laws of Pennsylvania
made freedom the right of any negro brought into the state, even
though in transit only to another portion of the country, and
there was great excitement because of it. Several persons had
been arrested, and the newspapers were discussing it roundly.

“T don’t think the South is going to stand for this thing. It’s
making trouble in our business, and it must be doing the same
thing for others. We'll have secession here, sure as fate, one
of these days.” He talked with the vaguest suggestion of a
brogue.

“Tt’s coming, I think,” said Cowperwood, quietly. “It can’t
3132 THhH RENAN CIER

be healed, in my judgment. The negro isn’t worth all this
excitement, but they’ll go on agitating for him—emotional
people always do this. They haven’t anything else to do. It’s
hurting our Southern trade.”

“T thought so. That’s what people tell me.”

He turned to a new customer as young Cowperwood went
out, but again the boy struck him as_being inexpressibly sound
and deep-thinking on financial matters. “If that young fellow
wanted a place, I’d give it to him,” he thought.

Finally, one day he said to him: “How would you like to
try your hand at being a floor man for me in ’change? I need
a young man here. One of my clerks is leaving.”

“T’d like it,” replied Cowperwood, smiling and looking in-
tensely gratified. “I had thought of speaking to you myself
some time.”

‘Well, if you’re ready and can make the change, the place
is open. Come any time you like.”

“T’l] have to give a reasonable notice at the other place,” Cow-
perwood said, quietly. ‘Would you mind waiting a eo or
two?”

“Not at all. It isn’t as important as that. Come as soon
as you can straighten things out. I don’t want to inconvenience
your employers.”

It was only two weeks later that Frank took his departure
from Waterman & Company, interested and yet in no way
flustered by his new prospects. And great was the grief of
Mr. George Waterman. As for Mr. Henry Waterman, he
was actually irritated by this defection.

“Why, I thought,” he exclaimed, vigorously, when informed
by Cowperwood of his decision, “that you liked the business.
Is it a matter of salary?”

“No, not at all, Mr. Waterman. It’s just that I want to get
into the straight-out brakeman business.”

“Well, that certainly is too bad. I’m sorry. I don’t want
to urge you against your own best interests. You know what
you are doing. But George and I had about agreed to offer
you an interest in this thing after a bit. Now you're picking
up and leaving. Why, damn it, man, there’s good money in
this business.”

2)

“I know it,” smiled Cowperwood, “but I don’t like it. ITHE FINANCIER 33

have other plans in view. I’ll never be a grain and commission
man.” Mr. Henry Waterman could scarcely understand why
obvious success in this field did not interest him. He feared
the effect of his departure on the business.

And once the change was made Cowperwood was convinced
that this new work was more suite

                      

5 easy:
and more ogee of course. In the first place, the firm of
Tighe & Co., unlike that of Waterman & Co., was located in a
handsome green-gray stone building at 66 South Third Street,
in what was then, and for a number of years afterward,
the heart of the financial district. Great institutions of na-
tional and international import and repute were near at hand
—Drexel & Co., Edward Clark & Co., the Third National
Bank, the First National Bank, the Stock Exchange, and
similar institutions. Almost a score of smaller banks and
brokerage firms were also in the vicinity. Edward ‘Tighe,
the head and brains of this concern, was a Boston Irish-
man, the son of an immigrant who had flourished and done well
in that conservative city. He had come to Philadelphia to
interest himself in the speculative life there. “Sure, it’s a right
good place for those of us who are-awake,” he told his friends,
with a slight Irish accent, and he considered himself very. much
awake. He was a medium-tall man, not very stout, slightly
and prematurely gray, and with a manner which was as lively
and good-natured as it was combative and self-reliant. His
upper-lip-was ornamented"Sy a short, gray mustache.

“May heaven preserve me,” he said, not long after he came
there, “these Pennsylvanians never pay for anything they can
issue bonds for.” It was the period when Pennsylvania’s credit,
and for that matter Philadelphia’s, was very bad in spite of its
great wealth. “If there’s ever a war there'll be battalions of
Pennsylvanians marching around offering notes for their meals.
If I could just live long enough I could get rich buyin’ up
Pennsylvania notes and bonds. I think Bey ee pay some time;
but, my God, they’re mortal slow! 1 be dead before the
State government will ever catch up on aes arrest they owe
me now.”

It was true. The condition of the finances of the state and
city was most reprehensible. Both State and city were rich
enough; but there were so many schemes for looting the treasury34 THE FINANCIER

in both instances that when any new work had to be under-
taken bonds were necessarily issued to raise the money. ‘These
bonds, or warrants, as they were called, pledged interest at six
per cent.; but when the interest fell due, instead of paying it,
the city or state treasurer, as the case might be, stam] ed the
same with the date of presentation, and the warrant then bore
interest for not only its original face value, but the amount then
due in interest. In other words, it was being slowly com-
pounded. But this did not help the man who wanted to raise
noney, for as security they could not be hypothecated for more
than seventy per cent. of their market value, and they were not
selling at par, but at ninety. A man might buy or accept them
in foreclosure, but he had a long wait. Also, in the final pay-
ment of most of them favoritism ruled, for it was only when
the treasurer knew that certain warrants were in the hands of
“a friend” that he would advertise that such and such warrants
—those particular ones that he knew about—would be paid.

What was more, the money system of the United States
was only then beginning slowly to emerge from something ap-
proximating chaos to something more nearly approaching order,
The United States Bank, of which Nicholas Biddle was the pro-
genitor, had gone completely in 1841, and the United States
Treasury with its subtreasury system had come in 1846; but
still there were many, many wildcat banks, sufficient in number
to make the average exchange-counter broker a walking encyclo-
pedia of solvent and insolvent institutions. Still, things were
slowly improving, for the telegraph had facilitated stock-market
quotations, not only between New York, Boston, and Phila-
delphia, but between a local broker’s office in Philadelphia and
his stock exchange. In other words, the short private wire had
been introduced. Communication was quicker and freer, and
daily grew better.

Railroads had been built to the South, East, North, and West.
There was as yet no stock-ticker and no telephone, and the
clearing-house had only recently been thought of in New York,
and had not yet been introduced in Philadelphia. Instead of a
clearing-house service, messengers ran daily between banks and
brokerage firms, balancing accounts on pass-books, exchanging
bills, and, once a week, transferring the gold coin, which was
the only thing that could be accepted for balances due, sinceTHE FINANCIER 35

’

when the
gong struck announcing the close of the day’s business, a com-

there was no stable national currency. “On ’change,’
pany of young men, known as “settlement clerks,” after a sys-
tem borrowed from London, gathered in the center of the room
and compared or gathered the various trades of the day in a

ring, thus eliminating all those sales and resales between certain

firms which naturally canceled each other. “They carried long
account books, and called out the transactions—“Delaware and
Maryland sold to Beaumont and Company,” “Delaware and
Maryland sold to Tighe and Company,” and so on. ‘This sim-
plified the bookkeeping of the various firms, and made for quicker
and more stirring commercial transactions.

Seats ‘‘on ’change” sold for two thousand dollars each. “The
members of the exchange had just passed rules limiting the trading
to the hours between ten and three (before this they had been
any time between morning and midnight), and had fixed the
rates at which brokers could do business, in the face of cut-
throat schemes which had previously held. Severe penalties
were fixed for those who failed to obey. In other words, things
were shaping up for a great ’change business, and Edward Tighe
felt, with other brokers, that there was a great future ahead.CHAPTER VI

   

HE Cowperwood family was by this time established in its

new and larger and more tastefully furnished house on
North Front Street, facing the river. The house was four
stories tall and stood twenty-five feet on the street front, without
a yard.

Here the family began to entertain in a small way, and
there came to see them, now and then, representatives of the
various interests that Henry Cowperwood had encountered in
his upward.climb.to the position of cashier. It was not a very
distinguished company, but it included a number of people who
were about as successful as himself—heads of small businesses
who traded at his bank, dealers in dry-goods, leather, groceries
(wholesale), and grain. The children had come to have in-
timacies of their own. Now and then, because of church connec-
tions, Mrs. Cowperwood ventured to have an afternoon tea or
reception, at which even Cowperwood attempted the gallant in so
far as to stand about in a genially foolish way and greet those
whom his wife had invited. And so long as he could maintain
his gravity very solemnly and greet people without being
required to say much, it was not too painful for him. Singing
was indulged in at times, a little dancing on occasion, and there
informally, than

was considerably more “company to dinner,’
there had been previously.

And here it was, during the first year of the new life in this
house, that Frank met a certain Mrs. Semple, who interested
him greatly. Her husband had a pretentious shoe store on Chest-
nut Street, near Third, and was planning to open a second one
farther out on the same street.

‘The occasion of the meeting was an evening call on the part
of the Semples, Mr. Semple being desirous of talking with
Henry Cowperwood concerning a new transportation feature
which was then entering the world—namely, street-cars. A ten-
tative line, incorporated by the North Pennsylvania Railway
36LAE PINAN Cle R a7,

Company, had been put into operation on a mile and a half of
tracks extending from Willow Street along Front to German-
town Road, and thence by various streets to what was then
known as the Cohocksink Depot; and it was thought that in time
this mode of locomotion might drive out the hundreds of
omnibuses which now crowded and made impassable the down-
town streets. Young Cowperwood had been greatly interested
from the start. Railway transportation, as a whole, interested
him, anyway, but this particular phase was most fascinating.
It was already creating widespread discussion, and he, with
others, had gone to see it. A strange but interesting new type
of car, fourteen feet long, seven feet wide, and nearly the same
height, running on small iron car-wheels, was giving great satis-
faction as being quieter and easier-riding than omnibuses; and
Alfred Semple was privately considering investing in another
proposed line which, if it could secure a franchise from the
legislature, was to run on Fifth and Sixth streets.

Cowperwood, Senior, saw a great future for this thing; but
he did not see as yet how the capital was to be raised for it.
Frank believed that Tighe & Co. should attempt to become
the selling agents of this new stock of the Fifth and Sixth Street
Company in the event it succeeded in getting a franchise. He
understood that a company was already formed, that a large
amount of stock was to be issued against the prospective fran-
chise, and that these shares were to be sold at five dollars, as
against an ultimate. par value of one hundred. He wished he
had sufficient money to take a large block of them.

Meanwhile, Lillian Semple caught and held his interest. Just
what it was about her that attracted him at this age it would be
hard to say, for she was really not suited to him emotionally,
intellectually, or otherwise. He was not without experience with
women or girls, and still held a tentative relationship with
Marjorie Stafford; but Lillian Semple, in spite of the fact that
she was married and that he could have no legitimate interest in
her, seemed not wiser and saner, but more worth while. She
was twenty-four as opposed to Frank’s nineteen, but still young
enough in her thoughts and looks to appear of his own age.
She was slightly taller than he—though he was now his full
height (five feet ten and one-half inches)—and, despite her
height, shapely, artistic in form and feature, and with a certain38 DH ERNAN CIE R
unconscious placidity of soul, which came more from lack of
understanding than from force of character. Her hair was the
color of a dried English walnut, rich and plentiful, and her com-
plexion waxen—cream wax—with lips of faint pink, and eyes
that varied from gray to blue and from gray to brown, accord-
ing to the light in which you saw them. Her hands were thin
and shapely, her nose straight, her face artistically narrow. She
was not brilliant, not active, but rather peaceful and statuesque
without knowing it. Cowperwood was carried away by her
appearance. Her beauty measured up to his present sense of the
artistic. She was lovely, he thought—gracious, dignified. If
he could have his choice of a wife, this was the kind of a girl
he would like to have.

As yet, Cowperwood’s judgment of women was temperamental
rather than intellectual. Engrossed as he was by his desire for
wealth, prestige, dominance, he was confused, if not chastened
by considerations relating to position, presentability and the like.
None the less, the homely woman meant nothing to him. And
the passionate: woman meant much. He heard family discussions
of this and that sacrificial soul among women, as well as among
men—women who toiled and slaved for their husbands or
children, or both, who gave way to relatives or friends in crises
or crucial moments, because it was right-and kind to do so—
but somehow these stories did not appeal to him._He preferred
to think of people—even women—as honestly, frankly self-in-
terested. He could not have told you why. People seemed fool-
ish, or at the best very unfortunate not to know what to do in all
circumstances and how to protect themselves. “There was great
talk concerning morality, much praise of virtue and decency,
and much lifting of hands in righteous horror at people who
broke or were even rumored to have broken the Seventh Com-
mandment. He did not take this talk seriously. Already he
had broken it secretly many times. Other young men did. Yet
again, he was a little sick of the women of the streets and the
bagnio. There were too many coarse, evil features in connection
with such contacts. For a little while, the false tinsel-glitter of
the house of ill repute appealed to him, for there was a certain
force to its luxury—rich, as a rule, with red-plush furniture,
showy red hangings, some coarse but showily-framed pictures,
and, above all, the strong-bodied or sensuously lymphatic womenCHE PINAN Cit R 39

latin dwelt there, to (as his mother phrased it) prey on men.
he e strength of their bodies, the lust of their souls, the fact that
‘CS could, with a show of affection or good-nature, receive man
‘-(er-man, astonished and later disgusted him. After all, they
re not smart. There was no vivacity of thought there. All
that they could do, in the main, he fancied, was this one thing.
He pictured to himself the dreariness of the mornings after, the
stale dregs of things when only sleep and thought of gain could
aid in the least; and more than once, even at his age, he shook his
head. He wanted contact which was more intimate, subtle, in-
dividual, personal.

So came Lillian Semple, who was nothing more to him than
the shadow of an ideal. Yet she cleared up certain of his ideas in
regard to women. She was not physically as vigorous or brutal
as those other women whom he had encountered in the lupanars,
thus far—raw, unashamed contraveners of accepted theories and
notions—and for that very reason he liked her. And his thoughts
continued to-dwell on her, notwithstanding the hectic days which
now passed like flashes of light in his new business venture. For
this stock exchange world in which he now found himself, primi-
tive as it would seem to-day, was most fascinating to Cowper-
wood. The room that he went to in Third Street, at Dock, where
the brokers or their agents and clerks gathered one hundred and
fifty strong, was nothing to speak of artistically—a square cham-
ber sixty by sixty, reaching from the second floor to the roof of a
four-story building; but it was striking to him. The windows
were high and narrow; a large-faced clock faced the west en-
trance of the room where you came in from the stairs; a collec-
tion of telegraph instruments, with their accompanying desks
and chairs, occupied the northeast corner. On the floor, in the
early days of the exchange, were rows of chairs where the
brokers sat while various lots of stocks were offered to them.
Later in the history of the exchange the chairs were removed
and at different points posts or floor-signs indicating where cer-
tain stocks were traded in were introduced. Around these the
men who were interested gathered to do their trading. From
a hall on the third floor a door gave entrance to a visitor's
gallery, small and poorly furnished; and on the west wall a
large blackboard carried current quotations in stocks as tele-
graphed. from New York and Boston. A wicket-like fence in40 THE FINAN CLE R

the center of the room surrounded the desk and chair of
the official recorder; and a very small gallery opening from
the third floor on the west gave place for the secretary of
the board, when he had any special announcement to make.
There was a room off the southwest corner, where reports and
annual compendiums of various kinds were kept and were avail-
able for the use of members.

Young Cowperwood would not have been admitted at all, as
either a broker or broker’s agent or assistant, except that Tighe,
feeling that he needed him and believing that he would be very
useful, bought him a seat on change—charging the two thousand
dollars it cost as a debt and then ostensibly taking him into
partnership. It was against the rules of the exchange te sham
a partnership in this way in order to put a man on the floor, but
brokers did it. These men who were known to be minor part-
ners and floor assistants were derisively called ‘“‘eighth chasers”
and “‘two-dollar brokers,” because they were always seeking small
orders and were willing to buy or sell for anybody on their com
mission, accounting, of course, to their firms for their work.
Cowperwood, regardless of his intrinsic merits, was originally
counted one of their number, and he was put under the direction
of Mr. Arthur Rivers, the regular floor man of Tighe & Com-
pany.

Rivers was an exceedingly forceful man of thirty-five, well-
dressed, well-formed, with a hard, smooth, evenly-chiseled face,
which was ornamented by a short, black mustache and fine,
black, clearly penciled eyebrows. His hair came to an odd point
at the middle of his forehead, where he divided it, and his chin
was faintly and attractively cleft. He had a soft voice, a quiet,
conservative manner, and both in and out of this brokerage and
trading world was controlled by good form. Cowperwood won-
dered at first why Rivers should work for Tighe—he appeared
almost as able—but afterward learned that he was in the com-
pany. Tighe was the organizer and general hand-shaker, Rivers
the floor and outside man.

It was useless, as Frank soon found, to try to figure out
exactly why stocks rose and fell. Some general reasons there
were, of course, as he was told by Tighe, but they could not
always be depended on.

“Sure, anything can make or break a_market’”—vTighe ex-WHE EINAN Cite 4l

plained in his delicate brogue—‘‘from the failure of a bank to
the rumor that your second cousin’s grandmother has a cold.
It’s a most unusual world, Cowperwood. No man can explain
t, Dveseen breaks in stocks that-you could never explain at all
—no one could.. It wouldn’t be possible to find out why they
broke. I’ve seen rises the same way. My God, the rumors of
the stock exchange!—‘They-beat the-devil. If they’re going down
in ordinary times some one is unloading, or they’re rigging the
market. If they’re going up—God knows times must be good
or somebody must be buying—that’s sure. Beyond that—well,
ask Rivers to show you the ropes. Don’t-you ever lose for me,
though. That’s the cardinal sin in this office.”

He grinned-mahiciowsly, even if kindly, at that.

Cowperwood understood—none better. ‘This subtle world
appealed to him. It answered to his temperament.

There were rumors, rumors, rumors—of great railway and
street-car undertakings, land developments, government revision
of the tariff, war between France and es key, famine in Russia
or Ireland, and so on. The first Atlantic cable had not been
laid as yet, and news of any kind from abroad was slow and
meager. Still there were great financial figures in the field,
men who, like Cyrus Field, or William H. Vanderbilt, or F. X.
Drexel, were doing marvelous things, and their activities and
the rumors concerning them counted for much.

Frank soon picked up all of the technicalities of the situation.
A “bull,” he learned, was one who bought in anticipation of a
higher price to come; and if he was “loaded up” with a “line”
of stocks he was said to be “long.” He sold to “realize’’ his
profit, or if his eee were exhausted he was “wiped out.” A
“bear” was one who sold stocks which most frequently he did
not have, in anticipation of a lower price, at w hich he could buy
and satisfy his previous sales. He was “Short” when he had
sold what he did not own, and he “covered” when he bought to
satisfy his sales and to realize his profits or to Bree himself

against further loss in case prices advanced instea id of declining.
He was in a “corner” when he found that he could not buy in
order to make good the stock he had borrow ed for delivery and
the return of which had been demanded. He was then obliged
to settle practically at a price fixed by those to whom he and

cc

other “‘shorts” had sold.42 THE FINANCIER

 

He smiled at first at the air of great secrecy and wisdom on the
part of the younger men. They were so heartily and foolishly
suspicious. The older men, as a rule, were inscrutable. “They
pretended indifference, uncertainty. They were like certain fish
after a certain kind of bait, however. Snap! and the opportunity
was gone. Somebody else had picked up what-you wanted. All
had their little note-books. All had their peculiar squint of eye
or position or motion which meant “Done! I take you!” Some-
times they seemed scarcely to confirm their sales or purchases—
they knew each other so well—but they did. If the market was
for any reason active, the brokers and their agents were apt to
be more numerous than if it were dull and the trading indif-
ferent. A gong sounded the call to trading at ten o’clock, and
if there was a noticeable rise or decline in a stock or a group
of stocks, you were apt to witness quite a spirited scene. Fifty
to a hundred men would shout, gesticulate, shove here and there
in an apparently aimless manner, endeavoring to take advantage
of the stock offered or called for.

“Five-eighths for five hundred P. and W.,” some one would
call—Rivers or Cowperwood, or any other broker.

“Five hundred at three-fourths,’ would come the reply from
some one else, who either had an order to sell the stock at that
price or who was willing to sell it short, hoping to pick up
enough of the stock at a lower figure later to fill his order and
make a little something besides. If the supply of stock at that
figure was large Rivers would probably continue to bid five-
eighths. If, on the other hand, he noticed an increasing demand,
he would probably pay three-fourths for it. If the professional
traders believed Rivers had a large buying order, they would
probably try to buy the stock before he could at three-fourths,
believing they could sell it out to him at a slightly higher price.
The professional traders were, of course, keen students of psy-
chology; and their success depended on. their ability to guess
whether or not a broker representing a big manipulator, like
Tighe, had an order large enough to affect the market sufficiently
to give them an opportunity to ‘“‘get in and out,” as they termed
it, at a profit before he had completed the execution of his order.
They were like hawks watching for an opportunity to snatch
their prey from under the very claws of their opponents.

Four, five, ten, fifteen, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty, and some-aH eb N ANC PR 43

times the whole company, would attempt to ta e advantage of
the given rise of a given stock by either selling or offering to buy,
in which case the activity and the noise would become deaf ening.
Given groups might be trading in different things: but the large
majority of them would abandon what they were doing in order
to take advantage of a specialty. The eagerness of certain young
brokers or clerks to discover all that was going on, and to take
advantage of any given rise or fall, made for quick physical ac-
tion, darting to and fro, the excited elevation of explanatory
fingers. Distorted faces were shoved over shoulders or under
arms. ‘The most ridiculous grimaces were purposely or uncon-
sciously indulged in. At times there were situations in which
some individual was fairly smothered with arms, faces, shoul-
ders, crowded toward him when he manifested any intention of
either buying or selling at a profitable rate. At first it seemed
quite_a wonderful thing to young Cowperwood—the very physi-
cal face of it—for he likéd-human presence and activity: but a
little later the sense of the thing-as a picture of a-dramatic situa-
tion, of which he was a part, faded, and he came down to a
clearer sense of tl

le intricacies of the problem before him. Buy-
ing and selling stocks, as he soon learned, was an art, a subtlety,

almost a psychic emotion. Suspicion, intuition,
were the things to be “long” on.

Yet in time he also asked himself, who was it who made the
real money—the stock-brokers? Not at all. Some of them were

1

making money, bt

ng—these

t they were, as he quickly saw, like a lot of

gulls or stormy petrels, hanging on the lee of the wind, hungry

and anxious to snap up any unwary fish. sack or them were

I

other men, men with shrewd ida subtle resources. Men of
immense means whose enterprise and holdings these stocks repre-
sented, the-men-who schemed_out.and_built_the_railroads, opened
the mines, organized trading enterprises, and built up immense

ry 1

manufactories. “They might use brokers or other agents to buy
and sell on ’change; but this buying and selling must be, and
always was, incidental to the actual fact—the mine, the railroad,
the wheat crop, the flour mill, and so on. Aguthing less than
straight-out sales to realize quickly on assets, or buying to hold
aS an investment, was gambling pure and simple, and these men
were gamblers. He was nothing_more en a gambler’s agent.

It_was not troubling him any just at this moment, but it was notTHE FINANCIER

at all a mystery now, what he was. As in the case of Waterman
& Company, he sized up these men shrewdly, judging some to
be weak, some foolish, some clever, some slow, but in the main
all small-minded or deficient because they were agents, tools, or
gamblers. A man, a real man, must never be an agent, a tool,
or &gambley—acting for himself or for others—he must employ
such. A real man—a financier—was never a tool. He used
tools. He created. He led.

Clearly, very clearly, at nineteen, twenty, and twenty-one
years of age, he saw all this, but he was not quite ready yet to
do anything about it. He was certain, however, that his day
would come.CHAPTER VII

N the meantime, his interest in Mrs. Semple had been secretly

and strangely-growing: When he received an invitation to
call at the Semple home, he accepted with a great deal of
pleasure. Their house was located not so very far from his own,
on North Front Street, in the neighborhood of what is now
known as No. 956. It had, in summer, quite a wealth of green
leaves and vines. ‘The little side porch which ornamented its
south wall commanded a charming view of the river, and all the
windows and doors were topped with lunettes of small-paned
glass. The interior of the house was not as pleasing as he would
have had it. Artistic impressiveness, as to the furniture at least,
was wanting, although it was new and good. The pictures were
—well, simply pictures. There were no books to speak of—the
Bible, a few current novels, some of the more significant his-
tories, and a collection of antiquated odds and ends in the shape
of books inherited from relatives. The china was good—of a
delicate pattern. The carpets and wall-paper were too high in
key. So it went. -Still;the-personality of Lillian Semple_was
worth-something, for she was really pleasing to look upon, making
a picture wherever she stood or sat.

There were no children—a dispensation of sex conditions
which had nothing to do with her, for she longed to have them.
She was without any notable experience in social life, except
such as had come to the Wiggin family, of which she was a mem-

' ber—relatives and a few neighborhood friends visiting. Lillian
-Wiggin—that was her maiden name—had two brothers and one

;

|

:

sister, all living in Philadelphia and all married at this time.
They thought she had done very-well.in her marriage.
It could not be said that she had wildly loved Mr. Semple at

-any time. Although she had cheerfully married him, he was

not the kind of man who could arouse a notable passion in any
woman. He was practical, methodic, orderly. His shoe store

was a good one—well-stocked with styles reflecting the current

;
J

   

tastes and a model of cleanliness and what one might term pleas-
4546 THE FINANCIER

ing brightness. He loved to talk, when he talked at all, of shoe
manufacturing, the development of lasts and styles. ‘The ready-
made shoe—machine-made to a certain extent—was just coming
inte its own slowly, and outside of these, supplies of which he
kept, he employed bench-making shoemakers, satisfying his cus-
tomers with personal measurements and making the shoes to
order.

Mrs. Semple read a little—not much. She had a habit of sit-
ting and apparently brooding reflectively at times, but it was
not based on any deep thought. She had that curious beauty of
body, though, that made her somewhat like a figure on an an-
tique vase-or out of a Greek chorus. It was in this light, un-
questionably, that Cowperwood saw her, for from the beginning
he could not keep, his eyes off her. In a way, she was aware of
this but she did not attach any significance to it. Thoroughly
conventional, satisfied now that her life was bound permanently
with that of her husband, she had settled down to a staid and
quiet existence.

At first, when Frank called, she did not have much to say.
She was gracious, but the burden of conversation fell on her
husband. . Cowperwood watched the varying expression of her
face from time to time, and if she had been at all psychic she
must have felt something. Fortunately she was_not. Semple
talked to him pleasantly, because in the first place Frank was be-
coming financially significant, was suave and ingratiating, and
in the next place he was anxious to get richer and somehow
Frank represented progress to him in that line. One spring
evening they sat on the porch and talked—nothing very im-
portant—slavery, street-cars, the panic—it was on then, that
of 1857—the development of the West. Mr. Semple wanted to
know all about the stock exchange. In return Frank asked about
the shoe business, though he really did not care. All the while,
inoffensively, he watched Mrs. Semple. Her manner, he
thought, was soothing, attractive, delightful. She served tea and
cake for them. They went inside after a time to avoid the mos-
quitoes. She played the piano. At ten o’clock he left.

Thereafter, for a year or so, Cowperwood bought his shoes of
Mr. Semple. Occasionally also he-stopped in the Chestnut Street
store to exchange the time of the day. Semple asked his opinion
as to the advisability of buying some shares in the Fifth andTHE FINANCTER Ay

Sixth Street line, which, having secured a franchise, was creating
preat excitement. Cowperwood gave him his best judgment.
[t was sure to be profitable.
hundred shares at five dollars a share, and urged Semple to
do so. But he was not interested-in-him personally. He liked
Mrs. Semple, though he did not see her very often.

About a year later, Mr. Semple died. It was-an untimely
death, one of those fortuitous and in a way insignificant episodes

He himself had purchased one

which are, nevertheless, dramatic in a~dull-way to those most
concerned. He was seized with a-cold-in-the chest late in the
fall—one of those seizures ordinarily attributed to wet feet or to
going out on a damp day without an overcoat—and had insisted
on going to business when Mrs. Semple urged him to stay at
home and recuperate. He was in his way a very determined
person, not obstreperously so, but quietly and under the surface.
Business was a great urge. He saw himself soon to be worth
about fifty thousand dollars. Then this cold—nine more days of
pneumonia—and he was dead. ‘The shoe store was closed for
a few days; the house was full of sympathetic friends and church
people. There was a funeral, with burial service in the Callow-
hill Presbyterian Church, to which they belonged, and then he
was buried. Mrs. Semple cried bitterly. The shock of death
affected her greatly and left her for a time in a depressed state.
A brother of hers, David Wiggin, undertook for the time being
to run the shoe business for her. “There was no will, but in the

final adjustment, which included the sale of the shoe business,

there being no desire on anybody’s part to contest her right to
all the property, she received over eighteen thousand dollars.
She continued to reside in the Front Street house, and was con-
sidered a charming and interesting widow.

Throughout this procedure young Cowperwood, only twenty
years of age, was quietly manifest. He called during the ill-
ness. He attended the funeral. He helped her brother, David

7° ° . e . 11 ig og ae
Wiggin, dispose of the shoe business. He called once or twice

after the funeral, then stayed away for a considerable time. In
five months he reappeared, and thereafter he was a caller at
‘stated intervals—periods of a week or ten days.

Again, it would be hard to say what he saw in Lillian Semple.
Her prettiness, wax-like in its quality, fascinated him; her in-
‘difference aroused perhaps his combative soul. He could not48 THE FINANCIER

have explained why, but he wanted her in an urgent, passionate
way. He could not think of her reasonably, and he did not talk
of her much to any one. His family knew that he went to see
her, but there had grown up in the Cowperwood family a deep
respect for the mental force of Frank. He was genial, cheerful,
gay at most times, without being talkative, and he was decidedly
successful. Everybody knew he was making money now. His
salary was fifty dollars a week, and he was certain soon to get
more. Some lots of his in West Philadelphia, bought three
years before, had increased notably in value. His street-car
holdings, augmented by still additional lots of fifty and one hun-
dred and one hundred and fifty shares in new lines incorporated,
were slowly rising, in spite of hard times, from the initiative five
dollars in each case to ten, fifteen, and twenty-five dollars a
share—all destined to go to par. He was liked in the financial
district and he was-sure that he-had a successful future. Be-
cause of his analysis of the brokerage situation he had come to the
he was considering the matter of engaging in bill-brokering, a
business which he had observed to be very profitable and which
involved no risk as long as one had capital. Through his work
and his father’s connections he had met many people—merchants,
bankers, traders. He could get their business, or a part of it,
he knew. People in Drexel & Co. and Clark & Co. were friendly
to him. Jay Cooke, a rising banking personality, was a personal
friend of his.

Meanwhile he called on Mrs. Semple, and the more he called
the better he liked her. There was no exchange of brilliant ideas
between them; but he had a way of being comforting and social
when he wished. He advised her about her business affairs in so
intelligent a way that even her relatives approved of it. She
came to like him, because he was so considerate, quiet, reassur-
ing, and so ready to explain over and over until everything was
quite plain to her. She could see that he was looking on her
affairs quite as if they were his own, trying to make them safe
and secure.

“You’re so very kind, Frank,” she said to him, one night.
“I’m awfully grateful. I don’t know what I would have done
if it hadn’t been for you.”

She looked at his handsome face, which was turned to hers,
with child-like simplicity.tHE RINAN CIEE R 49

“Not at all. Not at all. I want to do it. I wouldn’t have
been happy if I couldn’t.”

His eyes had a peculiar, subtle ray in them—not a gleam. She
felt warm toward him, sympathetic, quite satisfied that she could
lean on him.

“Well, I am very grateful just the same. You've been so
good. Come out Sunday again, if you want to, or any evening.
I'll be home.”

It was while he was calling on her in this way that his Uncle
Seneca died in Cuba and left him fifteen thousand dollars. ‘This
money made him worth nearly twenty-five thousand dollars in
his own right, and he knew exactly what to do with it. A panic
had come since Mr. Semple had died, which had illustrated to
him very clearly what_an uncertain thing the brokerage busi-
ness-was. ‘There was really a severe business-depression. Money
was so scarce that it could fairly be said not to exist at all. Capi-
tal, frightened by uncertain trade and money conditions every-
where, retired to its hiding-places in banks, vaults, tea-kettles,
and stockings. The country seemed to be going to the dogs.
War with the South or secession was vaguely looming up in the
distance. The temper of the whole nation was nervous. People
dumped their holdings on the market in order to get money.
Tighe discharged three of his clerks. He cut down his expenses
in every possible way, and used up all his private savings to pro-
tect his private holdings. He mortgaged his house, his land hold-
ings—everything; and in many instances young Cowperwood was
his intermediary, carrying blocks of shares to different banks to
get what he could on them.

“See if your father’s bank won’t loan me fifteen thousand on
these,” he said to Frank, one day, producing a bundle of Phila-
delphia & Wilmington shares. Frank had heard his father
speak of them in times past as excellent.

“They ought to be good,” the elder Cowperwood said, dubi-
ously, when shown the package of securities. ‘At any other time
they would be. But money is so tight. We find it awfully
hard these days to meet our own obligations. I'll talk to Mr.
Kugel.” Mr. Kugel was the president.

There was a long conversation—a long wait. His father
came back to say it was doubtful whether they could make the
loan. Eight per cent, then being secured for money, was a— "
ree Pe nt, et a TE TTS

yo seSie bana ans SabaleraatemAgeenehanens

HH ea NAN C TER

small rate of interest, considering its need. For ten per cent
Mr. Kugel might make a call-loan. Frank went back to his
employer, whose commercial choler rose at the report.

“Bor Heaven’s sake, is there no money at all in the tow
he demanded, contentiously. ‘Why, the interest they want is
ruinous! I can’t stand that. Well, take ’em back and bring
me the money. Good God, this’ll never do at all, at all!”

Frank went back. ‘He'll pay ten per cent,” he said, quietly.

2

Tighe was credited with a deposit of fifteen thousand dollars,
with privilege to draw against it at once. He made out a check
for the total fifteen thousand at once to the Girard National
Bank to cover a shrinkage there. So it went.

During all these days young Cowperwood was following these
financial complications with interest. He was not.disturbed by
the cause of slavery, or the talk of secession, or the general prog-
ress or decline of the country, except in so far as it affected his
immediate interests. He longed to become a stable financier;
but, now that he saw the inside of the brokerage business, he
was not so sure that he wanted to stay in it. Gambling in
stocks,according to conditions produced by this panic, seemed
very hazardous. A number of brokers failed. He saw them
rush in to Tighe with anguished faces and ask that certain trades
be canceled. Their very homes were in danger, they said. They
would be wiped out, their wives and children put out on the
street.

This panic, incidentally, only made Frank more certain as to
what he really wanted to do—now that he had this free money,
he would go into business for himself. Even Tighe’s offer of a
minor partnership failed to tempt him.

“T think you have a nice business,” he explained, in refusing,
“but I want to get in the note-brokerage business for myself. I
don’t trust this stock game. I’d rather have a little business of
my own than all the floor work in this world.”

“But you’re pretty young, Frank,’ argued his employer.
“You have lots of time to work for yourself.”

In the end he parted friends with both Tighe and Rivers.

‘“That’s a smart young fellow,” observed ‘Tighe, ruefully.

“He'll make his mark,” rejoined Rivers. ‘He’s the shrewdest
boy of his age I ever saw.”CHAPTER VIII

oo OOD’S-world—at.this time was of roseate hue.
He-was_in love and had money of hisown to start his new

business venture. He could take his street-car stocks, which were

steadily increasing in value, and raise seventy per cent. of their
market value. He could put a mo%tgage on his lots and get
money there, if necessary. He had established financial relations
with the Girard National Bank—President Davison there hav-
ing taken a fancy to him—and he proposed to borrow from that
institution some day. All he wanted was suitable investments—

things in which he could realize surely, quickly. He saw fine
prospective profits in the street-car lines, which were rapidly de-
veloping into local ramifications.

He purchased a horse an a bu yi about this time—the most at-
tractive-looking animal and vehicle he could find—the combina-
tion cost him five hundred d ile shes: invited Mrs. Semple to
drive with him. i ee sed at first, but later consented. He had

told her of his success, his prospects, his windfall of fifteen thou-
sand dollars, his intention of going into the note-brokerage busi-
ness. She knew his father was likely to succeed to the position
of vice-president in the Third aA Bank, and she liked the
Cowperwoods. Now she began to realize that there was some-

° re . 1: pee ian Peseta
thing more than mere friendship here. [his erstwhile-boy was

 

the face of things
tiring disposition—but the sheer, quiet, determined force ot
this young man made it plain that he was not to be balked by

a man, and he was calling on her. It was almost ridiculous in
her seniority, her widowhood, her-placid,
b

her sense of convention.

Cowperwood did not delude hi mself with any noble theories
of conduct in regard to her. She was beautiful, with a mental
and physical lure for him that was irresistible, and that was all
he desired to know. No other woman was holding him like
that. It never occurred to him that he could not or should not
like other women at the same time. “There was a great deal of
5152 THE FINANCIER

palaver about the sanctity of the home. It rolled off his mental
sphere like water off the feathers of a duck. He was not eager
for her money, though he was well aware of it. He felt that he
could use it to her advantage. He wanted her physically. He
felt a _keen,\primitiv© interest in the children they would have.
He wanted to find out if he could make her love him vigorously
and could rout out the memory of her former life. Strange ambi-
tion. Strange perversion, one might almost say.

In spite of her fears and her uncertainty, Lillian Semple ac-
cepted his attentions and interest because, equally in spite of her-
self, she was drawn to him. One night, when she was going to
bed, she stopped-in-front-of her dressing table and looked at her
face and her bare neck and arms. They were very pretty. A
subtle something came over her as she surveyed her long, pecu-
liarly shaded hair. She thought of young Cowperwood, and then
was chilled and shamed by the vision of the late Mr. Semple
and the force and quality of public opinion.

“Why do you come to see me so often?” she asked him when
he called the following evening.

“Oh, don’t you know?” he replied, looking at her in an in-
terpretive way.

“No.”

“Sure you don’t?”

“Well, I know you liked Mr. Semple, and I always thought
you liked me as his wife. He’s gone, though, now.”

“And you're here,” he replied.

“And I’m here?”

“Yes. I like you. I like to be with you. Don’t you like me
that way?”

“Why, I’ve never thought of it. You’re so much younger.
I’m five years older than you are.”

“In years,” he said, “certainly. That’s nothing. I’m fifteen
years older than you are in other ways. I know more about lite
in some ways than you can ever hope to learn—don’t you think
so?” he added, softly, persuasively.

“Well, that’s true. But I know a lot of things you don’t
know.” She laughed softly, showing her pretty teeth.

It was evening. They were on the side porch. The river
was before them.

“Yes, but that’s only because you’re a woman. A man can’tHE FPN AN CTE 53

hope to get a woman’s point of view exactly. But I’m talking
about practical affairs of this world. You’re not as old that
way as I am.”

“Well, what of it?”

“Nothing. You asked why I came to see you.. That’s why.
Partly.”

He relapsed into silence and stared at the water.

She looked at him. His handsome body, slowly broadening,
was nearly full grown. His face, because of its full, clear, big,
inscrutable eyes, had an expression which was almost babyish.
She-could not have guessed the depths it veiled. His cheeks were
pink, his hands not large, but-sinewy and strong. Her pale, un-
certain, lymphatic_body extracted a form of dynamic energy from
him even at this_range.
~ “T don’t think you ought to come to see me so often. People
won’t think well of it.” She ventured to take a distant, matronly
air—the air she had originally held toward him.

“People,” he said, ‘don’t worry about people. People think
what you want them to think. I wish you wouldn’t take that
distant air toward me.”

“Why ?”

“Because I like you.”

“But you mustn’t like me. It’s wrong. I can’t ever marry
you. You’re too young. I’m too old.”

“Don’t say that!’ he said, imperiously. “There’s nothing to
it. I want you to marry me. You know I do. Now, when will
it be?”

“Why, how silly! I never heard of such a thing!” she ex-
claimed. “It will never be, Frank. It can’t be!”

“Why can’t it?” he asked.

“Because—well, because I’m older. People would think it

 

‘strange. I’m not long enough free.”
“Oh, long enough nothing!” he exclaimed, irritably. ‘“That’s

‘the one thing I have against you—you are so worried about what

people think. They don’t :naxe’your life. They certainly don’t

make mine. Think of yourself first. You have your own life to

|make. Are you going to let what other people think stand in the

| way of what you want to do?”

“But I don’t want to,” she smiled.

He arose and came over to her, looking into her eyes.THE FINANCIER

“Well?” she asked, nervously, quizzically.

He merely looked at her.

‘““Well?” she queried, more flustered.

He stooped down to take her arms, but she got up.

“Now you must not come near me,” she pleaded, determinedly.
“T’ll go in the house, and I'll not let you come any more. It’s
terrible! You're silly! You mustn’t interest yourself in me.”

She did show a good deal of determination, and he desisted.
But for the time being only. He called again and again. Then
one night, when they had gone inside because of the mosquitoes,
and when she had insisted that he must stop coming to see her,
that his attentions were noticeable to others, and that she would
be disgraced, he caught her, under desperate protest, in his arms.

“Now, see here!” she exclaimed. “I told you! It’s silly!
You mustn’t kiss me! How dare you! Oh! oh! oh!—”

She broke away and ran up the near-by stairway to her room.
Cowperwood. followed her swiftly. As she pushed the door to
he forced it open and recaptured her. He lifted her bodily from
her feet and held her crosswise, lying in his arms.

“Oh, how could you!” she exclaimed. ‘‘I will never speak to
you any more. I will never let you come here any more if you
don’t put me down this minute. Put me down!”

“T’ll put you down, sweet,” he said. “Ill take you down,” at
the same time pulling her face to him and kissing her. He was
very much aroused, excited.

While she was twisting and protesting, he carried her down
the stairs again into the living-room, and seated himself in the
great armchair, still holding her tight in his arms.

“Oh!” she sighed, falling limp on his shoulder when he re-
fused to let her go. ‘Then, because of the set determination of
his face, some intense pull in him, she smiled. ‘‘How would I
ever explain if I did marry you?” she asked, weakly. ‘Your
father! Your mother!”

“You don’t need to explain. Ill do that. And you needn’t
worry about my family. They woh’t:care.”

“But mine,” she recoiled. Es Shinne 3s

“Don’t worry about yours. I’m not marrying your family.
I’m marrying you. We have independent means.”

She relapsed into additional protests; but he kissed her the
more. ‘There was a deadly persuasion to his caresses. Mr. Sem-EHE EINAN CLER 55

ple had never displayed any such fire. He aroused a force of
feeling in her which had not previously been there. She was
afraid of it and ashamed.

“Will you marry me in a month?” he asked, cheerfully, when
she paused.

“You know I won’t!” she exclaimed, nervously. ‘The idea!
Why do you ask?”

“What difference does it make? We're going to get married
eventually.” He was thinking how attractive he could make her
look in other surroundings. Neither she nor his family knew
how to live.

“Well, not in a month. Wait a little while. I will marry
you after a while—after you see whether you want me.”

He caught her tight. ‘“‘I’ll show you,” he said.

“Please stop. You hurt me.”

“How about it? “Iwo months?”

“Certainly not.”

Pal bree?”

“Well, maybe.”

“No maybe in that case. We marry.

“But- you're only a~boy:”

“Don’t worry about me. You'll find out how much of a boy
fam.”

He seemed of a sudden to open up-a new world to her, and
ishe realized that she had never really lived before. “This man
represented something bigger and stronger than ever her hus-
‘band had dreamed of. In his young way he was terrible, irre-
sistible.

“Well, in three months then,” she whispered, while he rocked
ther cozily in his arms.

99CHAPTER IX

 
  
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
   
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
  
   
 
  

OWPERWOOD started in the note-brokerage business

with a small office at No. 64 South Third Street, where
he very soon had the pleasure of discovering that his former
excellent business connections remembered him. He would go to
one house, where he suspected ready money might be desirable, and
offer to negotiate their notes or any paper they might issue bear-
ing six per cent. interest for a commission and then he would sell
the paper for a small commission to some one who would wel-
come a secure investment. Sometimes his father, sometimes
other people, helped him with suggestions as to when and how.
Between the two ends he might make four and five per cent. on
the total transaction. In the first year he cleared six thousand
dollars over and above all expenses. That wasn’t much, but he
was augmenting it in another way which he believed- would bring
great profit in the future.

Before the first street-car line, which was a shambling affair,
had been laid on Front Street, the streets of Philadelphia had
been crowded with hundreds of springless omnibuses rattling
over rough, hard, cobblestones. Now, thanks to the idea of
John Stephenson, in New York, the double rail track idea had
come, and besides the line on Fifth and Sixth Streets (the cars
running out one street and back on another) which had paid
splendidly from the start, there were many other lines proposed
or under way. ‘The city was as eager to see street-cars replace
omnibuses as it was to see railroads replace canals. ‘There was
opposition, of course. “There always is in such cases. The cry
of probable monopoly was raised. Disgruntled and defeated
omnibus owners and drivers groaned aloud.

Cowperwood had implicit faith in the future of the street rail-
way. In support of this belief he risked all he could spare on
new issues of stock shares in new companies. He wanted to be
on the inside wherever possible, always, though this was a little
dificult in the matter of the street-railways, he having been so
56THE FINANCIER 57

young when they started and not having yet arranged his finan-
cial connections to make them count for much. The Fifth and
Sixth Street line, which had been but recently started, was pay-
ing six hundred dollars a day. A project for a West Phila-
delphia line (Walnut and Chestnut) was on foot, as were lines
to occupy Second and Third Streets, Race and Vine, Spruce and
Pine, Green and Coates, Tenth and Eleventh, and so forth.
They were engineered and backed by some powerful capitalists
who had influence with the State legislature and could, in spite
of great public protest, obtain franchises. Charges of corrup-
tion were in the air. It was argued that the streets were valua-
ble, and that the companies should pay a road tax of a thousand
dollars a mile. Somehow, however, these splendid grants were
gotten through, and the public, hearing of the Fifth and Sixth
Street line profits, was eager to invest. Cowperwood was one
of these, and when the Second and Third Street line was engi-
neered, he invested in that and in the Walnut and Chestnut
Street line also. He-began-to have vague dreams of controlling
a line himself some day, but as yet he did not see exactly how
it was to be done, since his business was far from being a
bonanza.

In the midst of this early work he married Mrs. Semple.
There was no vast to-do about it, as he did not want any and
his bride-to-be was nervous, fearsome of public opinion. His
family did not entirely approve. She was too old, his mother
and father thought, and then Frank, with his prospects, could
have done much better. His sister Anna fancied that Mrs.
Semmple—was—designing, which was, of course, not true.. His
brothers, Joseph and Edward, were interested, but not certain
as to what they actually thought, since Mrs. Semple was good-
looking and had some money.

It was a warm October day when he and Lillian went to the
altar, in the First Presbyterian Church of Callowhill Street,
His bride, Frank was satisfied, looked exquisite in a trailing
gown of cream lace—a creation that had cost months of labor.
His parents, Mrs. Seneca Davis, the Wiggin family, brothers
and sisters, and some friends were present. He was a little
opposed to this idea, but Lillian wanted it. He stood up
straight and correct in black broadcloth for the wedding
ceremony—because she wished it, but later changed to a58 THE FINANCIER

smart business suit for traveing. He had arranged hid
affairs for a two weeks’ trip to New York and Boston. ‘They
took an afternoon train for New York, which required five hours
to reach. When they were finally alone in the Astor House,
New York, after hours of make-believe and public pretense of
indifference, he gathered her in his arms.

“Oh, it’s delicious,” he exclaimed, “to have you all to myself.”

She met his eagerness-with that smiling, tantalizing passivity
which he had so much admired but which this time was tinged
strongly with a communicated desire.--He-thought he should
never-have enough of-her, her beautiful face, her lovely arms,
her smooth, lymphatic body. They-were-like two-children;-bill-
ing and cooing, driving, dining, seeing the sights. He was curi-
ous to visit the financial sections of both cities. New York and
Boston appealed to him as commercially solid. He wondered,
as he observed the former, whether he should ever leave Phila-
delphia. He was going to be very happy there now, he thought,
with Lillian and possibly a brood of young Cowperwoods. He
was going to work hard and make money. With his means and
hers now at his command, he might become, very readily, notably
wealthy.CHAPTER X

HE home atmosphere which they established when they

returned from their honeymoon was a great improve-
ment in taste over that which had characterized the earlier
life of Mrs. Cowperwood as Mrs. Semple. ‘They had decided
to occupy her house, on North Front Street, for a while at least.
Cewperwood, aggressive-in his current artistic mood, had ob-
jected_at once after they were engaged to the-spirit-of the furni-
ture and decorations,.or lack of them, and had suggested that he
be allowed to have it brought more in keeping with his idea of
what was appropriate. During the years in which he had been
growing into manhood he had come instinctively into sound no-
tions of what was artistic and refined. He had seen so many
homes that were more distinguished and harmonious than his
own. One could not walk or drive about Philadelphia without
seeing-and_being-impressed with the general tendency toward a
more cultivated and selective social life. Many excellent and
expensive houses were being erected. The front lawn, with
some attempt at floral gardening, was achieving local popularity.
In the homes of the Tighes, the Leighs, Arthur Rivers, and
others, he had noticed art objects of some distinction—bronzes,
marbles, hangings, pictures, clocks, rugs.

It seemed to him now that this comparatively commonplace
house could be made into something charming, and for compara~
tively little money. The dining-room, for instance, which,
through two plain windows set in a flat side wall back of the
veranda, looked south over a stretch of grass and several trees
and bushes to a dividing fence where the Semple property ended
and a neighbor’s began, could be made so much more attractive.
That fence—sharp-pointed, gray palings—could be torn away
and a hedge put in its place. The wall which divided the
dining-room from the parlor could be knocked through and a
hanging of some pleasing character put in its place. A bay-
window could be built to replace the two present oblong win-
dows—a bay which would come down to the floor and open out
on the lawn via swiveled, diamond-shaped, lead-paned frames.
59en ee errr

  

ER

 

LHe EP DNANEe!

   

60

All this shabby, nondescript furniture, collected from heaven
knows where—partly inherited from the Semples and the Wig-
gins and partly bought—could be thrown out or sold and some-
thing better and more harmonious introduced. He knew a young
man by the name of Ellsworth, an architect newly graduated
from a local school, with whom he had struck up an interesting
ee of those inex plicable inclinations of tempera-
tin spirit, quiet, medita-

Y arti

a.

ment. Walton Blisworth was.at
tive, refined. From discussing the quality of a certain building
on Chestnut Street which was then being erected, and which
Ellsworth pronounced atrocious, they had fallen to discussing art
in general, or the lack of it, in America. And it occurred to
him that Ellsworth was the man to carry out his decorative
views to a nicety. When he suggested the young man to Lillian,

she placidly agreed with him and also with his own ideas of how
the house could be revised.
Srl lethevintereirane arnt oan llsworthubess
So while they were gone on their honeymoon Ellsworth began

the revision on an estimated cost of three thousand dollars, in-
cluding the furniture. ‘It was not completed for nearly three
weeks after their return; but when finished made a compara-
tively new house. ‘The dining-room bay hung low over the
grass, as Frank wished, and the window ’s were diamond-paned
and leaded, swiveled on brass rods. ‘he parlor and dining-
room were separated ae siding doors; but the intention was
to hang in this opening a silk hanging dep icting a wedding scene
in Normandy. Old English oak was used in the dining-room,
an American imitation of Chippendale and Sheraton for the
itting-room and the bedrooms. ‘There were a few simple water-

1

CT ee cay cep ry ae ae
colors hung here and there, some bronzes of Hosmer and Powers,

a marble Venus by Potter, a now forgotten sculptor, and other
objects of art—nothing of any distinction, Pleasing, appropri-

1 a nh ~ iy z
ately colored rugs covered the floor. Mrs. Cowperwocd was

shocked by the nudity of the Venus whi fel conveyed an atmos-

phere of European—freedom~not-common~—to America; but she

said nothing. It was all harmonious and soothing, and she did

not feel herself capable to judge. Frank-knew about these Hine.

so. much better than she did. “Then with a maid and aman of all

work installed, a program of entertaining was begun on a small
le

scale.

Those who recall the early years of their married life can bestthe ELNAN CIE R 61

realize the subtle ee which this new condition brought to
Frank, for, like all who accept the hymeneal yoke, he was in-
fluenced to a certain extent by the things with which he sur-
rounded himself. Primarily, from certain traits of his character,
one would have imagined him called to be a citizen of eminent
respectability and worth. He appeared to be an ideal home
man: He delighted to return to his wife in the evenings, leaving
the crowded downtown section where traffic clamored and men
hurried. Here he could feel that he was well-stationed and
physically-happy-in-life.. The thought-of the dinner-table with
candles upon it (his idea) ; the thought of Lillian in a trailing
gown of pale-blue or green silk—he liked her in those colors;
the thought of a large fireplace flaming with solid lengths of
cord-wood, and Lillian snuggling in his arms, gripped his im-
mature-imagination. As has been-said~before, he cared nothing
for books, but life, pictures, trees, physical contact—these, in
spite of his shrewd and already gripping financial calculations,
held him. To_live richly, joyously, fully—his whole nature
craved that.

And Mrs. eee in spite of the difference in their
years, appeared to be_a_fit_mate-for him-at this time. She-was
once awakened, and for the time being, clinging, responsive,
dreamy. His tmood anders was for a BAL iby, a nd in a little while
that happy expectation was whispered to him BY her. She had
half fancied that her previous barrenness was due to herself, and
was rather surprised and gee ighted at the Se that it was not
so. It opened new a seemingly glorious future of
which she was not ane He liked-it; the idea of self-duplica-
tion. It was almost acquisitive; this-thought-- For days and

                     

Te

weeks and months and years, at least-thefirst four or five, he
took a keen satisfaction in coming home evenings, strolling about
the yard, driving with his wife, having friends in to dinner, talk-
ing over with her in an explanatory way the things he intended
to do. She did not understand his financial abstrusities, and he
did not trouble to make them clear.

But-love, her pretty body, her lips, her quiet mar
lure of all these combined, and his two children, when they came
—two in four years—held him. He would dandle Frank, jic:,
who was the first to arrive, on his knee, looking at his chubby
feet, his kindling eyes, his almost formless yet bud-like mouth,ee eee ee

62

  

THE BINANCTER

 

and wonder at the process by which children came into the world.
‘There was so much to think of in this connection—the sperma-
tozoic beginning, the strange period of gestation in women, the
danger of disease and delivery. He had gone through a real
period of strain when Frank, Jr., was born, for Mrs. Cowper-
wood was frightened. He feared for the beauty of her body—
troubled over the danger of losing her; and he actually endured
his first worry when he stood outside the door the day the child
came. Not much—he was too self-sufficient, too resourceful;
and yet he worried, conjuring up thoughts of death and the end
of their present state. Then word came, after certain piercing,
harrowing cries, that all was well, and he was permitted to look
at the new arrival. The experience broadened his conception of
things, made him more solid in his judgment of life. “That old
conviction.of tragedy underlying the surface of things, like wood
under its veneer, was emphasized. Little Frank, and later Lil-
lian, blue-eyed and golden-haired, touched his imagination for a
while. There was a good deal to this home idea, after all. Tat
was the way life was organized, and properly so—its cornerstone
was the home.

It would be impossible to indicate fully how subtle were the
material changes which these years involved—changes so gradual
that they were, like the lap of soft waters, unnoticeable. Con-
siderable—a great deal, considering how little he had to begin
with—wealth was added inthe next five-years.. He came, in his
financial world, to know fairly intimately, as commercial rela-
tionships go, some of the subtlest characters of the steadily en-
larging financial world. In his days at Tighe’s and on the ex-
change, many curious figures had been pointed out to him—
State and city officials of one grade and another who were “‘mak-
ing something out of politics,’ and some national figures: who
came from Washington to Philadelphia at times to see Drexel
& Co., Clark & Co., and even Tighe & Co. These men, as he
learned, had tips or advance news of legislative or economic
changes which were sure to affect certain stocks or trade oppor-
tunities. A young clerk had once pulled his sleeve at Tighe’s.

“See that man going in to see Tighe?”

Pe YIeSer

“That’s Murtagh, the city treasurer. Say, he don’t do any-
thing but play a fine game. All that money to invest, and heHE hINANCIER 63

don’t have to account for anything except the principal. The
interest goes to him.”

Cowperwood understood. All these city and state officials
speculated. “They had a habit of depositing city and state funds
with certain bankers and brokers as authorized agents or desig-
nated state depositories. “The banks paid no interest—save to
the officials personally. They loaned it to certain brokers on the
officials’ secret order, and the latter invested it in ‘“‘sure winners.”
‘The bankers got the free use of the money a part of the time, the
brokers another part: the officials made money, and the brokers
received a fat commission. “There was a political ring in Phila-
delphia in which the mayor, certain members of the council, the
treasurer, the chief of police, the commissioner of public works,
and others shared. It was a case generally of ‘You scratch my
back and ll scratch yours.”..Cowperwood. thought it rather
shabby work at first, but-many men were rapidly getting rich
and no one’ seemed to care.. The newspapers were always talk-
ing about civic patriotism and pride but never a word about these
things. And-the-men who did them were powerful and re-
spected.

‘There were many houses, a constantly widening circle, that
found him a very trustworthy agent in disposing of note issues or
note payment. He seemed to know so quickly where to go to
get the money. From the first he made it a principle to keep
twenty thousand dollars in cash on hand in order to be able to
take up a proposition instantly and without discussion. So, often
he was able to say, “Why, certainly, I can do that,” when other-
wise, on the face of things, he would not have been able to do so.
He was asked if he would not handle certain stock transactions
on ’change. He had no seat, and he intended not to take any at
first; but now he changed his mind and bought one, not only in
Philadelphia, but in New York also. A certain Joseph Zimmer-
man, a dry-goods man for whom he had handled various note
issues, suggested that he undertake operating in street-railway
shares for him, and this was the beginning of his return to the
floor.

In the meanwhile his family life was changing—growing, one
might have said, finer and more secure. Mrs. Cowperwood had,
for instance, been compelled from time to time to make a subtle
readjustment of her personal relationship with people, as he hadWeb US end et acl e ateeede eet eeensen rer meyneminyenmn mm mem inti eval ppaletiinbsiyt tleenivertee arse:

  

THE PINANG TE

 

with his. When Mr. Semple was alive she had been socially
connected with tradesmen principally—retailers and small whole-
salers—a very few. Some of the women of her own church, the
First Presbyterian, were friendly with her. ‘There had been
church teas and sociables which she and Mr. Semple attended,
and dull visits to his relatives and hers. “The Cowperwoods,
the Watermans, and a few families of that caliber, had been
the notable e ceptions. Now all this was changed. Young
Cowperwood did not care very much for her relatives, and the
Semples had been alienated by her second, and to them out-
tageous, marriage. His.own family was closely interested-by ties
of affection and mutual prosperity, but, better than this, he wa
drawing to himself some really significant personalities. He
brought home with him, socially—not to talk business, for he dis-
liked that idea—bankers, investors, customers and prospective
customers. Out on the Schuylkill, the Wissahickon, and else-
where, were popular dining places where one could drive on
Sunday. He and Mrs. Cowperwood frequently drove out to
Mrs. Seneca Davis’s, to Judge Kitchen’s, to the home of Andrew
Sharpless, a lawyer whom he knew, to the home of Harper
Steger, his own lawyer, and others. Cowperwood had the gift
of geniality. None of these men or women suspected the depth
of his nature—he was thinking, thinking, thinking, but enjoyed

life as he went.
One of his earliest and most genuine leanings was toward
paintings. He admired nature, but somehow, without knowing
I grasp it through the personality

a
er

why, he fancied one coulc

 

3 be : ;
+ as we gain our ideas of law and politics

of some inte
through [rs..Cowperwood cared not a whit—one

: Say en hentai
accompanied him to exhibitions, think-

 

way ol
ng_all Frank was a little peculiar. He tried, be-
cause he interest her in these things intelligently,
but while she pretended slightly, she could not really see or

are, and it was Neos plain that she could not.
il

[he children took up a great deal of her time. However,
Cow perwood was not troubled about this. It struck him as
delightful and exceedingly worth while that she should be so
devoted. At the same time, her-lethargic manner, vague smile
and her sometimes seeming indifference, which sprang largely

from a sense of absolute security, attracted him also. She wasPot PENAN CIER 65

so different from him! She took her second marriage quite as
she~had-taken-her first—a solemn fact which contained no pos-
sibility of mental alteration. As for himself, however, he was
bustling about in a world which, financially at least, seemed all
alteration—there were so many sudden and almost unheard-of
changes. He began to look at her at times with a speculative
eye—not very critically, for he liked her—but with an attempt
to weigh her personality. He had known her five years and
more now. What did he know about her? ‘The vigor of youth
—those first years—had made up for so many things, but now
that he had her safely .. .

There came in this period the slow approach, and finally the
declaration, of war between the North and the South, attended
with so much excitement that almost all current minds were
notably colored by it. It was terrific. “Then came meetings,
public and stirring, and riots; the incident of John Brown’s
body; the arrival of Lincoln, the great commoner, on his way
from Springfield, Illinois, to Washington via Philadelphia, to
take the oath of office; the battle of Bull Run; the battle of
Vicksburg; the battle of Gettysburg, and so on. Cowperwood
was only twenty-five at the time, a cool, determined youth, who
thought the slave agitation might be well founded in human
rights—no. doubt was—but~exceedingly_dangerous to trade. . He
hoped the North would win; but it might go hard with him
personally and other financiers. He did not care to fight. “That

seemed—silly—for the-individual-man-to_do. Others might—
there were many poor, thin-minded, half-baked creatures who
would put themselves up to be shot; but they were only fit
to be commanded or shot down. As for him, his life was sacred
to_himself and his family and his personal interests. He re-
called seeing, one day, in one of the quiet side streets, as the
working-men were coming home from their work, a small en-
listing squad of soldiers in blue marching enthusiastically along,
the Union flag flying, the drummers eae: the fifes blow-

g, the idea being, of course, to so impress the hitherto indifferent
Or wavering citizen, to exalt him to such a pitch , that he would
lose his sense of proportion, of self-interest, and, forgetting all—
wife, parents, home, and children—and seeing Bile the great need
of the country, fall in behind and enlist. He saw one working-
man swinging his pail, and evidently not contemplating any such66 TAGE FINANCIER

dénouement to his day’s work, pause, listen as the squad ap-
proached, hesitate as it drew close, and as it passed, with a
peculiar look of uncertainty or wonder in his eyes, fall in behind
and march solemnly away to the enlisting quarters. What was
it that had caught this man, Frank asked himself. How—was
he overcome so easily? He had not intended to go. His face
was streaked with the grease and dirt of his work—he looked
like a foundry man or machinist, say twenty-five years of age.
Frank watched the little squad disappear at the end of the street
round the corner under the’trees.

This current war-spirit was strange. The people seemed to
him to want to hear nothing but the sound of the drum and fife,
to see nothing but troops, of which there were thousands now
passing through on their way to the front, carrying cold steel in
the shape of guns at their shoulders, to hear of war and the
rumors of war. It was.a thrilling sentiment, no doubt, great but
unprofitable. It meant self-sacrifice, and he could not see that.
If he went he might be shot, 4nd what would his noble emotion
amount to then? He would rather make money, regulate cur-
rent political, social, and financial affairs. The poor fool who
fell in behind the enlisting squad—no, not fool, he would not
call him that—the poor overwrought working-man—well,
Heaven pity him! Heaven pity all of them! They really did
not know what they were doing.

One day he saw Lincoln—a tall, shambling man, long, bony,
gawky, but tremendously impressive. It was a raw, slushy morn-
ing of a late February day, and the great war President was just
through with his solemn pronunciamento in regard to the bonds
that might have been strained but must not be broken. As he
issued from the doorway of Independence Hall, that famous
birthplace of liberty, his face was set in a sad, meditative calm.
Cowperwood looked at him fixedly as he issued from the door-
way surrounded by chiefs of staff, local dignitaries, detectives,
and the curious, sympathetic faces of the public. As he studied
the strangely rough-hewn countenance a sense of the great worth
and dignity of the-man-came-over him,

“A real man, that,” he thought; “a wonderful temperament.”
His every gesture came upon him with great force. He watched
him enter his carriage, thinking “So that is the railsplitter, theTHE FINANCTER 67

country lawyer. Well, fate has picked a great man for this
crisis.”

For days the face of Lincoln haunted him, and very often
during the war his mind reverted to that singular figure. It
seemed to him unquestionable that fortuitously he had been per-
mitted to look upon one of the world’s really great men. War
and statesmanship were not for him; but he knew how important
those things were—at times.CHAPTER

T was while the war was on, and after it was perfectly

plain that it was not to be of a few days’ duration, that
Cowperwood’s first great financial opportunity-came to him.
There-was a strong demand for money at the time on the
part of the nation, the state, and the city. In July, 1861,
Congress had authorized a loan of fifty million dollars, to be
secured by twenty-year bonds with interest not to exceed seven
per cent, and the state authorized a loan of three millions on
much the same security, the first being handled by financiers
of Boston, New York, and Philadelphia, the second by Phila-
delphia financiers alone. Cowperwood had no_hand_ in this.
He was not big enough. He read in the papers of gatherings
of men whom he knew personally or by reputation, “to consider
the best way to aid the nation or the state”; but he was not
included. And yet his soul yearned to be of them. He naticed
how often a rich man’s word suficed—no money, no certificates,
no collateral, no anything—just his word:If Drexel & Co.,
or Jay Cooke & Co., or Gould & Fiske were rumored to be
behind anything, how-secureit-was! Jay Cooke, a young man
in Philadelphia, had made a great strike taking this state loan
in company with Drexel & Co., and selling it at par. The
general opinion was that it ought to be and could only be sold
at ninety. Cooke did not believe this. He believed that state
pride and state patriotism would warrant offering the loan
to small banks and private citizens, and that they would sub-
scribe it fully and more. Events justified Cooke magnificently,
and his public reputation was assured. Cowperwood wished he
could make some such strike; but he was too practical to worry,
over anything save the facts and conditions that were before
him. ;

His chance came about six months later, when it was found
that the state would have to have much more money. Its quota
of troops would have to be equipped and paid. There were
measures of defense to be taken, the treasury to be replenished.
A call for a loan of twenty-three million dollars was finally
68Het ELNAN CLER 69

authorized by the legislature and issued. “There was ee talk
in the street as to who was to handle it—Drexel & Co. and Jay
Cooke & Co., of course.

Cowperwood pondered over this. If he could handle a frac-
tion of this great loan now—he could not possibly handle the
whole of it, for he had not the necessary connections—he
could _add—considerably to his reputation as a pee while

making a tidy-sum. How much could he handle? That was
the question. Who would take portions of it? ik father’s

bank? Probably. Waterman & Co.? A little. Judge Kite chen ?
IA vemall fraction. ‘Lhe Mills-David Company? Yes. He
thought of different weiduaie and concerns who, for one rea-
personal friends ms p, good-nature, gratitude for
take a perce of the seven-
He 4a up his possibilities,
;
1

 

son and another

 

past favors, and so on—would

per-cent bonds through —him

ae discovered that in all likelihood, with a little preliminary
missionary work, he could dispose of one million dollars if per-
nal influence, through local political figures, ¢ could bring this

ich of the loan his way.

One man in particular had grown strong in his estimation

as having some subtle political connection not visible on the
° Tr Teale : R suet

surface, and this was Edward Malia Butler... Butler was a

contractor, undertaking the construction of sewers, water-mains,

ing. and the like. In the

foundations for buildings, yaving,
1 known him, he had

early days, long betore Cowperwood had |
been a garbage-contractor on his own account. The city at
that time had no extended street-cleaning service, particularly
poorer Tres gions.

 

: - + - Aid a } cra h ldor
in its outlying sections and some .or the older,

Edward Butler, then a poor young Irishman, had een by
° 7 eat f ¢ .} a and

collecting and Pf auling away the garbage free of charge, an
feeding it to his s pigs and cattle. Later he discovered that some
his service. “Chen

people were willing to pay a small charge for this :

a local political ot aracter, a councilman friend of his—they were
both @uhalics car wa new point in the whole thing. Bue
could be made official garbage-collector. ‘The council could

. ° . a 2,4¢lear CH ]
vote an ae appropriation for this service. Butler could

employ more wagons than he did now—doz ens O
Not only fae but no other garbage-collector would be allowed.
There were others, but the official contract awarded him would

also, officially, be the end of the life of any and every disturbing

f them, scores.70 Loe Fils Aner he

 

rival. A certain amount of the profitable proceeds would have
to be set aside to assuage the feelings of those who were not
contractors. Funds would have to be loaned at election time to
certain individuals and organizations—but no matter. ‘The
amount would be small. So Butler and Patrick Gavin Comiskey,
the councilman (the latter silently) entered into business rela-
tions. Butler gave up driving a wagon himself. He hired
a young man, a smart Irish boy of his neighborhood, Jimmy
Sheehan, to be his assistant, superintendent, stableman, book-
keeper, and what not. Since he soon began to make between
four and five thousand a year, where before he made two thou-
sand, he moved into a brick house in an outlying section of the
south side, and sent his children to school. Mrs. Butler gave
up making soap and feeding pigs. And since then times had
been exceedingly good with Edward Butler.

He could neither read nor write at first; but now he knew
how, of course. He had learned from association with Mr.
Comiskey that there were other forms of contracting—sewers,
water-mains, gas-mains, street-paving, and the like. Who bet-
ter than Edward Butler to do it? He knew the councilmen,
many of them. He met them in the back rooms of saloons, on
Sundays and Saturdays at political picnics, at election councils
and conferences, for as a beneficiary of the city’s largess he was
expected to contribute not only money, but advice. Curiously
he had developed_a-strange-political-wisdom. He knew a-suc-
cessful-man_or a coming-man when he saw one. So many of
his bookkeepers, superintendents, time-keepers had graduated into
councilmen and state legislators. His nominees—suggested to
political conferences—were so often known to make good. First
he came to have influence in his councilman’s ward, then in his
legislative district, then in the city councils of his party—Whig,
of course—and then he was supposed to have an organization.

Mysterious forces worked for him in council. He was
awarded significant contracts, and he always bid. The garbage
business was now a thing of the past. His eldest boy, Owen,
was a member of the state legislature and a partner in his
business affairs. His second son, Callum, was a clerk in the
city water department and an assistant to his father also. Aileen,
his eldest daughter, fifteen years of age, was still in St. Agatha’s,
a convent school in Germantown. Norah, his second daughtertek PINAN CLE.R 71

and youngest child, thirteen years old, was in attendance at a
local private school conducted by a Catholic sisterhood. ‘The
Butler family had moved away from South Philadelphia into
Girard Avenue, near the twelve hundreds, where a new and
rather interesting social life was beginning. “They were not of
it, but Edward Butler, contractor, now fifty-five years of age,
worth, say, five hundred thousand dollars, had many political
and financial friends. No longer a “rough neck,” but a solid,
reddish-faced man, slightly tanned, with broad shoulders and a
solid chest, gray eyes, gray hair, a typically Irish face made wise
and calm and undecipherable by much experience. His big hands
and feet indicated a day when he had not worn the best English
cloth suits and tanned leather, but his presence was not in any
way offensive—rather the other way about. ‘Though still pos-
sessed of a brogue, he was soft-spoken,-winning,.and_persuasive.

He had been one of the iirst to become interested in the
development of the street-car system and had come to the
conclusion, as had Cowperwood and many others, that it was
going to be a great thing. The money returns on the stocks or
shares he had been induced to buy had been ample evidence of
that. He had dealt through one broker and another, having
failed to get in on the original corporate organizations. He
wanted to pick up such stock as he could in one organization
and another, for he believed they all had a future, and most of
all he wanted to get control of a line or two. In connection
with this idea he-was-looking for some reliable young man,
honest _and-capable;-who would work under his direction-and do
what_he said. Then he learned of Cowperwood, and one day
sent for him and asked him to call at his house.

Cowperwood responded quickly, for he knew of Butler, his
rise, his connections, his force. He called at the house as di-
rected, one cold, crisp February morning. He remembered the
appearance of the street afterward—broad, brick-paved sidewalks,
macadamized roadway, powdered over with a light snow and set
with young, leafless, scrubby trees and lamp-posts. Butler’s
house was not new—he had bought and repaired it—but it was
not an unsatisfactory specimen of the architecture of the time.
It was fifty feet wide, four stories tall, of graystone and with
four wide, white stone steps leading up to the door. The win-
dow arches, framed in white, had U-shaped keystones. ‘There5 tagatad abebegaterenmene somaege,

    
  
   
    
  
  
 
 
   
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
     
  
   
  
    
      

72 THE FINANCIER

were curtains of lace and a glimpse of red plush through the
windows, which gleamed warm against the cold and snow

 

outside. A trim Trish maid came to the door and he gave her his

—arp a d "ae invited into the hoice
Card and Was ink ed into the nouse.
ail Butler home ?”
{heres ee . 11 ee ee ren oe & i : ”
V’'m not sure, sir. I'll find out. He may have gone out.
Tea littles-while he was asked. to cone. wostaits where
n a iittle whlie he was asked to come upstairs, where he
f J QD 7 3 i s ? es T ze
found Butler in a somewhat commercial-looking 1 1 LE had
fie. +: ; Vee a ]occee Teer ee honors
a desk, an < e chair, some leather furnishings, : okcase,
7 ih | 2 + ‘ .
but no ipleteness or symmetry as either an offic a living
ry 1 “11
room i e ert evel il yictures on the wal —an npossibie
ens Hh SNe eee ] Ste
oil painting, for « thing, dark and gloomy; a c l and barge
a , :
scene 1n | c 1 nile green tor anothe dacuerreotypes
c AT; 1s ad aan x a be bh ] { — }
OT rela l nds nich were not ial f l ‘ rwoot
1

noticed one of two girls, one witl
with what appeared to be silky
effect of the daguerreotype had
girls, healthy, smiling, Celtic, ae heads close together, their
eyes looking straight out at you. He admired them casually,
and fancied they must Butler’s daughters.

“Mr. Cowperwood?” inquired Butler, uttering the name

lice sorely Bey ee ne Lis Meee (Wy a! Terod

ee with a pecullar accent on the vowels. (Ae Wi a Shw-
y — . amin an, tals teen "Bx 7 + Sen Aeeicrt he

moving man, solemn and deliberz ie Cowperwood noticed that

] wae | ] ar a“ Pa Cane > hicl “Ty inv Pe hc

his body was hale and strong like seasoned hickory, tanned by

 

Se en aan ry. ee be C ~wes a . wxrAC son dl ¢
wind and rain. ‘The flesh of his cheeks was pulled taut and
there was nothing soft or flabby about him.

«cy 1 ”

im that man.

“T have a little matter of stocks to talk k over with you” (“mat-
ter’ almost sounded like “mather’), “and I thought you’d
better come here rather than that I should come down to your
office. We can be more private-like, and, besides, I’m not as
young as I used to be.”

He allowed a semi-twinkle to rest in his eye as'he looked his
visitor over.

Cowperwood smiled.

“Well, I hope I can be of service to you,” he said, genially.

“IT happen to bg interested just at present in pickin’ up certain
ll tell you about them later.
It’s a cold morning.”

street-railway stocks on ’change. [
Won’t you have ee to drink
“No, thanks; I never drink.”

VvAGH, HiLN AIN Clb 73

“Never? That’s a hard word when it comes to whisky.
Well, no matter. It’s a good rule. My boys don’t touch any-
thing, and I’m glad of it. As I say, I’m interested in picki
up a few stocks on ’change; but, to tell you the truth, I’m more
interested in findin’ some clever young felly like yourself through
whom I can work. One-thing leads to another, you-know, in
this world.” And he looked at his visitor non-committally, and
yet with a genial s show of interest.

“Quite so,” replied Cowperwood, with a friendly gleam in
return.

“Well,” Butler meditated, half to himself, half to Cowper-
wood, “there are a number of things that a bright young man
could do for me in the street if he were so minded. I have two
bright boys of my own, but I don’t want them to become stock-
gamblers, and I don’t know that they would or could if I wanted
them to. But-this-isn’t-a-matter of stock-gambling.- I’m pretty

busy. as it is, and, as I said awhile ago, I’m getting along. I’m
not_as light-on my toes as I once was. But if I had the right

sort of a young man—!’ve béen looking into your record, by
the way, never fear—he might handle a number of little things
—investments and loans—which might bring us each a little
somethin’. “Sometimes the young men around town ask advice
of me in one way and another—they have a Ral acne to
invest, and so—”

He paused and looked tantalizingly out of the window, know-
ing full well Cowperwood was greatly interested, and that this

 

ns could only Wi

talk of political—i influence-and-coennect
appetite. Butler wanted him to see ee that fidelity was

the point in this case—fidelity, tact, subtlety, and concealment.

 

Ce
“Well, if you have been looking into my record, ”” observed
Cowperwood, with his own elusive smile, leaving the thought
suspended.
Butler felt-the-force of the temperament and the argument.
He_liked the young man’s poise and bz as A number of

people had spoken of Cowperwood to him. (It was now Cowper-
wood & Co. The company was fiction purely.) He asked him
something about the street; how the market was running; what
he knew about street-railways. Finally he outlined his plan of
buying all he could of the stock of two given lines—the Ninth
and Tenth and the Fifteenth and Sixteenth—without attractingnh PENA N CLER

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  

any attention, if possible. It was to be done slowly, part on
change, part from individual holders. He did not tell him
that there was a certain amount of legislative pressure he hoped
to bring to bear to get him franchises for extensions in the
regions beyond where the lines now ended, in order that when
the time came for them to extend their facilities they would
have to see him or his sons, who might be large minority stock-
holders in these very concerns. It was a far-sighted plan, and
meant that the lines would eventually drop into his or his
sons’ basket.

“T’ll be delighted to work with you, Mr. Butler, in any way
that you may suggest,’ observed Cowperwood. “I can’t say
that I have so much of a business as yet—merely prospects. But
my connections are good... I am now. a member of the New
York and Philadelphia exchanges. “Those who have dealt with
me seem to like the results I get.”

“T know a little something about your work already,” reiterated
‘Butler, wisely.

“Very well, then; whenever you have a commission you can
call at my office or write, or I will call here. I will give you
my secret operating code, so that anything you say will be strictly
confidential.”

“Well, we’ll not say anything more now. In a few days I'll
have somethin’ for you. When I do, you can draw on my bank
for what you need, up to a certain amount.”

He got up and looked out into the street, and Cowperwood
also arose.

“Tt’s a fine day now, isn’t it?”

“Tt surely is.”

“Well, we'll get to know each other better, I’m sure.”

He held out his hand.

“T hope so.”

Cowperwood went out, Butler accompanying him to the
door. As he did so a young girl bounded in from the street,
red-cheeked, blue-eyed, wearing a scarlet cape with the peaked
hood thrown over her red-gold hair.

“Oh, daddy, I almost knocked you down.”

She gave her father, and incidentally Cowperwood, a gleam-
ing, radiant, inclusive smile. Her teeth were bright and small,
and her lips bud-red.RHE PINANCIER 75

“You're home early. I thought you were going to stay all
day?”

“T was, but I changed my mind.”

She passed on in, swinging her arms.

“Yes, well—” Butler continued, when she had gone. ‘Then
we'll leave it for a day or two. Good day.”

“Good day.”

Cowperwood, warm with this enhancing of his financial pros-
spects, went down the steps; but incidentally he spared a pass-
ing thought for the gay spirit of youth that had manifested itself
in this red-cheeked maiden. What a bright, healthy, bounding
girl! Her voice had the subtle, vigorous ring of fifteen or six-
teen. She was all vitality. What a fine catch for some young
fellow some day, and her father would make him rich, no doubt,
or help to.CHAPTER XII

T was to Edward Malia Butler that Cowperwood turned

now, some nineteen months later when he was thinking of
the influence that might bring him an award of a portion of
the State issue of bonds. Butler could probably be interested
to take some of them himself, or could help him place some.
He had come to like Cowperwood very much and was now being |
carried on the latter’s books as a prospective purchaser of large
blocks of stocks. And Cowperwood liked this great solid
Irishman. He liked his history. He had met Mrs. Butler, a
rather fat and phlegmatic Irish woman with a world of hard
sense who cared nothing at all for show and who still liked to
go into the kitchen and superintend the cooking. He had met,
Owen and Callum Butler, the boys, and Aileen and Norah,
the girls. Aileen was the one who had bounded up the steps
the first day he had called at the Butler house several seasons
before.

There was a cozy grate-fire burning in Butler’s improvised
private office when Cowperwood called. Spring was coming on,
but the evenings were cool, The older man invited Cowper
wood to make himself comfortable in one of the large leather
chairs before the fire and then proceeded to listen to his recital
of what he hoped to accomplish.

“Well, now, that isn’t so easy,” he commented at the end
“You ought to know more about that than I do. I’m not 2
financier, as you well know.” And he grinned apologetically

“TPs-q~matter_of influence,’ went-on Cowperwood: “And
favoritism. That I know. Drexel & Company and Cook
& Company have connections at Harrisburg. They have met
of their own looking after their interests. “The attorney-genera:
and the State treasurer are hand in glove with them. Even 1
I put in a bid, and can demonstrate that I can handle the loan
it won’t help me to get it. Other people have done that. I
have to have friends—influence._You know how_it is.”

‘Them things,” Butler said, “is easy enough if you know thi
right parties to approach. Now there’s Jimmy Oliver—he ough:
76Vier: bn AN, ©

  

ER ei

to know something about that.” Jimmy Oliver was the whilom
district attorney serving at this time, and incidentally free ad-
viser to Mr. Butler in many ways. He was also, accidentally,
a warm Be egnel friend of the State treasurer.
“How much of the loan do you want?”
iT : ”
Five million.’

“Five million!” Butler sat up. “Man, what are you talk-
ing about? That’s a good deal of money. Where are you
going to sell all that?’

“T want to bid for five million,” assuaged Cowperwood,

softly. “I only want one million but I want the prestige of
putting in a bona fide bid for five million, It will do me_good
on the street.”

Butler sank back somewhat relieved.

“Five million! Prestige! You want one million. Well, now,
that’s different. ‘That’s not such a bad idea. We ought to be
able to get that.”

He rubbed his chin some more and stared into the fire.

1

And Cowperwood felt confic lent when he left the house that

—

; c.: . 1 1 t
evening that Butler would not fail him but would set the
= : ae 1 me } dA ner
wheels working. “Therefore, he was not surpr sed, and knew

exactly what it meant, when a few days later ie was introduced.
to City Treasurer Julian Bode, who promised to introduce him
to State Treasurer Van Nostrand and to see that his claims to
consideration were put before the people. “Of course, you

know,” he said to Cowperwood, in the presence of Butler, tor
| f Beer ane =
it was at the latter’s home that the conference took place, “this

banking crowd i very powerful. You know who they are.

They don’t want any inte -ference in this bond issue business. I
was talking to Terrence Relihan, who represe nts them up there”
—meaning Harrisburg, the State capit al—‘‘and he s they
won’t stand for it at all. You may have trouble right here in

Philadelphia after you get it—they ?re pretty powerful, you
know. Are you sure just where you can place it?’

“Yes I’m sure,” replied Cowperwood.

“Well. the best thing in my judgment is not to say anything
at all. Just put in your bid. Van Nostrand, with the gover-
nor’s approval, will make the aw ard. Wecan fix the governor,
I think. After you get it they may talk to you personally, but
that’s your business.”78 THE FINANCIER

 

Cowperwood smiled his inscrutable smile. There were so many
ins and outs to this financial life. It was an endless network of
underground holes, along which all sorts of influences were
moving. A little wit, a_little nimbleness, a little Guck}time
and opportunity—theseSometimes} availed. Here he was, through
his ambition to get on, and nothing else, coming into contact
with the State treasurer and the governor. They were going
to consider his case personally, because he demanded that it be
considered—nothing more. Others more influential than him-
self had quite as much right to a share, but they didn’t take it.
Nerve, ideas, aggressiveness, how these counted when one had
luck!

He went away thinking how surprised Drexel & Co. and
Cooke & Co. would be to see him appearing in the field as a
competitor. In his home, in a little room on the second floor
next his bedroom, which he had fixed up as an office with a
desk, a safe, and a leather chair, he consulted his resources.
There were so many. things to think of. He went over again
the list of people whom he had seen and whom he could count
on to subscribe, and in so far as that was concerned—the award
of one million dollars—he was safe. He figured to make two
per cent. on the total transaction, or twenty thousand dollars.
If he did he was going to buy a house out on Girard Avenue
beyond the Butlers’, or, better yet, buy a piece of ground and
erect one; mortgaging house and property so to do. His father
was prospering nicely. He might want to build a house next
to him, and they could live side by side. His own business,
aside from this deal, would yield him ten thousand dollars this
year. His street-car investments, ageregating fifty thousand
were paying six per cent. His wife’s property, represented by
this house, some government bonds, and some real estate ir
West Philadelphia, amounted to forty thousand more. Betweer
them they were rich; but he expected. to be much richer. All
he needed _now was to keep cool. If he succeeded in this bond-
issue matter, he could do it again and ona larger scale. “There
would be more issues. He turned out the light after a while
and went into his wife’s boudoir, where she was sleeping. The
nurse and the children were in a room beyond.

“Well, Lillian,” he observed, when she awoke and turnec

over toward him, “I think I have that bond matter that I wa:THE FINANCIER 79

telling you about arranged at last. I think I’ll get a million of
it, anyhow. ‘That'll mean twenty thousand. If I do we'll
build out on Girard Avenue. ‘That’s going to be the street.
The college is making that neighborhood.”

“That’ll be fine, won’t it, Frank?” she observed, and rubbed
his arm as he sat on the side of the bed.

Her remark was vaguely speculative.

“Welt have-to-show the Butlers some_attention from now on.
He’s been very nice to me and he’s going to be useful—I can
see that. He asked-meto-bring you over some time. We must
go. Be nice to his wife. He can do a lot for me if he wants
to. He has two daughters, too. We'll have to have them over
here.”

“T’ll have them to dinner sometime,” she agreed cheerfully
and helpfully, “and I’ll stop and take Mrs. Butler driving if
she'll go, or she can take me.”

She had already learned that the Butlers were rather showy
—the younger generation—that they were sensitive as to their
lineage, and that money in their estimation was supposed to make
up for any deficiency in any other respect. “Butler himself is a
very presentable man,’ Cowperwood had once remarked to
her, “but Mrs. Butler—well, she’s all right, but she’s a little
commonplace. She’s a fine woman, though, I think, good-
natured and good-hearted.” He cautioned her not to overlook
Aileen and Norah, because the Butlers, mother and father, were
very proud of them.

Mrs. Cowperwood at this time was thirty-two years old;
Cowperwood twenty-seven. The birth and care of two children
had made some difference in her looks. She was no longer as
softly pleasing, more angular. Her face was hollow-cheeked,
like so many of Rossetti’s and Burne-Jones’s women. Her
health was really not as good as it had been—the care of two
children and a late undiagnosed tendency toward. gastritis having
reduced her. In short she was a little run down nervously and
suffered from fits of depression. Cowperwood had noticed this.
He tried to be gentle and considerate, but he was too much
of a utilitarian and practical-minded observer not to realize that
he was likely to have a sickly wife on his hands later. Sympathy
and affection were great things, but desire and charm must80 THE FINANCIER

endure or one was compelled to be sadly conscious of their 1. {
So often now he saw young girls who were quite in his mood, and
who were exceedingly robust and joyous. It was fine, advisable,
practical, to adhere to the virtues as laid down in the current
social lexicon, but if you had a sickly wife— And anyhow, was
4 man entitled to only one wife? Must he never look at another
woman? Supposing he found some one? He pondered those
things between hours of labor, and concluded that it did not
make so much difference. If a man could, and not be exposed,
it was all right: He-had_to be careful, though. To-night, as he
sat on the side of his wife’s bed, he was thinking somewhat of
playing and singing

this, for he had seen Aileen Butler again, |
at her piano as he passed the parlor door. She was like a bright
bird radiating health and enthusiasm—a reminder of youth in
general.
“It’s a strange world,” he thought; but his thoughts were
his own, and he didn’t propose to tell any one about them.
he bond issue, when it came, was a curious compromise;
for, although it netted him his twenty thousand dollars and
more and served to introduce him to the financial notice oi
Philadelphia and the State of Pennsylvania, it did not permit
him to manipulate the subscriptions as he had planned. The
State treasurer was seen by him at the office of a local lawyer
of great repute, where he worked when in the city. He was
gracious to Cowperwood, because he had to be. He explained to
him just how things were regulated at Harrisburg. ‘The big
fnanciers were looked to for campaign funds. ‘They were repre-
sented by henchmen in the State assembly and senate. ‘The
governor and the treasurer were foot-free; but there were other
influences—prestige, friendship, social-power, political ambitions,
etc. The big men might constitute a close corporation, which- in
itself was unfair; but, after all, they were the legitimate sponsor:
for big money loans of this kind. The State had to-keep-on
good terms with them, especially in times like these. Seeing that
Mr. Cowperwood was so well able to dispose of the million he
expected to get, it would be perfectly all right to award it to
him; but Van Nostrand had a counter-proposition to make.
Would Cowperwood, if the financial crowd now handling the
matter so desired, turn over his award to them for a considera~

tion—a sum equal to what he expected to make—in the eventPEPE, “Eel N AGN © brik

the award was made to him? Certain financiers desired this.
It was dangerous to oppose them. ‘They were perfectly willing
ne should put in a bid for five million and get the prestige of
that; to have him awarded one million and get the prestige of
that was well enough also; but they desired to handle the twenty-
three million dollars in an unbroken lot. It looked better. He
need not be advertised as having withdrawn. ‘They would be
content to have him achieve the glory of having done what he
started out to do. Just the same the example was bad. Others
might wish to imitate him. If it were known in the street
privately that he had been coerced, for a consideration, into
ziving up, others would be deterred from imitating him in the
future. Besides, if he refused, they could cause him trouble.
His loans might be called. Various banks might not be so
friendly in the future. His constituents might be warned against
him in one way or another.

Cowperwood saw the point. He acquiesced. It was some-
thing to have brought so many high and mighties to their knees.
So they knew of him! ‘They were quite well aware of him!
Welt-and—good. He would take the award and twenty thou-
sand or thereabouts and withdraw. ‘The State treasurer was
delighted. It solved a ticklish proposition for him.

“T’m glad to have seen you,” he said. ‘I’m glad we’ve met.
I'll drop in and talk with you some time when I’m down this
way. We'll have lunch together.”

The State treasurer, for some odd reason, felt that Mr. Cow-
perwood was a man who could make him some money. His
eye was-so-keen; his expression was so alert, and yet so subtle.
tle told the governor and some other of his associates about
him.

So the award was finally made; Cowperwood, after some pri-
vate negotiations in which he met the officers of Drexel & Co.,
was paid his twenty thousand dollars and turned his share of
the award over to them. New faces showed up in his office now
from time to time—among them that of Van Nostrand and
one Terence Relihan, a representative of some other political
forces at Harrisburg. He was introduced to the governor one
day at lunch. His name was mentioned in the papers, and
his prestige grew_rapidly.$2 THE FINANCIER

Immediately he began working on plans with young Ellsworth
for his new house. He was going to build something exceptional
this time, he told Lillian. They were going to have to do some
entertaining—entertaining on a larger scale than ever. North
Front Street was becoming too tame. He put the house up
for sale, consulted with his father and found that he also was
willing to move. ‘The son’s prosperity had redounded to the
credit of the father. The directors of the bank were becoming
much more friendly to the old man. Next year President Kugel
was going to retire. Because of his son’s noted coup, as well as
his long service, he was going to be made president. Frank
was a large borrower from his father’s bank. By the same
token he was a large depositor. His connection with Edward
Butler was significant. He sent his father’s bank certain ac-
counts which it otherwise could not have secured. ‘The city
treasurer became interested in it, and the State treasurer. Cow-
perwood, Sr., stood to earn twenty thousand a year as president,
and he owed much of it to his son. The two families were now
on the best of terms. Anna, now twenty-one, and Edward and
Joseph frequently spent the night at Frank’s house. Lillian
called almost daily at his mother’s. There was much interchange
of family gossip, and it was thought well to build side by side.
So Cowperwood, Sr., bought fifty feet of ground next to his son’s
thirty-five, and together they commenced the erection of two
charming, commodious homes, which were to be connected by
a covered passageway, or pergola, which could be inclosed with
glass in winter.

The most popular local stone, a green granite, was chosen;
but Mr. Ellsworth promised to present it in such a way that
it would be especially pleasing. Cowperwood, Sr., decided that
he could afford to spend seventy-five thousand dollars—he was
now worth two hundred and fifty thousand; and Frank decided
that he could risk fifty, seeing that he could raise money on a'
mortgage. He planned at the same time to remove his office:
farther south on Third Street and occupy a building of his own..
He knew where an option was to be had on a twenty-five-foot
building, which, though old, could’ be given a new brownstone
front and made very significant. He saw in his mind’s eye a
handsome building, fitted with an immense plate-glass window ;
inside his hardwood fixtures visible; and over the door, or toTHE FINANCIER 83

one side of it, set in bronze letters, Cowperwood & Cof Vaguely
but surely he began to see looming before him, like a fleecy
sinted cloud on the horizon, his future fortune. He was to

ve rich, very, very rich/CHAPTER XIII
URING all the time that Cowperwood had been build-

ing himself up thus steadily the great war of the rebel-
lion had been fought almost to its close. It was now October,
1864. The capture of Mobile and the Battle of the Wilderness
were fresh memories. (Grant was now before Petersburg, and
the great general of the South, Lee, was making that last bril-
liant and hopeless display of his ability as a strategist and a
soldier. ‘IThere had been times—as, for instance, during the
long, dreary period in which the country was waiting for Vicks-
burg to fall, for the Army of the Potomac to prove victorious,
when Pennsylvania was invaded by Lee—when stocks fell and
commercial conditions were very bad generally. In times like
these Cowperwood’s own manipulative ability was.taxed—to the
utmost, and he had to watch every hour to see that his fortune
was not destroyed by some unexpected and destructive piece of
news.

His personal attitude toward the war, however, and aside from
his patriotic feeling that the Union ought to be maintained, was
that it was destructive and wasteful. -He was by no means so
wanting in patriotic emotion and sentiment but that he could feel
that the Union, as it had now come to be, spreading its great
length from the Atlantic to the Pacific and from the snows of
Canada to the Gulf, was worth while. Since his birth in 1837
he had seen the nation reach that physical growth—barring
Alaska—which it now possesses. Not so much earlier than his
youth Florida had been added to the Union by purchase from
Spain; Mexico, after the unjust war of 1848, had ceded Texas
and the territory to the West. The boundary disputes between
England and the United States in the far Northwest had been
finally adjusted. To a man with great social and financial imagi-
nation, these facts could not help but be significant; and if they
did nothing more, they gave him a sense of the boundless com-
mercial possibilities*which existed potentially in so vast a rea'm.
His was not the ordefof speculative financial enthusiasm which,

i 84GHEE FINANCTER

in the type known as the “promoter,” sees endless possibilities
for gain in every unexplored rivulet and prairie reach; but the
very vastness of the country suggested possibilities which he hoped
might remain undisturbed. A territory covering the length
of a whole zone and between two seas, seemed to him to pos-
sess potentialities which it could not retain if the States of the
South were lost.

At the same time, the freedom of the negro was not a signifi-
‘cant point with him. He had observed that race from his boy-
hood with considerable interest, and had been struck with virtues
and defects which seemed inherent and which piainly, to him,
conditioned _their experiences.

He was not at all sure, for instance, that the negroes could be
made into anything much more significant than they were. At
any rate, it was a long uphill struggle for them, of which many
future generations would not witness the conclusion. He had
no particular quarrel with the theory that they should be free;
he saw no particular reason why the South should not protest
vigorously against the destruction of their property and their sys-
tem. It was too bad that the negroes as slaves should be abused
in some instances. He felt sure that that ought to be adjusted
in some way; but beyond that he could not see that there was
any great ethical basis for the contentions of their sponsors. The
vast majority of men and women, as he could see, were not essen-
tially above slavery, even when they had all the guarantees of
a constitution formulated to prevent it. There was mental
slavery, the slavery of the weak mind and the weak body. He
followed the contentions of such men as Sumner, Garrison,
Phillips, and Beecher with considerable interest ; but at no time
could he see that the problem was a vital one for him. He did not
care to be a soldier or an officer of soldiers; he had no gift for
polemics; his mind was not of the disputatious order—not even
in the realm of finance. He was concerned only to see what was
of vast advantage to him, and to devote all his attention to that.

This fratricidal war in the nation could not help him. It really
delayed, he thought, the true commercial and financial adjust-
ment of the country, and he hoped that it would soon end. He
was not of those who complained bitterly of the excessive war
«axes, though he knew them to be tryingeto many. Some of the
stories of death and disaster moved him greatly; but, alas, they86 on HINA CIE R

were among the unaccountable fortunes of life, and could not
be remedied by him. So he had gone his way day by day, watch-
ing the coming in and the departing of troops, seeing the bands
of dirty, disheveled, gaunt, sickly men returning from the fields
and hospitals; and all he could do was to feel sorry. ‘This war
was not for him. He had-taken no part in it, and he felt sure
that he could only rejoice in its conclusion—not as a patriot,
but as a financier. It was wasteful, pathetic, unfortunate.

The months proceeded apace. A local election intervened and
there-was a new city treasurer, a new assessor of taxes, and a new
mayor; but Edward Malia Butler continued to have apparently
the same influence as before. The Butlers and the Cowperwoods
had become quite friendly. Mrs. Butler rather liked Lillian,
though they were of different religious beliefs; and they went
driving or shopping together, the younger woman a little critical
and ashamed of the elder because of her poor grammar, her
Irish accent, her plebeian tastes—as though the Wiggins had not
been as plebeian as any. On the other hand the old lady, as
she was compelled to admit, was good-natured and good-hearted.
She loved to give, since-she had plenty, and sent presents here
and there to Lillian, the children, and others. “Now youse
must come over and take dinner with us’—the Butlers had ar-
rived at the evening-dinner period—or “Youse must come drive
with me to-morrow.”

“Aileen, God bless her, is such a foine girl,” or “Norah, the
darlin’, is sick the day.”

But Aileen, her airs, her aggressive disposition, her love of
attention, her vanity, irritated and at times disgusted Mrs. Cow-
perwood. She was eighteen now, with a figure which was subtly
provocative. Her manner was boyish, hoydenish at times, and
although convent-trained, she was inclined to balk at restraint
in any form. But there was a softness lurking in her blue eyes
that was most sympathetic and human.

St. Timothy’s and the convent school in Germantown had been
the choice of her parents for her education—what they called a
good Catholic education. She had learned a great deal about
the theory and forms of the Catholic ritual, but she could not
understand them. The church, with its tall, dimly radiant win-
dows, its high, white altar, its figure of St. Joseph on one side
and the Virgin Mary on the other, clothed in golden-starrecTHE FINANCIER

robes of blue, wearing haloes and carrying scepters, had impressed
her greatly. The church as a whole—any Catholic church—
was beautiful to look at—soothing. The altar, during high
mass, lit with a half-hundred or more candles, and dignified and
made impressive by the rich, lacy vestments of the priests and
the acolytes, the impressive needlework and gorgeous colorings
of the amice, chasuble, cope, stole, and maniple, took her fancy
and held her eye. Let us-say-there-was always lurking in her
a-sense_of grandeur coupled with a love of color_and a love of
love... From the first she was somewhat sex-conscious.. She had
no-desire for accuracy, no desire for precise.information. Innate
sensuousness rarely has. It basks in sunshine, bathes in color,
dwells in a sense of the impressive and the gorgeous, and rests
there. Accuracy is not necessary except in the case of aggres-
sive, acquisitive natures, when it manifests itself in a desire
to seize. True controlling sensuousness cannot be manifested
in the most active dispositions, nor again in the most accurate.

There is need of defining these statements in so far as they
apply to Aileen. It would scarcely be fair to describe her nature
as being definitely sensual at this time. It was too rudimentary.
Any harvest is of long growth. The confessional, dim on Friday
and Saturday evenings, when the church was lighted by but a
few lamps, and the priest’s warnings, penances, and ecclesiasti-
cal forgiveness whispered through the narrow lattice, moved
her as something subtly pleasing. She was not.afraid of her
sins. Hell, so definitely set forth, did not frighten her.
Really, it had not laid hold on her conscience. The old
women and old men hobbling into church, bowed in prayer,
murmuring over their beads, were objects of curious interest
like the wood-carvings in the peculiar array of wood-reliefs em-
phasizing the stations of the Cross. She herself had liked to con-
fess, particularly when she was fourteen and fifteen, and to listen
to the priest’s voice as he admonished her with, “Now, my dear
child.” A particularly old priest, a French father, who came
to hear their confessions at school, interested her as being kind
and sweet. His forgiveness and blessing seemed sincere—better
than her prayers, which she went through perfunctorily. And
then there was a young priest at St. Timothy’s, Father David,
hale and rosy, with a curl of black hair over his forehead, and
an almost jaunty way of wearing his priestly hat, who came down88 THE FINANCIER

the aisle Sundays sprinkling holy water with a definite, dis-
tinguished sweep of the hand, who took her fancy. He heard con-
fessions and now and then she liked to whisper her strange
thoughts to him while she actually speculated on what he might
privately be thinking. She could not, if she tried, associate him
with any divine authority. He was too young, too human. ‘There
was something a little malicious, teasing, in the way she delighted
to teH him about herself, and then walk demurely, repentantly
out. At St. Agatha’s she had been rather a difficult person to
deal with. She was, as the good sisters of the school had readily
perceived, too full of life, too active, to be—easily_controlled.
“That Miss Butler,” once observed Sister Constantia, the
Mother Superior, to Sister Sempronia, Aileen’s immediate men-
tor, “‘is-a—very spirited girl, You may have a_great deal” of
trouble with her unless you use a good deal of tact. _You-may
have to coax her with little gifts. You will get on better.”
So Sister Sempronia had sought to find what Aileen was most
interested in, and bribe her therewith: Being intensely con-
scious of her father’s competence, and vain of her personal su-
periority, it was not so easy to do. She had wanted to go home
occasionally, though; she had wanted to be allowed to wear the
sister’s rosary of large beads with its pendent cross of ebony
and its silver Christ, and this was held up as a great privilege.
For keeping quiet in class, walking softly, and speaking softly—
as much as it was in her to do—for not stealing into other
girls’ rooms after lights were out, and for abandoning crushes
on this and that sympathetic sister, these awards and others,
such as walking out in the grounds on Saturday afternoons,
being allowed to have all the flowers she wanted, some extra
dresses, jewels, etc., were offered. She liked music and the
idea of painting, though she had no talent in that direction;
and books, novels, interested her, but she could not get them.
The rest—grammar, spelling, sewing, church and general his-
tory—she loathed. Deportment—well, there was something
‘a that. She had liked the rather exaggerated curtsies they
taught her, and she had often reflected on how she would use
them when she reached home.

When she came out into life the little social distinctions which
have been indicated began to impress themselves on her, and sheiE RENAN CPi

wished sincerely that her father would build a better home—a
mansion—such as those she saw elsewhere, and launch her
properly in society.
save clothes, jewels, riding-horses,
changes of costume which were
family could not entertain in any
were, and so already, at eighteen,
sting of a blighted ambition. She

she to get it?

Failing in that, she could think of nothing
carriages, and the appropriate
allowed her for these.
distinguished way where they
she was beginning to feel the
was eager for life.

Her room was a study.in-the foibles of-an-eager and-ambitious
mind. It was fullof clothes, beautiful things for all occasions
—jewelry—which she had small opportunity to wear—shoes,
stockings, lingerie, laces.
of perfumes and cosmetics, though she needed the latter not at
all, and these were present in abundance.
orderly, and she loved lavishness-of display; and her curtains,
hangings, table ornaments, and pictures inclined to gorgeousness,
which did not go well with the rest of the house.

Aileen always reminded Cowperwood of a high-stepping horse
without a check-rein.
with her mother, out driving with her father, and he was always
interested and amused at the affected, bored tone she assumed
before _him—the-“Oh, dear!
don’t you know,” when, as a matter of fact, every moment of
it was of thrilling interest to her. Cowperwood took her mental
measurement exactly. A girl with a high sense of life in her,
romantic, full of the thought of love and its possibilities.
he looked at her he had the sense of seeing the best that nature
can do when she attempts to produce physical perfection.
thought came to him that some lucky young dog would marry
her pretty soon and carry her away; but whoever secured her
would have to hold her by affection and subtle flattery and at-
tention if he held her at all.

“The little snip’—she was not at all—‘‘she thinks the sun
rises and sets in her father’s pocket,” Lillian observed one day
to her husband.
scended from Irish kings.
music amuses me.”

   

In a crude way she had made a study

She was not very

He met her at various times, shopping

Life is so tiresome,

“To hear her talk, you’d think they were de-
Her pretended interest in art and

“Oh, don’t be too hard on her,” coaxed Cowperwood diplo-ae Re See Ne eee et ee

Cat ea

90 Lie TINANCIER

matically. He already liked Aileen very much. “She plays
very well, and she has a good-voice.”

“Yes, I know; but she has no real refinement. How could
she have? Look at her father and mother.”

“TI don’t see anything so very much the matter with her,”
insisted Cowperwood. ‘“She’s bright and good-looking. Of
course, she’s only a girl, and a little vain, but shell come out of
that. She isn’t without sense and force, at that.”

Aileen, as he knew, was most friendly to him.  She~-liked
him. She made a point of playing the piano and singing for
him in his home, and she sang only when he was there. ‘There
was something about his steady, even gait, his stocky body and
handsome head, which attracted her. In spite of her vanity and
egotism, she felt a little overawed before him at times—keyed
up. She seemed to grow gayer and more brilliant in his presence.

The most futile thing in this world is any attempt, perhaps,
at exact definition of character. All individuals are a bundle
of contradictions—none more so than the most capable.

In the case of Aileen Butler it would be quite impossible to
give an exact definition. Intelligence, of a raw, crude order she
had certainly—also a native force, tamed somewhat by the doc-
trines and conventions of current society, still showed clear at
times in an elemental and not entirely unattractive way. At
this time she was only eighteen years of age—decidedly attractive
from the point of view of a man of Frank Cowperwood’s tem-
perament. She supplied something he had not previously known
or consciously craved. Vitality and vivacity. No other woman
or girl whom he had ever known had possessed so much innate
foree-as-she- “Her red-gold hair—not so red as decidedly golden
with a suggestion of red in it—looped itself in heavy folds about
her forehead and sagged at the base of her neck. She had a
beautiful nose, not sensitive, but straight-cut with small nostril
openings, and eyes that were big and yet noticeably sensuous.
They were, to him, a pleasing shade of blue-gray-blue, and her
toilet, due to her temperament, of course, suggested almost un-
due luxury,—the bangles, anklets, ear-rings, and breast-plates
of the odalisque, and yet, of course, they were not there. She
confessed to him years afterward that she would have loved
to have stained her nails and painted the palms of her hands
with madder-red. Healthy and vigorous, she was~ chronicallyTHE FINANCIER 91

interested in men—what they would think of her—and how
she compared with other women.

The fact that she could ride in a carriage, live in a fine
home on Girard Avenue, visit such homes as those of the Cowper-
woods and others, was of great weight; and_yet,-even—at_this
age, she realized that life was more than these things. Many
did not have them and lived.

But these facts of wealth and advantage gripped her; and when
she sat at the piano and played or rode in-her carriage or walked
or stood before her mirror, she was conscious of her figure, her
charms, what they meant to men, how women envied her.
Sometimes. she_looked—at~poor, hollow-chested or homely-faced
girls and felt sorry for them; at other-times she flared into
inexplicable opposition to some handsome girl or woman who
dared to brazen her socially or physically. “There were such
girls of the better families who, in Chestnut Street, in the
expensive shops, or on the drive, on horseback or in carriages,
tossed their heads and indicated as well as human motions
can_that they were better-bred and knew it. When this hap-
pened each~stared-defiantly at the other. She wanted ever
sc much to get up in the world, and yet namby-pamby men
of better social station than herself did not attract her at all.
She wanted a man. Now and then there was one “something
like,” but not entirely, who-appealed to~her,-but most of them
were politicians or-legislators, acquaintances of her father, and
socially nothing at all—and so they wearied and disappointed
her. Her father did not-_know the truly élite. But Mr. Cowper-
wood—he seemed so refined, so forceful, and so reserved. She
often looked at Mrs. Cowperwood and thought how fortunate
she was.CHAPTER XATV

HE development of Cowperwood as Cowperwood & Co.

following his arresting bond venture, finally brought him
into relationship with one_man who was-to-play--an_important
part in his life, morally, financially, and in other_ways. This
was George. W.-Stener, the new city treasurer-elect, who, to
begin with, was.a puppet in the hands of other men, but who,
also in spite of this fact, became a personage of considerable.im-
portance, for the simple reason that he was weak. Stener had
been engaged in the real estate and insurance business in a small
way before he was made city treasurer. He was one of those
men, of whom there are so many thousands in every large com-
munity, with no breadth of vision, no real—subtlety;-ne—eraft,
no great skill in anything. You would never hear anew idea
emanating from Stener. He never had one in—his life-——On
the other hand, he was nota bad fellow. He had a stodgy, dusty,
commonplace look to him which was more a matter of mind than
of body. His eye was of vague gray-blue; his hair a dusty light-
brown and thin. His mouth—there was nothing impressive
there. He was quite tall, nearly six feet, with moderately broad
shoulders, but his figure was anything but shapely. He seemed
to stoop a little, his stomach was the least bit protuberant, and
he talked commonplaces—the small change of newspaper and
street and business gossip. People liked him in his own neigh-
borhood. He was thought to be honest and kindly; and he was
as far as he knew. His wife and four children were as average
and insignificant as the wives and children of such men usually
are.

Just the same, and in spite of, or perhaps, politically speaking.
because of all this, George W. Stener was brought into-tem-~
porary public notice by certain. political methods which had ex-
isted in Philadelphia practically unmodified for the previous
half hundred years. First, because he was of the same political
faith as the dominant local political party, he had become known
to the local councilman and ward-leader of his ward as a faith-
ful soul—one useful in the matter of drumming up votes. And
92THE FINANCIER 93

1ext—although absolutely without value as a speaker, for he
1ad no ideas—you could send him from door to door, asking
the—greeer—and the blacksmith and the butcher how he felt
about things and he would make friends, and in the long run
yredict fairly accurately the probable vote. Furthermore, you
sould-dole-him_out_a few platitudes.and he would repeat them.
The Republican party, which was the new-born party then,
sut dominant in Philadelphia, needed your vote; it was necessary
to keep the rascally Democrats out—he could scarcely have said
why. They had been for slavery. “They were for free trade.
It never once occurred to him that these things had nothing
to do with the local executive and financial administration of
Philadelphia. Supposing they didn’t? What of it?

In Philadelphia at this time a certain United States Senator,
one Mark Simpson, together with Edward Malia Butler and
Henry A. Mollenhauer, a rich coal dealer and investor, were
supposed to, and did, control jointly the political destiny of the
city. “They had representatives, henchmen, spies, tools—a great
company. Among themrwas this same Stener—a minute cog in
the silent machinery of their affairs.

In scarcely any other city save this, where the inhabitants were
of a deadly average in so far as being commonplace was con-
cerned, could such a man as Stener have been elected city treas-
urer. The rank and file did not, except in rare instances, make
up their political program. An inside ring had this matter in
charge. Certain positions were allotted to such and such men
or to such and such factions of the party for such and such serv-
ices rendered—but who does not know politics?

In due course of time;>therefore, George W. Stener had become
persona grata to Edward Strobik, a quondam councilman who
afterward became ward leader and still later president of coun-
cil, and who, in private life was a stone-dealer and owner of
a brickyard. Strobik was a henchman of Henry A. Mollen-
hauer, the hardest and coldest of all three of the political
leaders. ‘The latter had things to get from council, and Strobik
was his tool. He had Stener elected; and because he was faith-
ful in voting as he was told the latter was later made an assistant
superintendent of the highways department.

Here he came under the eyes of Edward Malia Butler, and was
slightly useful_to him. "Then the central political committee,94 THE FINANCIER

with Butler in charge, decided that some nice, docile man who
would at the same time be absolutely faithful was needed for city
treasurer, and so Stenér was put on the ticket. He knew little
of finance, but was an excellent bookkeeper; and, anyhow, was
not corporation counsel Regan, another political tool of this
great triumvirate, there to advise him‘at all times? He was. It
was a very simple matter. Being put on the ticket was equivalent
to being elected, and so, after a few weeks of exceedingly trying
platform experiences, in which he had stammered through plati-
tudinous declarations that the city needed to be honestly admin-
istered, he was inducted into office; and there you were.

Now it wouldn’t have made so much difference what George
W. Stener’s executive and financial qualifications for the posi-
tion were, but at this time the city of Philadelphia was-still
hobbling along under perhaps as evil a_finantial system, or lack
of it, as any city ever endured—the assessor and the treasurer
being allowed to collect and hold moneys belonging to the city,
outside of the city’s private vaults, and that without any de-
mand on the part of anybody that the same be invested by
them at interest for the city’s benefit. Rather, all they were
expected to do, apparently, was to restore the principal and
that which was with them when they entered or left office. It
was not understood or publicly demanded that the moneys so
collected, or drawn from any source, be maintained intact in
the vaults of the city treasury. They could be loaned out, de-
posited in banks or used to further private interests of any one,
so long as the principal was returned, and no one was the wiser.
Of course, this theory of finance was not publicly sanctioned,
but it was known politically and journalistically, and in high
finance. How were you to stop it?

Cowperwood, in approaching Edward Malia Butler, had
been unconsciously let in on this atmosphere of erratic and un-
satisfactory speculation without really knowing it. When he
had left the office of Tighe & Co., seven years before, it was
with the idea that henceforth and forever he would have nothing
to do with the stock-brokerage proposition; but now behold him
back in it again, with more vim than he had ever displayed, for
now he was working for himself, the firm of Cowperwood &
Co., and he was eager to satisfy the world of new and powerful
individuals who by degrees were drifting to him. All had aTHE FINANCIER 95

little money. All had tips, and they wanted him to carry certain
lines of stock on margin for them, because he was known to
other political men, and because he was safe. And this was true.
He was not, or at least up to this time had not been, a specu-
lator or a gambler-on his own account.._In fact he often soothed
himself with the thought that in all these years he had never
gambled for himself, but had always acted strictly for others
instead. But now here was George W. Stener with a proposi-
tion which was not quite the same thing as stock-gambling, and
yet it was.
During a long period of years preceding the Civil War, and
through it, let it here be explained and remembered, the city
of Philadelphia had been in the habit, as a corporation, when
there were no available funds in the treasury, of issuing what
were known as city warrants, which were nothing more than
notes or I. O. U.’s bearing six per cent. interest, and payable
sometimes in thirty days, sometimes in three, sometimes in six
months—all depending on the amount and how soon the city
treasurer thought there would be sufficient money in the treas-
ury to take them up and cancel them. Small tradesmen and
large contractors were frequently paid in this way; the small
tradesman who sold supplies to the city institutions, for instance,
being compelled to discount his notes at the bank if he needed
ready money, usually for ninety cents on the dollar, while the
large contractor could afford to hold his and wait. It can readily
be seen that this might well work to the disadvantage of the
small dealer and merchant, and yet prove quite a fine thing for
a large contractor or note-broker, for the city was sure to pay the
warrants at some time, and six per cent interest was a fat rate,
considering the absolute security. A banker or broker who
gathered up these things from small tradesmen at ninety cents
on the dollar made a fine thing of it all around if he could wait.
Originally,—in_all_probability,there—was_no intention on the
part of the city treasurer to do any one an injustice, and it is
likely that there really were no funds to pay with at the time.
However that may have been, there was later no excuse for
issuing the warrants, seeing that the city might easily have been
managed much more economically. But these warrants, as can
readily be imagined, had come to be a fine source of profit for
note-brokers, bankers, political financiers, and inside politicalTHE FINAN CEER

 

96

manipulators generally and so they remained a part of the city’s
fiscal policy.

There was just one drawback to all this. In order to get
the full advantage of this condition the large banker holding
them must be an “inside banker,”’ one close to the political forces
of the city, for if he was not and needed money and he carried
his warrants to the city treasurer, he would find that he could
not get cash for them. But if he transferred them to some
banker or note-broker who was close to the political force of the
city, it was quite another matter. The treasury would find
means to pay. Or, if so desired by the note-broker or banker—
the right one—notes which were intended to be met in three
months, and should have been settled at that time, were extended
to run on years and years, drawing interest at six per cent, even
when the city had ample funds to meet them. Yet—thismeant,
of course, an illegal interest drain on the city, but that—was
all right also. ““No funds” could cover that. ‘he general
public did not know. It could not find out. ‘The newspapers
were not at all vigilant, being pro-political, “There-were no
persistent, enthusiastic reformers who obtained any political
credence. During the war, warrants outstanding in this man-
ner arose in amount to much over two million dollars, all draw-
ing six per cent interest, but then, of course, it began to get a
little scandalous. Besides, at least some of the investors began
to want their money back.

In order, therefore, to clear up this outstanding indebtedness
and make everything shipshape again, it was decided that the city
must issue a loan, say for two million dollars—no need to be
exact about the amount. And this loan must take the shape of
interest-bearing certificates of a par value of one hundred dollars,
redeemable in six, twelve, or eighteen months, as the case may be.
These certificates of loan were then ostensibly to be sold in the
open market, a sinking-fund set aside for their redemption, and
the money so obtained used to take up the long-outstanding war-
rants which were now such a subject of public comment.

It is obvious that this was merely a case of robbing Peter to
pay Paul. There was no real clearing up of the outstanding
debt. It was the intention of the schemers to make it possible
for the financial politicians on the inside to reap the same old
harvest by allowing the certificates to be sold to the right partiesTHE FINANCIER

for ninety or less, setting up the claim that there was no market
for them, the credit of the city being bad. To a certain extent
this was true. The war was just over. Money was high. In-
vestors could get more than six per cent elsewhere unless the
loan was sold at ninety. But there were a few watchful poli-
ticians not in the administration, and some newspapers and
non-political financiers who, because of the high~strain of pa-
triotism existing at the time, insisted that the loan should be
sold at par. Therefore a clause to that effect had to be in-
serted in the enabling ordinance.

This, as one might readily see, destroyed the politicians’
little scheme to get this loan at ninety. Nevertheless since they
desired that the money tied up in the old warrants and now not
redeemable because of lack of funds should be paid them, the
only way this could be done would be to have some broker who
knew the subtleties of the stock market handle this new city
loan on ’change in such a way that it would be made to seem
worth one hundred and to be sold to outsiders at that figure.
Afterward, if, as it was certain to do, it fell below that, the
politicians could buy as much of it as they pleased, and eventually
have the city redeem it at par.

George W. Stener, entering as city treasurer at this time, and
bringing no special financial intelligence to the proposition, was
really troubled. Henry-A.Mollenhauer, one of the men who
had gathered up a large amount of the old city warrants, and
who now wanted his money, in order to invest it in bonanza
offers in the West, called on Stener, and also on the mayor. He
with Simpson and Butler made up the “big three.”

“T think something ought to be done about these warrants that
are outstanding,” he explained. “I am carrying a large amount
of them, and there are others. We have helped the city a long
time by saying nothing; but now I think that something ought to
be done. Mr. Butler and Mr. Simpson feel the same way.
Couldn’t these new loan certificates be listed on the stock ex-
change and the money raised that way? Some clever broker
could bring them to par.”

Stener was greatly flattered by the visit from Mollenhauer.
Rarely did he trouble to put in a personal appearance, and then
only for the weight and effect his presence would have. He
called’on the mayor and the president of council, much as he98 Thy FINANCIER

called on Stener, with a lofty, distant, inscrutable air. ‘They
were as office-boys to him.

In order to understand exactly the motive for Mollenhauer’s
interest in Stener, and the significance of this visit and Stener’s
subsequent action in regard to it, it will be necessary to scan
the political horizon for some little distance back. Although
George W. Stener was in a way a political henchman and ap-
pointee of Mollenhauer’s, the latter was only vaguely acquainted
with him. He had seen him before; knew of him; had agreed
that his name should be put on the local slate largely because he
had been assured by those who were closest to him and who did
his bidding that Stener_was “‘all right,” that-he would_do_as he
was told, that he would cause no-one any-trouble,etc. In fact,
during several previous administrations, Mollenhauer had main-
tained a sub-surface connection with the treasury, but never so
close a one as could easily be traced. He was too conspicuous
a man politically and financially for that. But he was not above
a plan, in which Simpson if not Butler shared, of using political
and commercial stool-pigeons to bleed the city treasury as much
as possible without creating a scandal. In fact, for some years
previous to this, various agents had already been employed—
Edward Strobik, president of council, Asa Conklin, the then
incumbent of the mayor’s chair, Thomas Wycroft, alderman,
Jacob Harmon, alderman, and others—to organize dummy com-
panies under various names, whose business it was to deal
in those things which the city needed—lumber, stone, steel, iron,
cement—a long list—and of course, always at a fat profit to
those ultimately behind the dummy companies, so organized. It
saved the city the trouble of looking far and wide for honest and
reasonable dealers.

Since the action of at least three of these dummies will have
something to do with the development of Cowperwood’s story,
they may be briefly described. Edward Strobik, the chief of
them, and the one most useful to Mollenhauer, in a minor way,
was a very spry person of about thirty-five at this time—lean
and somewhat forceful, with black hair, black eyes, and an
inordinately large black mustache. He was dapper, inclined
to noticeable clothing—a pair of striped trousers, a white vest,
a black cutaway coat and a high silk hat. His markedly orna-
mental shoes were always polished to*perfection, and his immacu-THE FINANCIER 99

late appearance gave him the nickname of “The Dude” among
some. Nevertheless he was quite able on a small scale, and
was well liked by many.

His two closest associates, Messrs. Thomas Wycroft.and. Jacob
Harmon;—were rather less attractive and less brilliant. Jacob
Harmon was a thick wit socially, but no fool financially. He
was big and rather doleful to look upon, with sandy brown hair
and brown eyes, but fairly intelligent, and absolutely willing to
approve anything which was not too broad in its crookedness
and which would afford him sufficient protection to keep him
out of the clutches of the law. He was really not so cunning
as dull and anxious to get along.

Thomas Wycroft, the last of this useful but minor triumvirate,
was a tall, lean man, candle-waxy, hollow-eyed, gaunt of face,
pathetic to look at physically, but shrewd. He was an iron-
molder by trade and had gotten into politics much as Stener had
—because he was useful; and he had managed to make some
money via this triumvirate of which Strobik was the ringleader,
and which was engaged in various peculiar businesses which will
now be indicated.

The companies which these several henchmen had organized
under previous administrations, and for Mollenhauer, dealt in
meat, building material, lamp-posts, highway supplies, anything
you will, which the city departments or its institutions needed.
A city contract once awarded was irrevocable, but certain
councilmen had to be fixed in advance and it took money
to do that. The company so organized need not actually
slaughter any cattle or mold lamp-posts. All it had to do
was to organize to do that, obtain a charter, secure a con-
tract for supplying such material to the city from the city
council (which Strobik, Harmon, and Wycroft would attend
to), and then sublet this to some actual beef-slaughterer
or iron-founder, who would supply the material and allow them
to pocket their profit which in turn was divided or paid for to
Mollenhauer and Simpson in the form of political donations
to clubs or organizations. It was so easy and in a way so
legitimate. The particular beef-slaughterer or iron-founder
thus favored could not hope of his own ability thus to obtain
a contract. Stener, or whoever was in charge of the city treasury
at the time, for his services in loaning money at a low rate of100 THE FINANCIER

interest to be used as surety for the proper performance of
contract, and to aid in some instances the beef-killer or iron-
founder to carry out his end, was to be allowed not only the one
or two per cent which he might pocket (other treasurers had),
but a fair proportion of the profits. A complacent, confidential
chief clerk who was all right would be recommended to him,
It did not concern Stener that Strobik, Harmon, and Wycroft,
acting for Mollenhauer, were incidentally planning to use a
little of the money loaned for purposes quite outside those in-
dicated. It was his business to loan it.

However, to be going on. Some time before he was even
nominated, Stener had learned from Strobik, who, by the way,
was one of his sureties as treasurer (which suretyship was against
the law, as were those of Councilmen Wycroft and Harmon,
the law of Pennsylvania stipulating that one political servant
might not become surety for another), that those who had
brought about this nomination and election would by no means
ask him to do anything which was not perfectly legal, but that
he must be complacent and not stand in the way of big municipal
perquisites nor bite the hands that fed him. It was also made
perfectly plain to him, that once he was well in office a little
money for himself was to be made. As has been indicated, he
had always been a poor man. He had seen all those who
had dabbled in politics to any extent about him heretofore do
very well financially indeed, while he pegged along as an insur-
ance and real-estate agent. He had worked hard as a~—small
political henchman. Other politicians were building themselves
nice homes in newer portions of the city. They were going
off to New York or Harrisburg or Washington on jaunting
parties. “They were seen in happy converse at road-houses or
country hotels in season with their wives or their women favor-
ites, and he was not, as yet, of this happy throng. Naturally
now that he was promised something, he was interested and
compliant. What might he not get?

When it came to this visit from Mollenhauer, with its sug-
gestion in regard to bringing city loan to par, although it bore
no obvious relation to Mollenhauer’s subsurface connection with
Stener, through Strobik and the others, Stener_did definitely
recognize his-own~ political subservience—his master’s stentorianCh, = eNvAUN; Gl Bak 101

voice—and immediately thereafter hurried to Strobik for in-
formation.

“Just what would you do about this?” he asked of Strobik,
who knew of Mollenhauer’s visit before Stener told him, and
was waiting for Stener to speak to him. “Mr. Mollenhauer
talks about having this new loan listed on ’change and brought to
par so that it will sell for one hundred.”

Neither Strobik, Harmon, nor Wycroft knew how the certifi-
cates of city loan, which were worth only ninety on the open
market, were to be made to sell for one hundred on ’change,
but Mollenhauer’s secretary, one Abner Sengstack, had suggested
to Strobik that, since Butler was dealing with young Cowper-
wood and Mollenhauer did not care particularly for his private
broker in this instance, it might be as well to try Cowperwood.

So it was that Cowperwood was called to Stener’s office. And
once there, and not as yet recognizing either the hand of
Mollenhauer or Simpson in this, merely looked at the peculiarly
shambling, heavy-cheeked, middle-class man before him without
either interest or sympathy, realizing at once that he had a finan-
cial baby to deal with. If he could act as adviser to this man—
be his sole counsel for four years!

“How do you do, Mr. Stener?” he said in his soft, ingratiating
voice, as the latter held out his hand. “I am glad to meet you.
I have heard of you before, of course.”

Stener was long in explaining to Cowperwood just what his
difficulty was. He went at it in a clumsy fashion, stumbling
through the difficulties of the situation he was suffered to meet.

“The main thing, as I see it, is to make these certificates sell
at par. I can issue them in any sized lots you like, and as often
as you like. I want to get enough now to clear away two hun-
dred thousand dollars’ worth of the outstanding warrants, and
as much more as I can get later.”

Cowperwood felt like a physician feeling a patient’s pulse—
a patient who is really not sick at all but the reassurance of
whom means a fat fee... The abstrusities-of the stock exchange
-were-as-his A B C’s-to-him. He knew if he could have this
loan put in his hands—all of it, if he could have the fact kept
dark that he was acting for the city, and that if Stener would
allow him to buy as a “bull” for the sinking-fund while selling
judiciously for a rise, he could do wonders even with a big issue.See en enter en ast:

102 THE FINANCIER

   
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
   
   
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
   
 
  
  
  
  

He had to have all of it, though, in order that he might have
agents under him. Looming up in his mind was a scheme
wher -eby he could make a lot of the unwary speculators about
‘change go short of this stock or loan under the impression,
of course, that it was scattered freely in various persons’ hands,
and that they could buy as much of it as they wanted. “Then
they would wake to find that they could not get it; that he
had it all. Only he would not risk his secret that far. Not he,
oh, no. But he would drive the city loan to par and then sell.
And what a fat thing for himself among others in so doing.
Wisely enough he sensed that there was politics in all this—
shrewder and bigger men above and behind Stener. But what
of that? And how slyly and shrewdly they were sending Stener
to him. It might be that his name was becoming very potent
in their political v world here. And what might that not_mean!
“T tell you what I’d like to do, Mr. Stener,” he said, after he
had listened to his explanation and asked how much of the
city loan he would like to sell during the coming year. “I'll be
glad to undertake it. But I’d like to have a day or two in which
to think it over.

“Why, certainly, certainly, Mr. Cowperwood,” replied Stener,
genially. ‘“That’s all right. Take your time. If you know how
it can be done, just show me when you’re ready. By the way,
what do you charge?”

“Well, the stock exchange has a regular scale of charges which
we brokers are compelled to observe. It’s one-fourth of one
per cent on the par value of bonds and loans. Of course, | may
have to add a lot of fictitious selling—I’ll explain that to you
Jater—but L-won’t charge-you_anything for that_so_long-as_it is
a secret between-us-.. I’ll give you the best service I can, Mr.
Stener. You can depend on that. Let me have a day or two ta
think it over, though.”

He shook hands with Stener, and they parted. Cowperwooc
was satisfied that he was on the verge of a significant combina-
tion, and Stener that he had-found_ some one on whom he could

lean.CHAPTER XV

HE plan Cowperwood developed after a few days’ medita-

tion will be plain enough to any one who knows anything
of commercial and financial manipulation, but a dark secret to
those who do not. In the first place, the city treasurer was to
use his (Cowperwood’s) office as a bank of deposit. He was to
turn over to him, actually, or set over to his credit on the city’s
books, subject to his order, certain amounts of city loans—two
hundred thousand dollars at first, since that was the amount it
was desired to raise quickly—and he would then go into the
market and see what could be done to have it brought to par.
The city treasurer was to ask leave of the stock exchange at once
to have it listed as a security. Cowperwood would then use
his influence to have this application acted upon quickly. Stener
was then to dispose of all city loan certificates through him, and
him only. He was to allow him to buy for the sinking-fund, sup-
posedly, such amounts as he might have to buy in order to keep
the price up to par. To do this, once a considerable number of
the loan certificates had been unloaded on the public, it might
be necessary to buy back a great deal. However, these would be
sold again. The law concerning selling only at par would have
to be abrogated to this extent—i.e., that the wash sales and
preliminary sales would have to be considered no sales until par
was reached.

There was a subtle advantage here, as Cowperwood pointed
out to Stener. In the first place, since the certificates were going
ultimately to reach par anyway, there was no objection to Stener
or any one else buying low at the opening price and holding for a
rise. Cowperwood would be glad to carry him on his books for
any amount, and he would settle at the end of each month. He
would not be asked to buy the certificates outright. He could
be carried on the books for a certain reasonable margin, say ten
points. "The money was as good as made for Stener now. In
the next place, in buying for the sinking-fund it would be possible
to buy these certificates very cheap, for, having the new and
103ee ee tee

104 THE FINANCIER

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

reserve issue entirely in his hands, Cowperwood could throw
such amounts as he wished into the market at such times as he
wished to buy, and consequently depress the market. “Then he
could buy, and, later, up would go the price. Having the issues
totally in his hands to boost or depress the market as he wished,
there was no reason why the city should not ultimately get par
for all its issues, and at the same time considerable money be made
out of the manufactured fluctuations. He, Cowperwood, would
be glad to make most of his profit that way. The city should
allow him his normal percentage on all his actual sales of certifi-
cates for the city at par (he would have to have that in order
to keep straight with the stock exchange) ; but beyond that, and
for all the other necessary manipulative sales, of which there
would be many, he would depend on his knowledge of the stock
market to reimburse him. And if Stener wanted to speculate
with him—well.

Dark as this transaction may seem to the uninitiated, it will
appear quite clear to those who know. Manipulative tricks have
always been-worked_inconnection with stocks-ef which one man
or one set of men has-had.complete control. It was no different
from what subsequently was done with Erie, Standard Oil,
Copper, Sugar, Wheat, and what not. Cowperwood was one
of the first and one of the youngest to see how it could be done.
When he first talked to Stener he was twenty-eight years of
age. When he last did business with him he was thirty-four.

The houses and the bank-front of Cowperwood & Co. had
been proceeding apace. The latter was early Florentine in
its decorations, with windows which grew narrower as they
approached the roof, and a door of wrought iron set between
delicately carved posts, and a straight lintel of brownstone. It
was low in height and distinguished in appearance. In the
center panel had been hammered a hand, delicately wrought,
thin and artistic, holding aloft a flaming brand. Ellsworth
‘nformed him that this had formerly been a money-changer’s sign
used in old Venice, the significance of which had long been.
forgotten.

The interior was finished in highly-polished hardwood, stained.
in imitation of the gray lichens which infest trees. Large sheets
of clear, beveled glass were used, some oval, some oblong, someAbe ET NVAUN (Gir

square, and some circular, following a given theory of eye
movement. ‘The fixtures for the gas-jets were modeled after the
early Roman flame-brackets, and the office safe was made an
ornament, raised on a marble platform at the back of the office
and lacquered a silver-gray, with Cowperwood & Co. lettered on
it in gold. One had a sense of reserve and taste pervading the
place, and yet it was also inestimably prosperous, solid and as-
suring. Cowperwood, when he viewed it at its completion,
complimented Ellsworth cheerily. “I like this. It is really
beautiful. It will be a pleasure to work here. If those houses
are going to be anything like this, they will be perfect.”

“Wait till you see them. I think you will be pleased, Mr.
Cowperwood. I am taking especial pains with yours because
it is smaller. It is really easier to treat your father’s. But
yours—” He went off into a description of the entrance-hall,
reception-room and parlor, which he was arranging and decorat-
ing in such a way as to give an effect of size and dignity not
really conformable to the actual space.

And when the houses were finished, they were effective and
arresting—quite different from the conventional residences of the
street. “They were separated by a space of twenty feet, laid out
as greensward. ‘The architect had borrowed somewhat from the
Tudor school, yet not so elaborated as later became the style in
many of the residences in Philadelphia and elsewhere. “The most
striking features were rather deep-recessed doorways under wide,
low, slightly floreated arches, and three projecting windows of
rich form, one on the second floor of Frank’s house, two on the
facade of his father’s. “There were six gables showing on the
front of the two houses, two on Frank’s and four on his father’s.
In the front of each house on the ground floor was a recessed
window unconnected with the recessed doorways, formed by
setting the inner external wall back from the outer face of the
building. “This window looked out through an arched opening
to the street, and was protected by a dwarf parapet or balustrade.
It was possible to set potted vines and flowers there, which was
later done, giving a pleasant sense of greenery from the street,
and to place a few chairs there, which were reached via heavily
barred French casements.

On the ground floor of each house was placed a conservatory
of flowers, facing each other, and in the yard, which was jointly106 eh PT NA Gera

 

used, a pool of white marble eight feet in diameter, with a marble
Cupid upon which jets of water played. The yard which was
enclosed by a high but pierced wall of green-gray brick, espe-
cially burnt for the purpose the same color as the granite of
the house, and surmounted by a white marble coping was sown
to grass and had a lovely, smooth, velvety appearance. The
two houses, as originally planned, were connected by a low,
green-columned pergola which could be enclosed in glass in
winter.

The rooms, which were now slowly being decorated and fur-
nished in period styles were very significant-in-that-they enlarged
and strengthened Frank Cowperwood’s idea of the world_of. art
in general. It was an enlightening and agreeable experience—
one which made for artistic and intellectual growth—to hear
Ellsworth explain at length the styles and types of architecture
and furniture, the nature of woods and ornaments employed, the
qualities and peculiarities of hangings, draperies, furniture panels,
and floor coverings.’ Ellsworth was a student of decoration as
well as of architecture, and interested in the artistic taste of the
American people, which he fancied would some day have a
splendid outcome. He was wearied to death of the prevalent
Romanesque composite combinations of country and suburban
villa. The time was ripe for something new. He scarcely knew
what it would be; but this that he had designed for Cowperwood
and his father was atJleast_different, as he said, while at the same
time being reserved, simple, and pleasing.. It was in marked
contrast to the rest of the architecture of the street. Cowper-
wood’s dining-room, reception-room, conservatory, and butler’s
pantry he had put on the first floor, together with the general
entry-hall, staircase, and coat-room under the stairs. For the
second floor he had reserved the library, general living-room.
parlor, and a small office for Cowperwood, together with a
boudoir for Lillian, connected with a dressing-room and bath.

On the third floor, neatly divided and accommodated with
baths and dressing-rooms, were the nursery, the servants’ quar-
ters, and several guest-chambers.

Ellsworth showed Cowperwood books of designs containing
furniture, hangings, étagéres, cabinets, pedestals, and some ex-
quisite piano forms. He discussed woods with him—rosewood,
mahogany, walnut, English oak, bird’s-eye maple, and the manu-Ee EE DNAN GLE R

factured effects such as ormolu, marquetry, and Boule, or buhl.
He explained the latter—how difficult it was to produce, how
unsuitable it was in some respects for this climate, the brass
and tortoise-shell inlay coming to swell with the heat or damp,
and so bulging or breaking. He told of the difficulties and dis-
advantages of certain finishes, but finally recommended ormolu
furniture for the reception-room, medallion tapestry for the
parlor, French renaissance for the dining-room and library, and
bird’s-eye maple (dyed blue in one instance, and left its natural
color in another) and a rather lightly constructed and daintily
carved walnut for the other rooms. ‘The hangings, wall-paper,
and floor coverings were to harmonize—not match—and the
piano and music-cabinet for the parlor, as well as the étagere,
cabinets, and pedestals for the reception-rooms, were to be of
buhl or marquetry, if Frank cared to stand the expense.

Ellsworth advised a triangular piano—the square shapes were
so inexpressibly wearisome to the initiated. Cowperwood listened
fascinated. He.cforesaw a home which would be chaste, sooth-
ing, and delightful to look upon. If he hung pictures, gilt
frames were to be the setting, large and deep; and if he wished
a picture-gallery, the library could be converted into that, and
the general living-room, which lay between the library and the
parlor on the second floor, could be turned into a combination
library and living-room. This-was—eventually done; but not
until_his taste for pictures had considerably advanced.

It _was.now that he began to take-a-keen-interest in objects of
art, pictures, bronzes, little carvings and figurines, for his
cabinets, pedestals,tables,and_ étagéres. Philadelphia did not
offer much that was distinguished in this realm—certainly not in
the open market. There were many private houses which were
enriched by travel; but his connection with the best families was
as yet small. There were then two famous American sculptors,
Powers and Hosmer, of whose work he had examples; but
Ellsworth told him that they were not the last word in sculpture
and that he should look into the merits of the ancients. He
finally secured a head of David, by Thorwaldsen, which delighted
him, and some landscapes by Hunt, Sully, and Hart, which
seemed somewhat in the spirit of his new world.

The effect of a house of this character on its owner is unmis-
takable. We-think we are individual; separate, above houses108 HE FINAN GGn

   

and material objects generally; but there is a subtle connection
which makes them reflect us quite as much as we reflect them.
They lend dignity, subtlety, force, each to the other, and|
what beauty, or lack of it, there is, is shot back and forth from
one to the other as a shuttle in a loom, weaving, weaving. Cut
the thread, separate a man from that which is rightfully his
own, characteristic of him, and you have a peculiar figure, halt
success, half failure, much as a spider without its web, which will
never be its whole self again until all its dignities and emolu-
ments are restored.

The sight of his new house going up made Cowperwood fee
of more weight in the world, and the possession of his sudd lenly
achieved connection with the city treasurer was as though a
wide door had been thrown open to the Elysian fields of oppor-
tunity. He rode about the city those days behind a team of
spirited bays, whose glossy hides and metaled harness bespoke
the watchful care of hostler and coachman. Ellsworth was
building an attractive stable in the little side street back of the
houses, for the joint use of both families. He told Mrs.
Cowperwood that he intended to buy her a victoria—as the
low, open; four-wheeled coach was then known—as soon as
they were well settled in their new home, and that they were
to go out more. ‘There was some talk about the value of
entertaining—that he would have to reach out socially for certain |
individuals who were not now known to him. Together with
Anna, his sister, and his two brothers, Joseph and Edw ard, they
could use the two houses jointly. There was no reason why
Anna should not make a splendid match. Joe and Ed might
marry well, since they were not destined to set the world on
fire in commerce. At least it would not hurt them to try.

“Don’t you think you will like that?” he asked his wife, re-
ferring to his plans for entertaining.

She smiled wanly, “I suppose so,” she said,CHAPTER XVI

T was not long after the arrangement between Treasurer

Stener and Cowperwood had been made that the machinery
for the carrying out of that political-financial relationship was
put in motion. The sum of two hundred and ten thousand dol-
lars in six per cent interest-bearing certificates, payable in ten
years, was set over to the credit of Cowperwood & Co. on the
books of the city, subject to his order. Then, with proper
listing, he began to offer it in small amounts at more than
ninety, at the same time creating the impression that it was
going to be a prosperous investment. The certificates gradually
rose and were unloaded in rising amounts until one hundred
was reached, when all the two hundred thousand dollars’ worth
—two thousand certificates in all—was fed out in small lots.
Dtener was satisfied. Two hundred shares had been carried
for him and sold at one hundred, which netted him two thousand
dollars. It was illegitimate gain, unethical; but his conscience
was not very much troubled by that. He had none, truly. He
Saw visions of a halcyon future.

It is difficult to make perfectly clear what a subtle and signifi-
Cant power this suddenly placed in the hands of Cowperwood.
Consider that he was only twenty-eight—nearing twenty-nine.
Imagine yourself by nature versed in the arts of finance, capable
of playing with sums of money in the forms of stocks, certificates,
bonds, and cash, as the ordinary man plays with checkers or
chess. Or, better yet, Imagine yourself one of those subtle
Masters of the mysteries of the higher forms of chess——the type
of mind so well illustrated by the famous and historic chess-
players, who could sit with their backs to a group of rivals
playing fourteen men at once, calling out all the moves in turn,
remembering all the positions of all the men on all the boards,
and winning. ‘This, of course, would be an overstatement of
the subtlety of Cowperwood at this time, and yet it would
not be wholly out of bounds. He knew instinctively what could
be done with a given sum of money—how as cash it could be
deposited in one place, and yet as credit and the basis of moving

09110 THE FINANCTER

~
checks, used in not one but many other places at the same time.
When properly watched and followed this manipulation gave
him the constructive and purchasing power of ten and a dozen
times as much as his original sum might have represented. He
knew instinctively the principles of ‘‘pyramiding” and “kiting.”
He could see exactly not only how he could raise and lower the
value of these certificates of loan, day after day and year after
year—if he were so fortunate as to retain his hold on the city
treasurer—but also how-this--would give him a—credit with the
banks hitherto beyond his wildest dreams. His father’s bank
was one of the first to profit by this and to extend him loans.
The various local politicians and bosses—Mollenhauer, Butler,
Simpson, and others—seeing the success of his efforts in this
direction, speculated in city loan. He became known to Mollen-
hauer and Simpson, by reputation, if not personally, as the man
who was carrying this city loan proposition to a successful issue.
Stener was supposed to have done a clever thing in finding him.
The stock exchange stipulated that all trades were to be com-
pared the same day and settled before the close of the next; but
this working arrangement with the new city treasurer gave
Cowperwood much more latitude, and now he had always until
the first of the month, or practically thirty days at times, in
which to render an accounting for all deals connected with the
loan issue.

And, moreover, this was really not an accounting in the sense
of removing anything from his hands. Since the issue was to be
so large, the sum at his disposal would always be large, and
so-called transfers and balancing at the end of the month would
be a mere matter of bookkeeping. He could nse thece city
loan certificates deposited with him for manipulative purposes, ,
deposit them at any bank as collateral for a loan, quite as if}
they were his own, thus raising seventy per cent of their actual |
value in cash, and he did not hesitate to do so. He could take
this cash, which need not be accounted for until the end of the}
month, and cover other stock transactions, on which he could}
borrow again. “There was no. limit to the resources of which
he now found himself possessed, except the resources of his own f
energy, ingenuity,-and_the limits of time in which .he had to}
work. The politicians did not realize what a bonanza he was:
making of it all for himself, because they were as vet unaware =Pre FY NAN, ChE R III

of the subtlety-of-his-mind. When Stener told him, after talk-
ing the matter over with the mayor, Strobik, and others that
he would formally, during the course of the year, set over on
the city’s books all of the two millions in city loan, Cowper-
wood was silent—but with delight. Two millions! His to
play with! He had been called in as a financial adviser, and
he had given his advice and it had been taken! Well. He was
not_a_ man who inherently was troubled with conscientious
scruples. At the same time he still believed himself financially
honest... He was no sharper or shrewder than any other financier
—certainly no sharper than any other would be if he could.
It should be noted here that this proposition of Stener’s in
regard to city money had no connection with the attitude of
the principal leaders in local politics in regard to street-railway
control, which was a new and intriguing phase of the city’s
financial life. Many of the leading financiers and financier-
politicians were interested in that. For instance, Messrs. Mol-
Jenhauer, Butler and Simpson were interested in street-railways
separately on their own account. ‘There-was-no-understanding
between them on this score. If they had thought at all on the
matter they would have decided that they did not want any
outsider _to-interfere. As a matter of fact the street-railway
business in Philadelphia was not sufficiently developed at this
time to suggest to any one the grand scheme of union which
came later. Yet in connection with this new arrangement between
Stener and Cowperwood, it was Strobik who now came forward
to Stener with an idea of his own. All were certain to make
money through Cowperwood—he and Stener, especially. What
Was amiss, therefore, with himself and Stener and with Cowper-
wood .as their—or rather Stener’s secret representative, since
Strobik did not dare to appear in the matter—buying now suffi-
cient street-railway shares in some one line to control it, and
then, if he, Strobik, could, by efforts of his own, get the city
council to set aside certain streets for its extension, why, there
you were—they would own it. Only, later, he proposed to
shake Stener out if he could. But this preliminary work had
to be done by some one, and it might as well be Stener. At
the same time, as he saw, this work had to be done very
carefully, because naturally his superiors were watchful, and
if they found him dabbling in affairs of this kind to his own112 TEE hE N ANGE

advantage, they might make it impossible for him to continue
politically in a position where he could help himself just the
same. Any outside organization such as a street-railway com-
pany already in existence had a right to appeal to the city council
for privileges which would naturally further its and the city’s
growth, and, other things being equal, these could not be refused.
It would not do for him to appear, however, both as a share-
holder and president of the council. But with Cowperwood
acting privately for Stener it would be another thing.

The interesting thing about this proposition as finally pre-
sented by Stener for Strobik to Cowperwood, was that it raised,
without appearing to do so, the whole question of Cowperwood’s
attitude toward the city administration. Although he was deal-
ing privately for Edward Butler as an agent, and with this same
plan in mind, and although he had never met either Mollenhauer
or Simpson, he nevertheless felt that in so far as the manipula-
tion of the city loan was concerned he was acting for them. On
the other hand, in this matter of the private street-railway pur-
chase which Stener now brought to him, he realized_from_the
very~beginning, by Stener’s attitude;-that-there..was~something
untoward in it, that Stener felt he was doing something which
hte ought not to do.

“Cowperwood,” he said to him the first morning he ever
broached this matter—it was in Stener’s office, at the old city
hall at Sixth and Chestnut, and Stener, in view of his oncoming
prosperity, was feeling very good indeed—“isn’t there “some
street-railway property around town here that a man could
buy in on and get control of if he had sufficient money?”
Cowperwood knew that there were such properties. His
very alert mind had long since sensed the general opportunities
here. The omnibuses were slowly disappearing. ‘The best routes
were already preémpted. Still, there were other streets, and
the city was growing. ‘The incoming population would make
great business in the future. One could afford to pay almost
any price for the short lines already built if one could wait and
extend the lines into larger and better areas later. And already
he had conceived in his own mind the theory of the “endless
chain,” or “agreeable formula,” as it was later termed, of buy-
ing a certain property on a long-time payment and issuing stocks
or bonds sufficient not only to pay your seller, but to reimburseene ee Ee NAN CLE R: 113

you for your trouble, to say nothing of giving you a margin
wherewith to invest in other things—allied properties, for in-
stance, against which more bonds could be issued, and so on,
1d_infinitum.._It became an old story-later, but it was-new at
that tinie, and he kept the thought closely to himself. None the
less he was glad to have Stener-speak of this, since street-railways
were his hobby, and he was convinced that he would be a great
master of them if he ever had an opportunity to control them.

“Why, yes, George,” he said, noncommittally, “there are two
or three that offer a good chance if a man had money enough.
I notice blocks of stock being offered on ’change now and then
by one person and another. It would be good policy to pick
shese things up as they’re offered, and then to see later if some
of the other stockholders won’t want to sell out. Green and
Coates, now, looks like a good proposition to me. If I had
three or four hundred thousand dollars that I thought I could
put into that by degrees I would follow it up. It only takes
about thirty per cent of the stock of any railroad to control it.
Most of the shares are scattered around so far and wide that
they never vote, and I think two or three hundred thousand
dollars would control that road.” He mentioned one other
line that might be secured in the same way in the course of
time.

Stener meditated. ‘“That’s a good deal of money,” he said,
thoughtfully. “I'll talk to you about that some more later.”
And he was off to see Strobik none the less.

Cowperwood knew that Stener did not have any two or
three hundred thousand dollars to invest in anything. ‘There
was only one way that he could get it—and that was to borrow it
out of the city treasury and forego the interest. But he would
not do that on his own initiative. Some one else must be behind
him and who else other than Mollenhauer, or Simpson, or
possibly even Butler, though he doubted that, unless the trium-
virate were secretly working together. But what of it? The
larger politicians were always using the treasury, and he was
thinking now, only, of his own attitude in regard to the use
of this money. No harm could come to him, if Stener’s ventures
were successful; and there was no reason why they should not
be. Even if they were not he would be merely-acting as an
agent. In addition, he saw how~in the manipulation of this114 THE FINANCIER

 

money for Stener he could probably eventually control certain
lines for himself.

There was one line being laid out to within a few blocks of
his new home—the Seventeenth and Nineteenth Street line it
was called—which interested him greatly. He rode on it occa-
sionally when he was delayed or did not wish to trouble about
a vehicle. It ran through two thriving streets of red-brick
houses, and was destined to have a great future once the city
grew large enough. As yet it was really not long enough. If
he could get that, for instance, and combine it with Butler’s
lines, once they were secured—or Mollenhauer’s or Simpson’s,
the legislature could be induced to give them additional fran-
chises. He even dreamed of a combination between Butler,
Mollenhauer, Simpson, and himself. Between them, politically,
they could get anything. But Butler was not a philanthropist.
He would have to be approached with a very sizable bird in
hand. The combination must be obviously advisable. Besides,
he was dealing for Butler in street-railway stocks, and if this
particular line were such a good thing Butler might wonder
why it had not been brought to him in the first place. It would
be better, Frank thought, to wait until he actually had it as his
own, in which case it would be a different matter. Then he
could talk as a capitalist. He began to dream of a city-wide
street-railway system controlled by a few men, or preferably
himself alone,CHAPTER XVII

HE days that had been passing brought Frank Cowperwood

and Aileen Butler somewhat closer together in spirit.‘
Because of the pressure of his growing affairs he had not paid
so much attention to her as he might have, but he had seen her
often this past year. She was now nineteen and had grown into
some subtle thoughts of her own. For one thing, she was be-
ginning to see the difference between good taste and bad taste
in houses and furnishings.

“Papa, why do we stay in this old barn?” she asked her father
one evening at dinner, when the usual family group was seated
at the table.

‘“What’s the matter with this house, I’d like to know?” de-
manded Butler, who was drawn up close to the table, his napkin
tucked comfortably under his chin, for he insisted on this when
company was not present. “I don’t see anything the matter
with this house. Your mother and I manage to live in it well
enough.”

“Oh, it’s terrible, papa. You know it,” supplemented Norah,
who was seventeen and quite as bright as her sister, though a
little less experienced. ‘‘Everybody says so. Look at all the
nice houses that are being built everywhere about here.”

“Everybody! Everybody! Who is ‘everybody,’ I’d like to
know?” demanded Butler, with the faintest touch of choler and
much humor. “I’m somebody, and I like it. Those that don’t
like it don’t have to live in it. Who are they? What’s the
matter with it, I’d like to know?”

The question in just this form had been up a number of
times before, and had been handled in just this manner, or
passed over entirely with a healthy Irish grin. ‘To-night, how-
ever, it was destined for a little more extended thought.

“You know it’s bad, papa,” corrected Aileen, firmly. “Now
what’s the use getting mad about it? It’s old and cheap and
dingy. The furniture is all worn out. That old piano in there
ought to be given away. I won’t play on it any more. ‘The
Cowperwoods—”

115116 THE FINANCIER

“Old is it!” exclaimed Butler, his accent sharpening some-
what with his self-induced rage. He almost pronounced it
“owled.” “Dingy, hi! Where do you get that? At your con-
vent, [ suppose. And where is it worn? Show me where it’s
worn.”

He was coming to her reference to Cowperwood, but he
hadn’t reached that when Mrs. Butler interfered. She was a
stout, broad-faced woman, smiling-mouthed most of the time,
with blurry, gray Irish eyes, and a touch of red in her hair,
now modified by grayness. Her cheek, below the mouth, on the
left side, was sharply accented by a large wen.

“Children! children!’ (Mr, Butler, for all his commercial
and_political responsibility, was as much a child to her as any.)
“Youse mustn’t quarrel now. Come now. Give your father
the tomatoes.”

There was an Irish maid serving at table; but plates were
passed from one to the other just the same. A heavily orna-
mented chandelier, holding sixteen imitation candles in white
porcelain, hung low over the table and was brightly lighted,
another offense to Aileen.

“Mama, how often have I told you not to say ‘youse’?”
pleaded Norah, very much disheartened by her mother’s gram-
matical errors. “You know you said you wouldn’t.”

“And who’s to tell your mother what she should say?” called
Butler, more incensed than ever at this sudden and unwarranted
rebellion and assault. “Your mother talked before ever you was
born, I’d have you know. If>»it weren’t for her workin’ and
slavin’ you wouldn’t have any fine manners to be paradin’ before
her. I’d have you know that. She’s a better woman-nor-any
you'll be runnin’ with this_day, you little baggage,-you!”’

“Mama, do you hear what he’s calling me?” complained
Norah, hugging close to her mother’s arm and pretending fear
and dissatisfaction.

“Eddie! Eddie!” cautioned Mrs. Butler, pleading with her
husband. ‘“‘You know he don’t mean that, Norah, dear. Don’t
you know he don’t?”

She was stroking her baby’s head. The reference to her
grammar had not touched her at all.

Butler was sorry that he had called his youngest a baggage;
but these children—God bless his soul—were a great annoyance.THE FINANCIER 117

Why, in the name of all the saints, wasn’t this house good enough
‘for them?

“Why don’t you people quit fussing at the table?” observed
Callum, a likely youth, with black hair laid smoothly over his
forehead in a long, distinguished layer reaching from his left to
close to his right ear, and his upper lip carrying a short, crisp
mustache. His nose was short and retroussé, and his ears were
rather prominent; but he was bright and attractive. He and
Owen both realized that the house was old and poorly arranged;
but their father and mother liked it, and business sense and
family-peace dictated silenceon_this score.

“Well, I think it’s mean to have to live in this old place when
people not one-fourth as good as we are are living in better
ones. The Cowperwoods—why, even the Cowperwoods—”

“Yes the Cowperwoods! What about the Cowperwoods?”
demanded Butler, turning squarely to Aileen—she was sitting
beside him—his big, red face glowing.

‘Why, even they have a better house than we have, and he’s
merely an agent of yours.”

“The Cowperwoods! The Cowperwoods! T’ll not have any
talk about the Cowperwoods. I’m not takin’ my rules from
the Cowperwoods. Suppose they have a fine house, what of it?
My house is my house. I want to live here. I’ve lived here too
long to be pickin’ up and movin’ away. If you don’t like it you
know what else you can do. Move if you want to. I'll not
move.”

It was Butler’s habit when he became involved in these family
quarrels, which were as shallow as puddles, to wave his hands
rather antagonistically under his wife’s or his children’s noses.

“Oh, well, I will get out one of these days,” Aileen replied.
“Thank heaven I won’t have to live here forever.”

There flashed across her mind the beautiful reception-room,
library, parlor, and boudoirs of the Cowperwoods, which were
now being arranged and about which Anna Cowperwood talked
to her so much—their dainty, lovely triangular grand piano in
gold and painted pink and blue. W-hy_couldn’t they have things
like that? Her father was unquestionably a~dozen—times—as
wealthy. But _no,-her father, whom she loved dearly, was_of
the old school. He was just what people charged him with
being, a rough Irish contractor. He might be rich. She flaredine FINAN CLE

 

118

up at the injustice of things—why couldn’t he have been rich
and refined, too? ‘Then they could have—but, oh, what was
the use of complaining? They would never get anywhere with
her father and mother in charge. She would just have to wait.
Marriage was the answer—the right marriage. But whom was
she to marry?

“You surely are not going to go orf fighting about that now,”
pleaded Wirs..Butler, as strong and patient as fate itself...She
knew. where Aileen’s trouble lay.

“But we might have a decent house,” insisted Aileen. “Or
this one done over,” whispered Norah to her mother.

“Hush, now! In good time,” replied Mrs. Butler to Norah.
“Wait. We'll fix it all up some day, sure. You run to your
lessons now. You've had enough.”

Norah arose and left. Aileen subsided. Her fatherwas
simply stubborn and impossible....And.yethe..was.sweet, too.
She pouted in order to compel him.to.apologize.

“Come now,” he said, after they had left the table, and_con-
scious of the fact that his daughter was dissatisfied with him.
He must do something to placate her. “Play me somethin’ on
the piano, somethin’ nice.” He preferred showy, clattery things
which exhibited her skill and muscular ability and left him
wondering how she did it. That was what-education_was_for
—to enable her to play-these_very difficult things quickly and
forcefully. “And you can have a new piano any time you
like. Go and see about it. ‘This looks pretty good to me, but
if you don’t want it, all right.” Aileen squeezed his arm. What
was the use of arguing with her father? What good would a
lone piano do, when the whole house and the whole family at-
mosphere were at fault? But she played Schumann, Schubert,
Offenbach, Chopin, and the old gentleman strolled to and
fro and mused, smiling. ‘There was real feeling and a thought-
ful interpretation given to some of these things, for Ailee:?2 was
not without sentiment, though she was so strong, vigorous, and
withal so defiant but it was all lost on him. He looked on
her, his bright, healthy, enticingly beautiful daughter, and won-
dered what was going to become of her. Some rich man was
going to marry her—some fine, rich young man with good
business instincts—and he, her father, would leave her a lot of
money.EE tulNeA IN GLE R

There was a reception and a dance to be given to celebrate
the opening of the two Cowperwood homes—the reception to
be held in Frank Cowperwood’s residence, and the dance later
at his father’s. The Henry Cowperwood domicile wasmuch
more pretentious, the reception room; parlor, music room, and
conservatory being in this case all on the ground floor and
much larger. Ellsworth had arranged it so that those rooms,
on occasion, could be thrown into one, leaving excellent space
for promenade, auditorium, dancing—anything, in fact, that a
large company might require. It had been the intention all
along of the two men to use these houses jointly. ‘There was,
to begin with, a combination use of the various servants, the
butler, gardener, laundress, and maids. Frank Cowperwood em-
ployed a governess for his children. “The butler was really not
a butler in the best sense. He was Henry Cowperwood’s pri-
vate servitor. But he could carve and preside, and he could
be used in either house as occasion warranted. ‘There was also
a hostler and a coachman for the joint stable. When two car-
riages were required at once, both drove. It made a very
agreeable and satisfactory working arrangement.

The preparation of this reception had been quite a matter of
importance, for it was necessary for financial reasons to make it
as.extensive as possible, and for social reasons~as~exclusive. It
was therefore decided that the afternoon reception at Frank’s
house, with its natural overflow into Henry W.’s, was to be
for all—the Tighes, Steners, Butlers, Mollenhauers, as well as
the more select groups to which, for instance, belonged Arthur
Rivers, Mrs. Seneca Davis, Mr. and Mrs. Trenor Drake, and
some of the younger Drexels and Clarks, whom Frank had met.
It was not likely that the latter would condescend, but cards
had to be sent. Later in the evening a less democratic group if
possible was to be entertained, albeit it would have to be extended
to include the friends of Anna, Mrs. Cowperwood, Edward,
and Joseph, and any list which Frank might personally have
in mind. Thiswas to be the list. "The best that could be
persuaded, commanded, or influenced of the young and socially
elect were to be invited here.

It was not possible, however, not to invite the Butlers,
parents and children, particularly the children, for both after-
noon and evening, since Cowperwood was personally attracted120 LEE. FINANCIER

to Aileen and despite the fact that the presence of the parents
would be most unsatisfactory. Even Aileen as he knew was
a little unsatisfactory to Anna and Mrs. Frank Cowperwood;
and these two, when they were together supervising the list
of invitations, often talked about it.

““She’s so hoidenish,”’ observed Anna, to her sister-in-law, when
they came to the name of Aileen. “She—thinks.she knows so
much, and she isn’t a bit refined. Her father! Well, if I had
her father I wouldn’t talk so smart.”

Mrs. Cowperwood, who was before her secretaire in her
new boudoir, lifted her eyebrows.

“You know, Anna, I sometimes wish that Frank’s business
did not compel me to have anything to do with them. Mrs.
Butler is such a bore. She means well enough, but she doesn’t
know anything. And Aileen is too rough. She’s too forward,
I think. She comes over here and plays upon the piano, par-
ticularly when Frank’s here. I wouldn’t mind so much for my-
self, but I know it must annoy him. All her pieces are so
noisy. She never plays anything really delicate and refined.”

“T don’t like the way she dresses,” observed Anna, sympa-
thetically. ‘She gets herself up too conspicuously. Now, the
other day I saw her out driving, and oh, dear! you should have
seen her! She had on a crimson Zouave jacket heavily braided
with black about the edges, and a turban with a huge crimson
feather, and crimson ribbons reaching nearly to her waist. Im-
agine that kind of a hat to drive in. And her hands! You
should have seen the way she held her hands—oh—just—so—
self-consciously. ‘They were curved just so”’—and she showed
how. “She had on yellow gauntlets, and she held the reins in
one hand and the whip in the other. She drives just like mad
when she drives, anyhow, and William, the footman, was up
behind her. You should just have seen her. Oh, dear! oh,
dear! she does think she is so much!” And Anna giggled,
half in reproach, half in amusement.

“T suppose we'll have to invite her; I don’t see how we can
get out of it. I know just how she’ll do, though. She'll walk
about and pose and hold her nose up.”

“Really, I don’t see how she can,” commented Anna. “Now,
I like Norah. She’s much nicer. She doesn’t think she’s so
much.”Wir Pi NAN CLrER

“TI like Norah, too,” added Mrs. Cowperwood. “She’s really
very sweet, and to me she’s prettier.”

“Oh, indeed, I think so, too.”

It was curious, though, that it was Aileen who commanded
nearly all their attention and fixed their minds on her so-called
idiosynerasies..All they said was in its peculiar way true; but
in addition the girl was really beautiful and much above the
average intelligence and force. She was running deep. with
ambition, and she was all the more conspicuous, and in a way
irritating to some, because she reflected in her own conscious-
ness her social defects, against which she was inwardly fight-
ing. She resented the fact that people could justly consider her
parents ineligible, and for that reason her also. She was in-
trimsically as worth while -as-any-one. Cowperwood, so able, and
rapidly becoming so distinguished, seemed to realize it. ‘The
days that had been passing had brought them somewhat closer
together in spirit. He was nice to her and liked to talk to her.
Whenever he was at her home now, or she was at his and he
was present, he managed somehow to say a word. He would
come over quite near and look at her in a warm friendly fashion.

“Well, Aileen”—she could see his genial eyes—“how is it
with you? How are your father and mother? Been out
driving? “That’s fine. I saw you to-day. You looked beautiful.”

“Oh, Mr. Cowperwood!”

“You did. You looked stunning. A black riding-habit be-
comes you. [I can tell your gold hair a long way off.”

“Oh, now, you mustn’t say that to me. You'll make me
vain. My mother and father tell me I’m too vain as it is.”

“Never-mind--your_mother and father. I say you looked
stunning, and you did. You always do.”

Ones

She gave a little gasp of delight. The color mounted to
her cheeks and temples. Mr. Cowperwood knew of course. He
was so informed and intensely forceful. And already he was
so much admired by so many, her own father and mother
included, and by Mr. Mollenhauer and Mr. Simpson, so she
heard. And his own home and office were so beautiful. Besides,
his quiet intensity matched her restless force.

Aileen and her sister were accordingly invited to the reception,
but the Butlers mére and pére were given to understand, in as122 THE FINANCIER

 

tactful a manner as possible, that the dance afterward was prin-
cipally for young people.

The reception brought a throng of people. There were many,
very many, introductions. ‘There were tactful descriptions of
little effects Mr. Ellsworth had achieved under rather trying
circumstances; walks under the pergola; viewings of both homes
in detail. Many of the guests were old friends. They gathered
+n the libraries and dining-rooms and talked. “There was much
jesting, some slappings of shoulders, some good story-telling,
and so the afternoon waned into evening, and they went away.

Aileen had created an impression in a street costume of dark
blue silk with velvet pelisse to match, and trimmed with elabo-
rate pleatings and shirrings of the same materials. A toque
of blue velvet, with high crown and one large dark-red imita-
tion orchid, had given her a jaunty, dashing air. Beneath the
toque her red-gold hair was arranged in an enormous chignon,
with one long curl escaping over her collar. She was not_ex-
actly as daring as she seemed, but she loved to give that
impression.

“You look wonderful,” Cowperwood said as she passed him.

“T’l] look different to-night,” was her answer.

She had swung herself with a slight, swaggering stride into
the dining-room and disappeared. Norah and her mother stayed
to chat with Mrs. Cowperwood.

“Well, it’s lovely now, isn’t it?” breathed Mrs. Butler. “Sure
you'll be happy here. Sure you will. When Eddie fixed the
house we’re in now, says I: ‘Eddie, it’s almost too fine for us
altogether—surely it is,’ and he says, says ’e, ‘Norah, nothin’
this side o’ heavin or beyond is too good for ye’—and he kissed
me. Now what d’ye think of that fer a big, hulkin’ gossoon ?”

“Tt’s perfectly lovely, I think, Mrs. Butler,” commented Mrs,
Cowperwood, a little bit nervous because of others.

“Wiama does love to talk so. Come on, mama. Let’s look
at the dining-room.” It was Norah talking.

‘Well, may ye always be happy in it. I wish ye that. I’ve
always been happy in mine. May ye always be happy.” And
she waddled good-naturedly along.

The Cowperwood family dined hastily alone between sever
and eight.

At nine the evening guests began to arrive, and now theTHE FINANCIER

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
   

throng was of a different complexion—girls in mauve and cream-
white and salmon-pink and silver-gray, laying aside lace shawls
and loose dolmans, and the men in smooth black helping them.
Outside in the cold, the carriage doors were slamming, and
1ew guests were arriving constantly. Mrs. Cowperwood stood
with her husband and Anna in the main entrance to the recep-
ion room, while Joseph and Edward Cowperwood and Mr.
und Mrs. Henry W. Cowperwood lingered in the background.
Lillian looked charming in a train gown of old rose, with a low,
square neck showing a delicate chemisette of fine lace. Her
face and figure were still notable, though her face was not as
smoothly sweet as it had been years before when Cowperwood
had first met her. Anna Cowperwood was not pretty, though
she could not be said to be homely. She was small and dark,
with a turned-up nose, snapping black eyes, a pert, inquisitive,
intelligent, and alas, somewhat critical, air. She had consider-
able tact in the matter of dressing. Black, in spite of her
darkness, with shining beads of sequins on it, helped her com-
plexion greatly, as did a red rose in her hair. She had smooth,
white well-rounded arms and shoulders. Bright eyes, a pert
manner, clever remarks—these assisted to—create-an-illusion- of
charm,though,—as she often said, it was of—little use. “Men
want—the dolly things.”

In the evening inpour of young men and women came Aileen
and Norah, the former throwing off a thin net veil of black lace
and a dolman of black silk, which her brother Owen took from
her. Norah was with Callum, a straight, erect, smiling young
{rishman, who looked as though he might carve a notable career
for himself. She wore a short, girlish dress that came to a
little below her shoe-tops, a pale-figured lavender and white silk,
with a fluffy hoop-skirt of dainty lace-edged ruffles, against
which tiny bows of lavender stood out in odd places. ‘There
was a great sash of lavender about her waist, and in her hair a
rosette of the same color. She looked exceedingly winsome—
eager and bright-eyed.

But behind her was her sister in ravishing black satin, scaled
as a fish with glistening crimsoned-silver sequins, her round,
smooth arms bare to the shoulders, her corsage cut as low in
the front and back as her daring, in relation to her sense of
the proprieties, permitted. She was naturally of exquisite figure,124 THE FINAN CIER

erect, full-breasted, with somewhat more than gently swelling
hips, which, nevertheless, melted into lovely, harmonious lines;
and this low-cut corsage, receding back and front into a deep V,
above a short, gracefully draped overskirt of black tulle and
silver tissue, set her off to perfection. Her full, smooth, roundly
modeled neck was enhanced in its cream-pink whiteness by an
inch-wide necklet of black jet cut in many faceted black squares.
Her complexion, naturally high in tone because of the pink of
health, was enhanced by the tiniest speck of black court-plaster
laid upon her cheekbone; and her hair, heightened in its reddish-
gold by her dress, was fluffed loosely and adroitly about her
eyes. The main mass of this treasure was done in two loose
braids caught up in a black spangled net at the back of
her neck; and her eyebrows had been emphasized by a pencil
into something almost as significant as her hair. She was, for
the occasion, a little too emphatic, perhaps, and yet more because
of her burning vitality than of her costume. Art for her should
have meant subduing her physical and spiritual significance. Life
for her meant emphasizing them.

“Lillian!” Anna nudged her sister-in-law. She was grieved
to think that Aileen was wearing black and looked so much
better than either of them.

“T see,’ Lillian replied, in a subdued tone.

“So you’re back again.” She was addressing Aileen. “It’s
chilly out, isn’t it?”

“T don’t mind. Don’t the rooms look lovely?”

She was gazing at the softly lighted chambers and the throng
before her.

Norah began to babble to Anna. ‘You know, I just thought
I never would get this old thing on.” She was speaking of her
dress. ‘‘Aileen wouldn’t help me—the mean thing!”

Aileen had swept on to Cowperwood and his mother, who
was near him. She had removed from her arm the black satin
ribbon which held her train and kicked the skirts loose and
free. Her-eyes gleamed-almost pleadingly for all her hauteur,
like a spirited collie’s, and her even teeth showed beautifully.

Cowperwood understood her precisely, as he did any fine,
Spirited animal.

“T can’t tell you how nice you look,” he whispered to her,tah HI NAN ClER 125

familiarly, as thoughthere-was an old understanding between
them. ‘“You’re like fire and_sang.”

He did-not~know-why he said this. He was not especially
poetic. He had not. formulated the phrase beforehand. Since
his first glimpse of her in the hall, his feelings and ideas had
been leaping and plunging like spirited horses. “This girl made
him set his teeth and narrow his eyes. Involuntarily he squared
his jaw, looking more defiant, forceful, efficient, as she drew
near.

But Aileen and her sister were almost instantly surrounded
by young men seeking to be introduced and to write their names
on dance-cards, and for the time being she was lost to view.CHAPTER XVIII

HE seeds of change—subtle, metaphysical—are rooted
deeply. From the first mention of the dance by Mrs.
Cowperwood and Anna, Aileen had been conscious of a desire
toward a more effective presentation of herself than as yet, for
all her father’s money, she had been able to achieve. ‘The com-
pany which she was to encounter, as she well knew, was to be
so much more impressive, distinguished, than anything she had
heretofore known socially. Then, too, Cowperwood appeared
as something more definite in her mind than he had been before,
and to save herself she could not get him out of her consciousness.
A vision of him had come to her but an hour before as she was
dressing. In a way she had dressed for him. She was never for-
getful of the times he had looked at her in an interested way.
He had commented on her hands once. ‘To-day he had said that
she looked “stunning,” and she had thought how easy it would
be to impress him to-night—to show him how truly beautiful
she was.

She had stood before her mirror between eight and nine—it
was nine-fifteen before she was really ready—and pondered over
what she should wear. ‘There were two tall pier-glasses in
her wardrobe—an unduly large piece of furniture—and one in
her closet door. She stood before the latter looking at her bare
arms and shoulders, her shapely figure, thinking of the fact that
her left shoulder had a dimple, and that she had selected garnet
garters decorated with heart-shaped silver buckles. The corset
could not be made quite tight enough at first, and she chided her
maid, Kathleen Kelly. She studied how to arrange her hair,
and there was much ado about that before it was finally adjusted.
She penciled her eyebrows and plucked at the hair about her
forehead to make it loose and shadowy. She cut black court-
plaster with her nail-shears and tried different-sized pieces in
different places. Finally, she found one size and one place that
suited her. She turned her head from side to side, looking at
the combined effect of her hair, her penciled brows, her dimpled
shoulder, and the black beauty-spot. If some one man could
126PHE PENANCE R

see her as she was now, some time! Which man? ‘That thought
scurried back like a frightened rat into its hole. She was, for
all her strength, afraid of the thought of the one—the very
deadly—the man.

And then she came to the matter of a train-gown. Kathleen
laid out five, for Aileen had come into the joy and honor of
these things recently, and she had, with the permission of her
mother and father, indulged herself to the full. She studied a
golden-yellow silk, with cream-lace shoulder-straps, and some
gussets of garnet beads in the train that shimmered delightfully,
but set it aside. She considered favorably a black-and-white
striped silk of odd gray effect, and, though she was sorely
tempted to wear it, finally let it go. “There was a maroon
dress, with basque and overskirt over white silk; a rich cream-
colored satin; and then this black sequined gown, which she
finally chose. She tried on the cream-colored satin first, how-
ever, being in much doubt about it; but her penciled eyes and
beauty-spot did not seem to harmonize with it. “Then she put
on the black silk with its glistening crimsoned-silver sequins, and,
lo, it touched her. She liked its coquettish drapery of tulle and
silver about the hips. The “overskirt,’ which was at that
time just coming into fashion, though avoided by the more
conservative, had been adopted by Aileen with enthusiasm.
She thrilled a little at the rustle of this black dress, and
thrust her chin and nose forward to make it set right. Then after
having Kathleen tighten her corsets a little more, she gathered
the train over her arm by its train-band and looked again.
Something was wanting. Oh, yes, her neck! What to wear—
red ‘coral? It did not look right. A string of pearls? That
would not do either. ‘There was a necklace made of small
cameos set in silver which her mother had purchased, and
another of diamonds which belonged to her mother, but they
were not right. Finally, her jet necklet, which she did not
value very highly, came into her mind, and, oh, how lovely it
looked! How soft and smooth and glistening her chin looked
above it. She caressed her neck affectionately, called for her
black lace mantilla, her long, black silk dolman lined with
red, and she was ready.

The ball-room, as she entered, was lovely enough. The young
men and young women she saw there were interesting, and sheTHE FINANCTER

 

 

128

was not wanting for admirers. “[he most aggressive of these
youths—the most forceful—recognized in this maiden a fillip to
life, a sting to existence. She was as a honey-jar surrounded
by too hungry flies.

But it occurred to her, as her dance-list was filling up, that
there was not much left for Mr. Cowperwood, if he should
care to dance with her.

Cowperwood was meditating, as he received the last of the
guests, on the subtlety of this matter of the sex arrangement of
life. “Two sexes. He was not at all sure that there was any
law governing them. By comparison now with Aileen Butler, his
wife looked rather dull, quite too old, and when he was ten years
older she would look very much older.

“Oh, yes, Ellsworth had made quite an attractive arrange-
ment out of these two houses—better than we ever thought he
could do.” He was talking to Henry Hale Sanderson, a young
banker. ‘‘He had the advantage of combining two into one,
and I think he’s done more with my little one, considering the
limitations of space, than he has with this big one. Father’s
has the advantage of size. I tell the old gentleman he’s simply
built a lean-to for me.”

His father and a number of his cronies were over in the
dining-room of his grand home, glad to get away from the crowd.
He would have to stay, and, besides, he wanted to. Had he bet-
ter dance with Aileen? His wife cared little for dancing, but
he would have to dance with her at least once. There was Mrs.
Seneca Davis smiling at him, and Aileen. By George, how
wonderful! What a girl!

“T suppose your dance-list is full to overflowing. Let me see.”
He was standing before her and she was holding out the little
blue-bordered, gold-monogrammed booklet. An orchestra was
playing in the music room. ‘The dance would begin shortly.
There were delicately constructed, gold-tinted chairs about the
walls and behind palms.

He looked down into her eyes—those excited, life-loving,
eager eyes.

“You’re quite full up. Let me see. Nine, ten, eleven. Well,
that will be enough. I don’t suppose I shall want to dance very
much. It’s nice to be popular.”THE FINANCIER 129

“Pm not sure about number three. I think that’s a mistake.
You might have that if you wish.”

She was falsifying,

“Tt doesn’t matter so much about him, does it?”

His cheeks flushed a little as he said this.

SON os )

Her own flamed.

“Well, I’ll see where you are when it’s called. You're
darling. I’m afraid of you.” He shot a level, interpretive
glance into her eyes, then left. Aileen’s bosom heaved. It was
hard to breathe sometimes in this warm air.

While he was dancing first with Mrs. Cowperwood and later
with Mrs. Sseneca Davis, and still later with Mrs. Martyn
Walker, (Yowperwood had occasion to look at Aileen often, and
each timje that he did so there swept _over him a sense of great
vigor_thjere, of beautiful if raw, dynamic enereythat,to him was
irresis‘tible-and especially so to-night. She was so young. She
was beautiful, this girl, and in spite of his wife’s repeated de-
refeatory comments he felt that she was nearer to his clear,
a’ goressive, unblinking attitude than any_one whom he-had-yet
“Seen in the form of woman. She was unsophisticated, in a way,
that was plain, and yet in another way it would take so little to
‘fmake her understand so much. Largeness was the sense he had
“\ of her—not physically, though she was nearly as tall as himself—
sh but emotionally. She seemed-so-intensely alive. She passed close
nut, him a number of times, her eyes wide and smiling, her lips
parted, her teeth agleam, and he felt a stirring of sympathy and
companionship for her which he had not previously experienced.

She was lovely, all of her—delightful.

“T’m wondering if that dance is open now,” he said to her
as he drew near toward the beginning of the third set. She
was seated with her latest admirer in a far corner of the general
living-room, a clear floor now waxed to perfection. A few

palms here and there made embrasured parapets of green. a

hope you'll excuse me,” he added, deferentially, to her com-

panion.

“Surely,” the latter replied, rising.

“Yes, indeed,” she replied. “And you'd better stay here with
me. It’s going to begin soon. You won’t mind?” she added,

giving her companion a radiant smile.130 DHE FINAN Ci R

“Not at all. I’ve had a lovely waltz.” He strolled off.

Cowperwood sat down. “That’s young Ledoux, isn’t it? I
thought so. I saw you dancing. You like it, don’t you?”

“I’m crazy about it.”

“Well, I can’t say that myself. It’s fascinating, though.
Your partner makes such a difference. Mrs. Cowperwood
doesn’t like it as much as I do.”

His mention of Lillian made Aileen thinik of her in a faintly
derogative way for a moment.

“I think you dance very well. I watchtd you, too.” She
questioned afterwards whether she should hiave said this. It
sounded most forward now—almost brazen.

“Oh, did you?”

yes.

He was a little keyed up because of her—slightly icloudy in
his thoughts—because she was generating a problem in» his life,
or would if he let her, and so his talk was a little tame. He
was thinking of something to say—some words which would
bring them a little nearer together. But for the moment “he
could not. ‘Truth to tell, he wanted to say a great deal.

“Well, that was nice of you,” he added, after a momen't.
“What made you do it?” 1

He turned with a mock air of inquiry. The iausic was be»:
ginning again. ‘The dancers were rising. He arose.

He had not intended to give this particular remark a cer [
turn; but, now that she was so near him, he looked into her, }
steadily but with a soft appeal and said, “Yes, why?”

They had come out from behind the palms. He had put his
hand to her waist. His right arm held her left extended arm
to arm, palm to palm. Her right hand was on his shoulder,
and she was close to him, looking into his eyes. As they began
the gay undulations of the waltz she looked away and then down
without answering. Her movements were as light and airy as
those of a butterfly. He felt-a-sudden lightnéss=himself,—-com-
municated as by an invisible current. He wanted to match the
suppleness of her body with his own,-and did. Her arms, the
flash and glint of the crimson sequins against the smooth, black
silk of her closely fitting dress, her neck, her glowing, radiant
hair, all combined to provoke a slight intellectual intoxication.
She was so vigorously young, so, to him, truly beautiful.THE FINANCIER

“But you didn’t answer,” he continued.

“Tsn’t this lovely music?”

He pressed her fingers.

She lifted shy eyes to him now, for, in spite of her gay,
aggressive force, she was afraid of him. His_personality was
obviously -so—dominating. Now that he was so close to her,
dancing, she conceived of him as something quite wonderful, and
yet she experienced a nervous reaction—a momentary desire to
run away.

“Very well, if you won’t tell me,” he smiled, mockingly.

He thought she wanted him to talk to her so, to tease her
with suggestions of this concealed feeling of his—this strong
liking. He wondered what could come of any such under-
standing as this, anyhow?

“Oh, I just wanted to see how you danced,” she said, tamely,
the force of her original feeling having been weakened by a
thought of what she was doing. He noted the change and
smiled. It was lovely to be dancing with her. He had not
thought mere dancing could hold such charm.

“You like me?” he said, suddenly, as the music drew to its
close.

She thrilled from head to toe at the question. A piece of ice
dropped down her back could not have startled her more. It
was apparently tactless, and yet it was anything but tactless.
She looked up quickly, directly, but his strong eyes were too
much for her.

“Why, yes,” she answered, as the music stopped, trying to
keep an even tone to her voice. She was glad they were walk-
ing toward a chair.

“I like you so much,” he said, “that I have been wondering if
you really like me.” There was an appeal in his voice, soft and
gentle. His manner was almost sad.

“Why, yes,” she replied, instantly, returning to her earlier
mood toward him. “You know I do.”

“T need some one like you to like me,” he continued, in the
Same vein. “I need some one like you to talk to. I didn’t think
so before—but now I do. You are beautiful—wonderful.”

“We mustn’t,” she said. “I mustn’t. I don’t know what
I’m doing.” She looked at a young man strolling toward her,132 THE FINANCIER

and asked: “I have to explain to him. He’s the one I had this
with.”

Cowperwood understood. He walked away. He_was_ quite
warm and tense now—almost nervous. It was quite clear to
him that he had done or-was—contemplating perhaps a_ very
treacherous-thing: Under the current code of society~he had no
right to do it. It was against the rules, as they were under-
stood by everybody. Her father, for instance—his father—every
one in this particular walk of life. However much’ breaking
of the rules under the surface of things there might be, the rules
were still there. As he had heard one young man remark once
at school, when some story had been told of a boy leading a
girl astray and to a disastrous end, “That isn’t the way at all.”’

Still, now that he had said this, strong thoughts of her were
‘n his mind. And despite his involved social and financial posi-
tion, which he now recalled, it was interesting to him to see how
deliberately and even calculatingly—and worse, enthusiastically
—he was pumping the bellows that tended only to heighten the
flames of his desire for this girl; to feed a fire that might
ultimately consume him—and how deliberately and resource-
fully!

Aileen toyed aimlessly with her fan as a black-haired, thin-
faced young law student talked to her, and seeing Norah in the
distance she asked to be allowed to run over to her.

“Oh, Aileen,” called Norah, “I’ve been looking for you every:
where. Where have you been?”

“Dancing, of course. Where do you suppose I’ve been?
Didn’t you see me on the floor?”

“No, I didn’t,’ complained Norah, as though it were mos?
essential that she should. ‘How late are you going to stay?”

“Until it’s over, I suppose. I don’t know.”

“Owen says he’s going at twelve.”

“Well, that doesn’t matter. Some one will take me home
Are you having a good time?”

“Fine. Oh, let me tell you. I stepped on a lady’s dress ove!
there, last dance. She was terribly angry. She gave me such
a look.”

‘Well, never mind, honey. She won’t hurt you. Where art

you going now?”ARE, HT NeAUN Cl EAR

Aileen always maintained a most guardian-like attitude toward

her sister.

“T want to find Callum. He has to dance with me next time.
I know what he’s trying to do. He’s trying to get away from
me. But he won't.”

Aileen smiled. Norah looked very sweet. And she was so
bright. What would she think of her if she knew? She turned
back, and her fourth partner sought her. She began talking
gayly, for she felt that she had to make a show~-of-composure;
but all the while there was ringing in her ears that definite
question of his, ‘“You like me, don’t you?” and her later uncer-
tain but not less truthful answer, ‘Yes, of course I do.”CHAPTER XIX

 

HE-growth—of—a—passion_is a very peculiar thing. In
highly organized intellectual and artistic types it is so often
apt to begin with keen appreciation of certain qualities, modified
by many, many mental reservations. The egoist, the intellectual,
gives but little of himself and asks much. Nevertheless, the
lover of life, male or female, finding himself or herself in sym-
pathetic accord with such a nature, is apt to gain much.
Cowperwood was innately and primarily an egoist and intel-
lectual, though blended strongly therewith was a humane and
democratic spirit. We think of egoism and intellectualism as:
closely confined to the arts. Finance is an art. And it presents
the operations of the subtlest of the intellectuals and of the ego-
ists. Cowperwood was a financier. Instead of dwelling on th
works of nature, its beauty and subtlety, to his material disad-
vantage, he found a happy mean, owing to the swiftness of his
intellectual operations, whereby he could, intellectually and emo-
tionally, rejoice in the beauty of life without interfering with his
perpetual material and financial calculations. And when it
came to women and morals, which involved so much relating
to beauty, happiness, a sense of distinction and variety in living,
he was but now beginning to suspect for himself at least that
apart from maintaining organized society in its present form
there was no basis for this one-life, one-love idea. How had ii
come about that so many people agreed on this single point, that
it was good and necessary to marry one woman and cleave to hex
until death? He did not know. It was not for him to bother
about the subtleties of evolution, which even then was being
noised abroad, or to ferret out the curiosities of history in con-
nection with this matter. He had no time. Suffice it that the
vagaries of temperament and conditions with which he came int¢
‘mmediate contact proved to him that there was great dissatisfac:
tion with that idea. People did not cleave to each other unt
death; and in thousands of cases where they did, they did ne!
want to. Quickness of mind, subtlety of idea, fortuitousness ©
134THE FINANCIER 135

opportunity, made it possible for some people to right their matri-
monial and social infelicities; whereas for others, because of
dullness of wit, thickness of comprehension, poverty, and lack
of charm, there was no escape from the slough of their despond.
They were compelled by some devilish accident of birth or lack
of force or resourcefulness to stew in their own juice of
wretchedness, or to shuffle off this mortal coil—which under
other circumstances had such glittering possibilities—wvia the
rope, the knife, the bullet, or the cup of poison.

“T would die, too,” he thought to himself, one day, reading of
a man who, confined by disease and poverty, had lived for
twelve years alone in a back bedroom attended by an old and
probably decrepit housekeeper. A darning-needle forced into his
heart had ended his earthly woes. ‘To the devil with such a life!
Why twelve years? Why not at the end of the second or third ?”

Again, it was so very evident, in so many ways, that force was
the answer—great mental and physical force. Why, these giants
of commerce and money could do as they pleased in this life,
and did. He had already had ample local evidence of it in more
than one direction. Worse—the little guardians of so-called
law and morality, the newspapers, the preachers, the police, and
the public moralists generally, so loud in their denunciation of
evil in humble places, were cowards all when it came to cor-
ruption in high ones. They did not dare to utter a feeble squeak
until some giant had accidentally fallen and they could do so
without danger to themselves. "Then, O Heavens, the palaver!
What beatings of tom-toms! What mouthings of pharisaical
moralities—platitudes! Run now, good people, for you may
see clearly how evil is dealt with in high places! It made him
smile. Such hypocrisy! Such cant! Still, so the world was
organized, and it was not for him to set it right. Let it wag as
it would. The thing for him to do was to get rich and hold his
own—to build up a seeming of virtue and dignity which would
pass muster for the genuine thing. Force would do that.
Quickness of wit. And he had these. “I satisfy myself,’ was
his motto; and it might well have been emblazoned upon any
coat of arms which he could have contrived to set forth his claim
to intellectual and social nobility.

But this matter of Aileen was up for consideration and solu-
tion at this present moment, and because of his forceful, deter-136 THE FINANCIER

mined character he was presently not at all disturbed by th
problem it presented. It was a problem, like some of thos
knotty financial complications which presented themselves daily
but it was not insoluble. What did he want to do? He couldn’
leave his wife and fly with Aileen, that was certain. He had to:
many connections. He had too many social, and thinking
his children and parents, emotional as well as financial ties t
bind him. Besides, he was not at all sure that he wanted to
He did not intend to leave his growing interests, and at the sami
time he did not intend to give up Aileen immediately. The vr

heralded manifestation of interest on her part was too attractive

Mrs. Cowperwood was no longer what she should be physicali

and mentally, and that in itself to him was sufficient to justify
his present interest in this girl. Why fear anything, if onl:

he could figure out a way to achieve it without harm to himself :
At the same time he thought it might never be possible for hin

to figure out any practical or protective program for either him-
self or Aileen, and that made him silent and reflective. Foz
by now he was intensely drawn to her, as he could feel—some-
thing chemic and hence dynamic was uppermost in him now
and clamoring for expression.

At the same time, in contemplating his wife in connection with
all this, he had many qualms, some emotional, some financial
While she had yielded to his youthful enthusiasm for her after
her husband’s death, he had only since learned that she was a:
natural conservator of public morals—the cold purity of the
snowdrift in so far as the world might see, combined at times
with the murky mood of the wanton. And yet, as he had also
learned, she was ashamed of the passion that at times swept
and dominated her. ‘This irritated Cowperwood, as it. would
always irritate any strong, acquisitive, direct-seeing temperament,
While he had no desire to acquaint the whole world with his
feelings, why should there be concealment between them, or at
least mental evasion of a fact which physically she subscribed to?
Why do one thing and think another? To be sure, she was
devoted to him in her quiet way, not passionately (as he looked
back he could not say that she had ever been that), but intel-
lectually. Duty, as she understood it, played a great part in this.
She was dutiful. And then what people thought, what the time-
spirit demanded—these were the great things. Aileen, on theTHE FINANCIER 137

contrary, was probably not dutiful, and it was obvious that she
had no temperamental connection with current convention. No
doubt she had been as well instructed as many another girl, but
look at her. She was not obeying her instructions.

In the next three months this relationship took on a more
fagrant form. Aileen, knowing full well what her parents
would think, how unspeakable in the mind of the current world
were the thoughts she was thinking, persisted, nevertheless, in so
thinking and longing. Cowperwood, now that she had gone
thus far and compromised herself in intention, if not in deed,
‘ook on a peculiar charm for her. It was not his body—great
dassion is never that, exactly. The flavor of his spirit was what
attracted and compelled, like the glow of a flame to a moth.
There was a light of romance in his eyes, which, however gov-
ned and controlled—was directive and almost all-powerful
‘o her.

When he touched her hand at parting, it was as though she
lad received an electric shock, and she recalled that it was very
lificult for her to look directly into his eyes. Something akin
0 a destructive force seemed to issue from them at times. Other
eople, men particularly, found it difficult to face Cowperwood’s
lazed stare. It was as though there were another pair of eyes
hind those they saw, watching through thin, obscuring cur-
ains. You could not tell what he was thinking.

And during the next few months she found herself coming
loser and closer-to Cowperwood. At his home one evening,
vated at the piano, no one else being present at the moment, he
eaned over and kissed her. There was a cold, snowy street vis-
sle through the interstices of the hangings of the windows, and
as-lamps flickering outside. He had come in early, and hearing
lileen, he came to where she was seated at the piano. She
yas wearing a rough, gray wool cloth dress, ornately banded
vith fringed Oriental embroidery in blue and burnt-orange,
nd her beauty was further enhanced by a gray hat planned
9 match her dress, with a plume of shaded orange and blue.
Jn her fingers were four or five rings, far too many—an
pal, an emerald, a ruby, and a diamond—flashing visibly as she
layed.

She knew it was he, without turning. He came beside her,
nd she looked up smiling, the reverie evoked by Schubert partly138 GHE E1NANC LER

vanishing—or melting into another mood. Suddenly he bent over
and pressed his lips firmly to hers. His mustache thrilled—her
with its silky touch. She stopped playing and tried to catch her
breath, for, strong as she was, it affected her breathing. Her
heart was beating like a trip-hammer. She did not say, ‘“‘Oh,” or,
“You mustn’t,” but rose and walked over to a window, where
she lifted a curtain, pretending to look out. She felt as though
she might faint, so intensely happy was she.

Cowperwood followed her quickly.” Slipping his arms about
her waist, he looked at her flushed cheeks, her clear, moist eyes
and red mouth.

“You love me?” he whispered, stern and compelling because
of his desire.

“Yes! Yes! You know I do.”

He crushed her face to his, and she put up her hands and
stroked his hair.

A thrilling sense of possession, mastery, happiness and under-
standing, love of her and of her body, suddenly overwhelmed
him.

“T love you,” he said, as though he were surprised to hear
himself say it. “I didn’t think I did, but Ido. You're beautiful.
I’m wild about you.”

“And I love you,” she answered. “I can’t help it. I know 1
shouldn’t, but—oh—” Her hands closed tight over his ears
and temples. She put her lips to his and dreamed _into-his-eyes.
Then she stepped away quickly, looking out into the street, and
he walked back into the living-room. ‘They were quite alone.
He was debating whether he should risk anything further wher
Norah, having been in to see Anna next door, appeared and not
long afterward Mrs. Cowperwood. Then Aileen and Norah
left.CHAPTER XX

HIS definite and final understanding having been reached,
it was but natural that this liaison should proceed to a closer
and closer relationship. Despite her religious upbringing,
Aileen was decidedly a victim of her temperament. Current
religious feeling and belief could not control her. For the past
nine or ten years there had been slowly forming in her mind a
notion of what her lover should be like. He should be strong,
handsome, direct, successful, with clear eyes, a ruddy glow of
health, and a certain native understanding and sympathy—a love
of life~which matched her own. Many young men had ap-
proached her. Perhaps the nearest realization of her ideal was
Father David, of St. Timothy’s, and he was, of course, a priest
and sworn to celibacy. No word had ever passed between them
but he had been as conscious of her as she of him. Then came
Frank Cowperwood, and by degrees, becauseof his presence and
contact, he had been slowly built up in her mind as the ideal
person. She was drawn as planets are drawn to their sun.

It is a question as to what would have happened if antagonistic
forces could have been introduced just at this time. Emotions
and liaisons of this character can, of course, occasionally be broken
up and destroyed. ‘The characters of the individuals can be
modified or changed to a certain extent, but the force must be
quite sufficient. Fear is a great deterrent—fear of material loss
where there is no spiritual dread—but wealth and position so
often tend to destroy this dread. It is so easy to scheme with
means.

Aileen had no spiritual dread whatever. Cowperwood was
without spiritual or religious feeling. He looked at this girl,
and his one thought was how could he so deceive the world that
he could enjoy her love and leave his present state undisturbed.
Love her he did surely.

Business necessitated his calling at the Butlers’ quite fre-
quently, and on each occasion he saw Aileen. She managed to slip
forward and squeeze his hand the first time he came—to steal
a quick, vivid kiss; and another time, as he was going out, she
139140 (eee LN AN CLE

 

suddenly appeared from behind the curtains hanging at the parlor
door.

“Honey!”

The voice was soft and coaxing. He turned, giving her a
warning nod in the direction of her father’s room upstairs.

She stood there, holding out one hand, and he stepped forward
for a second. Instantly her arms were about his neck, as he
slipped his about her waist.

“T long to see you so.”

“T, too. I’ll fix some way. I’m thinking.”

He released her arms and went out, and she ran to the win-
dow and looked out after him. He was walking west on the
street, for his house was only a few blocks away, and she looked
at the breadth of his shoulders, the balance of his form. He
stepped so briskly, so incisively.- Ah, this was a man!.-He-was
her Frank. She thought of him in that light already. Then sheéi
sat down at the piano and played pensively until dinner.

And it was so easy for the resourceful mind of Frank
Cowperwood, wealthy as he was, to suggest ways and means.
In his younger gallivantings about places of ill repute, and his
subsequent occasional variations from the straight and narrowy
path, he had learned much of the curious resources of im-
morality. Being a city of five hundred thousand and more at
this time, Philadelphia had its nondescript hotels, where one

there were houses of a conservative, residential character, where
appointments might be made, for a consideration. And-as fo1
safeguards against the production of new life—they were no’
mysteries to him any longer. He knew all about them. Care
was the point—caution. He had to be cautious, for he wa:
so rapidly coming to be an influential and a distinguished man}
Aileen, of course, was not conscious, except in a vague way
of the drift of her passion; the ultimate destiny to which this
affection might lead was not clear to her. Her craving was!
for love—to be fondled and caressed—and she really did no‘
think so much further. Further thoughts along this line werd
like rats that showed their heads out of dark holes in shadoww
corners and scuttled back at the least sound. And, anyhow#
all that was to be connected with Cowperwood would be beau,
tiful. She really did not think that he loved her yet as hecE, bl NAN Clik I4I

should; but he would. She did not know that she wanted to
interfere with the claims of his wife. She did not think she did.
But it would not hurt Mrs. Cowperwood if Frank loved her—
Aileen—also.

How shall we explain these subtleties of temperament and de-
sire? Life has to deal with them at every turn. ‘They will not
down, and the large, placid movements of nature outside of man’s
little organisms would indicate that she is not greatly concerned.
We see much punishment in the form of jails, diseases, failures,
and wrecks; but we also see that the old tendency is not visibly
lessened. Is there no law outside of the subtle will and power of
he’individual to achieve? If not, it is surely high time that we
knew it—one and all. We might then agree to do as we do; but
there would be no silly illusion as to divine regulation. Vox
bopuli, vox Det.

So there were other meetings, lovely hours which they soon
hegan to spend the moment her passion waxed warm enough to
assure compliance, without great fear and without thought oi the
Jeadly risk involved. From odd moments in his own home,
stolen when there was no one about to see, they advanced to
clandestine meetings beyond the confines of the city. Coxyper-
wood--was_not.one who was-temperamentally inclined to lose
his head and neglect his.business. As a matter of fact, the more
ne thought of this rather unexpected affectional development,
he more certain he was that he must not let it interfere with
nis business time and judgment. His office required his full
ittention from nine until three, anyhow. He could give it until
five-thirty with profit; but he could take several afternoons off,
rom three-thirty until five-thirty or six, and no one would be
he wiser. It was customary for Aileen to drive alone almost
very afternoon a spirited pair of bays, or to ride a mount,
sought by her father for her from a noted horse-dealer in Balti-
nore. Since Cowperwood also drove and rode, it was not
lificult to arrange meeting-places far out on the Wissahickon
or the Schuylkill road. There were many spots in the newly
aid-out park, which were as free from interruption as the depths
hf a forest. It was always possible that they might encounter
(ome one; but it was also always possible to make a rather
hlausible explanation, or none at all, since even in case of such
in encounter nothing, ordinarily, would be suspected.142 THE FINANCIER

So, for the time being, there was love-making, the usual
billing and cooing of lovers in a simple and much less than
final fashion; and the lovely horseback rides together under the
green trees of the approaching spring were idyllic. Cowperwood
awakened to a sense of joy in life such as he fancied, in the blush
of this new desire, he had never experienced before. Lillian had
been lovely in those early days in which he had first called on her
in North Front Street, and_he had. fancied himself unspeakably
happy at that time; but that was nearly ten years since, and he
had forgotten. Since then he had had no great passion, no
notable liaison; and then, all at once, in the midst of his new,
great business prosperity, Aileen. Her young body and soul,
her passionate illusions. He could see always, for all her dar-
ing, that she knew so little of the calculating, brutal world with
which he was connected. Her father had given her all the toys
she wanted without stint; her mother and brothers had coddlec
her, particularly her mother. Her young sister thought she wa®
adorable. No one imagined for one moment that Aileen would
ever do anything wrong. She was too sensible, after all, too
eager to get up in the world. Why should she, when her life lay
open and happy before her—a delightful love-match, some day
soon, with some very eligible and satisfactory lover?

“When you marry, Aileen,” her mother used to say to her
‘we'll have a grand time here. Sure we'll do the house over
then, if we don’t do it before. Eddie will have to fix it up, o1
I'll do it meself. Never fear.”

“Yes—well, I’d rather you’d fix it now,” was her reply.

Butler himself used to strike her jovially on the shoulder in #
rough, loving way, and ask, “Well, have you found him yet?’
or “Is he hanging around the outside watchin’ for ye?”

If she said, “No,” he would reply: “Well, he will be, never
fear—worse luck. I’ll hate to see ye go, girlie! You can stay
here as long as ye want to, and ye want to remember that yor
can always come back.”

Aileen paid very little attention to this bantering. She lovec
her father, but it was all such a matter of course. It was thi
commonplace of her existence, and not so very significant, thougl
delightful enough.

But how eagerly she yielded herself to Cowperwood under thi
spring trees these days! She had no_ sense of that ultimatiLiLE RENAN CLE R 143

yielding that was coming, for now he merely caressed and talked
to her. He was a little doubtful about himself. His growing
liberties for himself seemed natural enough, but in a sense of
fairness to her he began to talk to her about what their love
might involve. Would she? Did she understand? ‘This phase
of it puzzled and frightened Aileen a little at first. She stood
before him one afternoon in her black riding-habit and high silk
tiding-hat perched jauntily on her red-gold hair; and striking
her riding-skirt with her short whip, pondering doubtfully as
she listened. He had asked her whether she knew what she
wasdoing? Whither they were drifting? If she loved him
truly enough? The two horses were tethered in a thicket a
score of yards away from the main road and from the bank of
a tumbling stream, which they had approached. She was try-
ing to discover if she could see them. It was_pretense. There
Was no interest in her glance. She was thinking of him and
the smartness of his habit, and the exquisiteness of this moment.
He had such a charming calico pony. “The leaves were just
enough developed to make a diaphanous lacework of green. It
was like looking through a green-spangled arras to peer into
the woods beyond or behind. ‘The gray stones were already
faintly mossy where the water rippled and sparkled, and early
birds were calling—robins and blackbirds and wrens.

“Baby mine,” he said, ‘do you understand all about this?
Do you know exactly what you’re doing when you come with
me this way?”

sE think I do:

She struck her boot and looked at the ground, and then up
through the trees at the blue sky.

“Look at me, honey.”

“T don’t want to.”

“But look at me, sweet. I want to ask you something.”

“Don’t make me, Frank, please. I can’t.”

Reals an ‘an look : ”
nh yes, you can look at me.
“No )

She backed away as he took her hands, but came forward again,
easily enough.
“Now look in my eyes.”
so can’t >
“See here.”ine BIN AUN Clik

“T can’t. Don’t ask me. I’ll answer you, but don’t make me
look at you.”

His hand stole to her cheek and fondled it. He petted her
shoulder, and she leaned her head against him.

“Sweet, you’re so beautiful,” he said finally, “I can’t give you |
up. I know what I ought to do. You know, too, I suppose; |
but I can’t. I must have you. If this should end in exposure,
it would be quite bad for you and me. Do you understand ?”

Aes:

“T don’t know your brothers very well; but from looking at
them I judge they’re pretty determined people. “They think a
great deal of you.”

“Indeed, they do.” Her vanity prinked slightly at this.

“They would probably want to kill me, and very promptly,
for just this much. What do you think they would want to do
if—well, if anything should happen, some time?” |

He waited, watching her pretty face.

“But nothing need happen. We needn’t go any further.”

“Aileen!”

“T won’t look at you. You needn’t ask. I can’t.”

‘Aileen! Do you mean that?”

“T don’t know. Don’t ask me, Frank.”

“You know it can’t stop this way, don’t you? You know it.
This isn’t the end. Now, if—’ He explained the whole theory
of illicit meetings calmly, dispassionately. ‘““You are perfectly
safe, except for one thing, chance exposure. It might just so
happen; and then, of course, there would be a great deal to
settle for. Mrs. Cowperwood would never give me a divorce;
she has no reason to. If I should clean up in the way I hope to—
if I should make a million—I wouldn’t mind knocking off now.
I don’t expect to work all my days. I have always planned to
knock off at thirty-five. [Jl have enough by that-time. ‘Then
I want to travel. It will only be a few more years now. If you
were free—if your father and mother were dead’—curiously
she did not wince at this practical reference—‘‘it would be a
different matter.”

He paused. She still gazed thoughtfully at the water below,
her mind running out to a yacht on the sea with him, a palace
somewhere—just they two. Her eyes, half closed, saw this happy
world; and, listening to him, she was fascinated.THE FINANCIER 145

“Hanged if I see the way out of this, exactly. But I love
you!” He caught her to him. “I love you—love you!”

“Oh, yes,” she replied intensely, “I want you to. I’m not
afraid.”

~T’ve taken a house in North Tenth Street,” he said finally,
as they walked over to the horses and mounted them. “It isn’t
furnished yet; but it will be soon. I know a woman who will
take charge.”

“Who is she?”

“An interesting widow of nearly fifty. Very intelligent—
she is attractive, and knows a good deal of life. I found her
through an advertisement. You might call on her some after-
noon when things are arranged, and look the place over. You
needn’t meet her except in a casual way. Will you?”

She rode on, thinking, making no reply. He was so direct
and practical in his calculations.

“Will you? It will be all right. You might know her.
She isn’t objectionable in any way. Will you?”

“Let me know when it is ready,” was all she said finally.CHAPTER XXI

HE vagaries of passion! Subtleties! Risks! What sacri-

fices are not laid willfully upon its altar! In a little
while this more than average residence to which Cowperwood
had referred was prepared solely to effect a satisfactory method
of concealment. ‘The house was governed by a seemingly re-
cently-bereaved widow, and it was possible for Aileen to call
without seeming strangely out of place. In-such surroundings,
and under such circumstances, it was not difficult to persuade
her to give herself wholly to her lover, governed as she was by
her wild and unreasoning affection and passion. In a way,
there was a saving element of love, for truly, above all others,
she wanted this man. She had no thought or feeling toward
any other. All her mind ran toward visions of the future,
when, somehow, she and he might be together for all time.
Mrs. Cowperwood might die, or he might run away with her
at thirty-five when he had a million. Some adjustment would
be made, somehow. Nature had given her this man. She re-
lied on him implicitly. When he told her that he would take
care of her so that nothing evil should befall, she believed him
fully. Such sins are the commonplaces of the confessional.

It is a curious fact that by some subtlety of logic in the
Christian world, it has come to be believed that there can be
no love outside the conventional process of courtship and
marriage. One life, one love, is the Christian idea, and into
this sluice or mold it has been endeavoring to compress the
whole world. Pagan thought held no such belief. A writing
of divorce for trivial causes was the theory of the elders; and in
the primeval world nature apparently holds no scheme for the
unity of two beyond the temporary care of the young. ‘That
the modern home is the most beautiful of schemes, when based
upon mutual sympathy and understanding between two, need
not be questioned. And yet this fact should not necessarily
carry with it a condemnation of all love not so fortunate as to
find so happy a dénouement. Life cannot be put into any mold,
and the attempt might as well be abandoned at once. Those so
146THE FENANCIER 147

fortunate as to find harmonious companionship for life should
congratulate themselves and strive to be worthy of it. ‘Those
not so blessed, though they be written down as pariahs, have
yet some justification. And, besides, whether we will or not,
theory or no theory, the basic facts of chemistry and physics
remain. Like is drawn to like. Changes in temperament bring
changes in relationship. Dogma may bind some minds; fear,
others. But there are always those in whom the chemistry and
physics of life are large, and in whom neither dogma nor fear is
operative. Society lifts its hands in horror; but from age to
age the Helens, the Messalinas, the Du Barrys, the Pompa-
dours, the Maintenons, and the Nell Gwyns flourish and point
a freer basis of relationship than we have yet been able to
square with our lives.

These two felt unutterably bound to each other. Cowper-
wood, once he came to understand her, fancied that he had
found the one person with whom he could live happily the rest
of his life. She was so young, so confident, so hopeful, so un-
dismayed. All these months since they had first begun to reach
out to each other he had been hourly contrasting her with his
wife. As a matter of fact, his dissatisfaction, though it may
be said to have been faint up to this time, was now surely tend-
ing to become real enough. Still, his children were pleasing
to him; his home beautiful. Lillian, phlegmatic and now thin,
was still not homely. All these years he had found her satis-
factory enough; but now his dissatisfaction with her began to
increase. She was not like Aileen—not young, not vivid, not as
unschooled in the commonplaces of life. And while ordinarily,
he was not one who was inclined to be querulous, still now on
occasion, he could be. He began by asking questions con-
cerning his wife’s appeafance—irritating little whys which are
so trivial and yet so exasperating and discouraging to a woman.
Why didn’t she get a mauve hat nearer the shade of her dress?
Why didn’t she go out more? Exercise would do her good.
Why didn’t she do this, and why didn’t she do that? He scarcely
noticed that he was doing this; but she did, and she felt the
undertone—the real significance—and took umbrage.

“Oh, why—why?” she retorted, one day, curtly. “Why do
you ask so many questions? ‘You don’t care so much for me
any more; that’s why. I can tell.”148 LHE FINANCIER

 

He leaned back startled by the thrust. It had not been based
on any evidence of anything save his recent remarks; but he was
not absolutely sure. He was just the least bit sorry that he
had irritated her, and he said so.

“Oh, it’s all right,” she replied. “I don’t care. But I notice
that you don’t pay as much attention to me as you used to.
It’s your business now, first, last, and all the time. You can’t
get your mind off of that.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t suspect, then.

But after a little time, as he grew more and more in sym-
pathy with Aileen, he was not so disturbed as to whether his
wife might suspect or not. He began to think on occasion, as
his mind followed the various ramifications of the situation,
that it would be better if she did. She was really not of the
contentious fighting sort. He now decided because of various
calculations in regard to her character that she might not offer
as much resistance to some ultimate rearrangement, as he had
originally imagined. She might even divorce him. Desire,
dreams, even in him were evoking calculations not as sound as
those which ordinarily generated in his brain.

No, as he now said to himself, the rub was not nearly so
much in his own home, as it was in the Butler family. His
relations with Edward Malia Butler had become very intimate.
He was now advising with him constantly in regard to the
handling of his securities, which were numerous. Butler held
stocks in such things as the Pennsylvania Coal Company, the
Delaware and Hudson Canal, the Morris and Essex Canal, the
Reading Railroad. As the old gentleman’s mind had broadened
to the significance of the local street-railway problem in Phila-
delphia, he had decided to close out his other securities at
such advantageous terms as he could, and reinvest the money in
local lines. He knew that Mollenhauer and Simpson were
doing this, and they were excellent judges of the significance
of local affairs. Like Cowperwood, he had the idea that if he
controlled sufficient of the local situation in this field, he could
at last effect a joint relationship with Mollenhauer and Simpson.
Political legislation, advantageous to the combined lines, could
then be so easily secured. Franchises and necessary extensions
to existing franchises could be added. ‘This conversion of his
outstanding stock in other fields, and the picking up of oddTHE FINANCIER

lots in the local street-railway, was the business of Cowper-
wood. Butler, through his sons, Owen and Callum, was also
busy planning a new line and obtaining a franchise, sacrificing,
of course, great blocks of stock and actual cash to others, in order
to “obtain~sufficient _influence—to have the necessary~-legislation
passed. Yet it was no easy matter, seeing that others knew
what the general advantages of the situation were, and because
of this Cowperwood, who saw the great source of profit here,
was able, betimes, to serve himself—buying blocks, a part of
which only went to Butler, Mollenhauer or others. In short
he was not as eager to serve Butler, or any one else, as he was
to serve himself if he could.

In this connection, the scheme which George W. Stener had
brought forward, representing actually in the background Stro-
bik, Wycroft, and Harmon, was an opening wedge for him-
self. Stener’s plan was to loan him money out of the city
treasury at two per cent, or, if he would waive all commissions,
for nothing (an agent for self-protective purposes was abso
lutely necessary), and with it take over the North Pennsylvania
Company’s line on Front Street, which, because of the short-
ness of its length, one mile and a half, and the brevity of the
duration of its franchise, was neither doing very well nor being
rated very high. Cowperwood in return for-his. manipulative
skill was to have a fair_proportion-of the stock=twenty per
cent. Strobik and Wycroft knew the parties from whom the
bulk of the stock could be secured if engineered properly.
Their plan was then, with this borrowed treasury money, to
extend its franchise and then the line itself, and then later again,
by issuing a great block of stock and hypothecating it with a
favored bank, be able to return the principal to the city treasury
and pocket their profits from the line as earned. ‘There was no
trouble in this, in so far as Cowperwood was concerned, except
that it divided the stock very badly among these various in-
dividuals, and left him but a comparatively small share—for
his thought and pains.

But Cowperwood was an opportunist. And by this time his
financial morality had become special and local in its character.
He did not think it was wise for any one to steal anything from
anybody where the act of taking or profiting was directly and
plainly considered stealing. That was unwise—dangerous—150 THE FINANCIER

hence wrong. There were so many situations wherein what one
might do in the way of taking or profiting was open to discus-
sion and doubt. Morality varied, in his mind at least, with
conditions, if not climates. Here, in Philadelphia, the tradi-
tion (politically, mind you—not generally) was that the city
treasurer might use the money of the city without interest
so long as he returned the principal intact. The city treasury
and the city treasurer were like a honey-laden hive and a queen
bee around which the drones—the politicians—swarmed in the
hope of-profit.. The one disagreeable thing in connection with
this transaction with Stener was that neither Butler, Mollen-
hauer nor Simpson, who were the actual superiors of Stener and
Strobik, knew anything about it. Stener and those behind him
were, through him, acting for themselves. If the larger powers
heard of this, it might alienate them. He had to think of this.
Still, if he refused to make advantageous deals with Stener or
any other:man influential in local affairs, he was cutting off
his nose to spite his face, for other bankers and brokers would,
and gladly. And besides it was not at all certain that Butler,
Mollenhauer and Simpson would ever hear.

In this connection, there was another line, which he rode on
occasionally, the Seventeenth and Nineteenth Street line, which
he felt was a much more interesting thing for him to think
about, if he could raise the money. It had been originally
capitalized for five hundred thousand dollars; but there had
been a series of bonds to the value of two hundred and fifty
thousands dollars added for improvements, and the company
was finding great difficulty in meeting the interest. The bulk
of the stock was scattered about among small investors, and
it would require all of two hundred and fifty thousand dol-
lars to collect it and have himself elected resident or chair-
man of the board of directors. Once in, however, he could
vote this stock as he pleased, hypothecating it meanwhile at
his father’s bank for as much as he could get, and issuing
more stocks with which to bribe legislators-in the matter of ex-
tending the line, and in taking up other opportunities to either
add to it by purchase or supplement it by working agreements.
The word “bribe” is used here in this matter-of-fact American
way, because bribery was what was in every one’s mind in con-
nection with the State legislature. “Terrence Relihan—the small,THE FINAN CEE R 151

dark-faced Irishman, a dandy in dress and manners—who rep-
resented the financial interests at Harrisburg, and who had come
to Cowperwood after the five million bond deal had been printed,
had told him that nothing could be done at the capital without
money, or its equivalent, negotiable securities. Each significant
legislator, if he yielded his vote or his influence, must be looked
after. If he, Cowperwood, had any scheme which he wanted
handled at any time, Relihan had intimated to him that he would
be glad to talk with him. Cowperwood had figured on this
Seventeenth and Nineteenth Street line scheme more than once,
but he-had-never felt quite sure that he was willing to undertake
it. His obligations in other directions were so large. But the
lure was there,-and he pondered and pondered.

Stener’s scheme of loaning him money wherewith to manipu-
late the North Pennsylvania line deal put this Seventeenth and
Nineteenth Street dream in a more favorable light. As it was he
was constantly watching the certificates of loan issue, for the
city treasury,—buying large quantities when the market was
falling to protect it and selling heavily, though cautiously, when
he saw it rising, and to do this he had to have a great deal of
free money to permit him to do it. He was constantly fearful of
some break in the market which would affect the value of all
his securities and result in the calling of his loans. “Chere was
no storm in sight. He did not see that anything could happen
in reason; but he did-not want to spread himself out too thin.
As he saw it now, therefore if he took one hundred and fifty
thousand dollars of this city money and went after this Seven-
teenth and Nineteenth Street matter it would not mean that
he was spreading himself out too thin, for because of this new
proposition could he not call on Stener for more as a loan in
connection with these other ventures? But if anything should
happen—well—

“Frank,” said Stener, strolling into his office one afternoon
after four o’clock when the main rush of the day’s work was
over—the relationship between Cowperwood and Stener had
long since reached the “Frank” and “George” period—‘‘Strobik
thinks he has that North Pennsylvania deal arranged so that we
can take it up if we want to. The principal stockholder, we
find, is a man by the name of Colton—not Ike Colton, butTHE FINANCIEE

 

Ferdinand. How’s that for a name?’ Stener beamed fatly
and genially.

Things had changed considerably for him since the days
when he had been fortuitously and almost indifferently made
city treasurer. His method of dressing had so much improved
since he-had been inducted into office, and his manner expressed
so much more good feeling, confidence, aplomb, that he would
not have recognized himself if he had been permitted to see
himself as’ had those who had known him before. An old,
nervous shifting of the eyes had almost ceased, and a feeling of
restfulness, which had previously been restlessness, and had
sprung from a sense of necessity, had taken its place. His large
feet were incased in good, square-toed, soft-leather shoes; his
stocky chest and fat legs were made somewhat agreeable to the
eye by a well-cut suit of brownish-gray cloth; and his neck was
now surrounded by a low, wing-point white collar and brown-
silk tie. His ample chest, which spread out a little lower in a
round and constantly enlarging stomach, was ornamented by a
heavy-link gold chain, and his white cuffs had large gold cuff-
buttons set with rubies of a very notable size. He was rosy
and decidedly well fed. In fact, he was doing very well indeed.

He had moved his family from a shabby two-story frame
house in South Ninth Street to a very comfortable brick one
three stories in height, and three times as large, on Spring
Garden Street. His wife had a few acquaintances—the wives
of other politicians. His children were attending the high
school, a thing he had hardly hoped for in earlier days. He
was now the owner of fourteen or fifteen pieces of cheap real
estate in different portions of the city, which might eventually
become very valuable, and he was a silent partner in the South
Philadelphia Foundry Company and the American Beef and
Pork Company, two corporations on paper whose principal busi-
ness was subletting contracts secured from the city to the hum-
ble butchers and foundrymen who would carry out orders as
given and not talk too much or ask questions.

“Well, that is an odd name,” said Cowperwood, blandly.
“So he has it? I never thought that road would pay, as it was
laid out. It’s too short. It ought to run about three miles
farther out into the Kensington section.”

“You're right,” said Stener, dully.iE PUNAN Ci

“Did Strobik say what Colton wants for his shares?”

“Sixty-eight, I think.”

“The current market rate. He doesn’t want much, does he?
Well, George, at that rate it will take about’”—he calculated
quickly on the basis of the number of shares Colton was hold-
ing—‘‘one hundred and twenty thousand to get him out alone.
That isn’t all. There’s Judge Kitchen and Joseph Zimmerman
and Senator Donovan’—he was referring to the State senator
of that name. “You'll be paying a pretty fair price for that
stuff when you get it. It will cost considerable more to extend
the line. It’s too much, I think.”

Cowperwood was thinking how easy it would be to combine
this line with his dreamed-of Seventeenth and Nineteenth Street
line, and after a time and with this in view he added:

“Say, George, why do you work all your schemes through
Strobik and Harmon and Wycroft? Couldn’t you and I man-
age some of these things for ourselves alone instead of for three
or four? It seems to me that plan would be much more profit-
able to you.”

“It would, it would!” exclaimed Stener, his round eyes fixed
on Cowperwood in a rather helpless, appealing way. . He liked
Cowperwood and had always been hoping that mentally—as
well as financially he could get close to him. ‘I’ve thought of
that. But these fellows~have had more experience in these
matters than I have had, Frank. “They’ve been longer at the
game. I don’t know as much about these things as they do.”

Cowperwood smiled in his soul, though his face remained
passive.

“Don’t worry about them, George,” he continued genially and
confidentially. “You and I together can know and do as much
as they ever could and more. I’m telling you. ‘Take this rail-
road deal you’re in on now, George; you and I could manipu-
late that just as well and better than it can be done with
Wycroft, Strobik, and Harmon in on it. ‘They’re not adding
anything to the wisdom of the situation. “They’re not putting
up any money. You're doing that. All they’re doing is agree-
ing to see it through the legislature and the council, and as
far as the legislature is concerned, they can’t do any more with
that than any one else could—than I could, for instance. It’s
all a question of arranging things with Relihan, anyhow, put-154 THE FINANCIER

ting up a certain amount of money for him to work with. Here
in town there are other people who can reach the council just
as well as Strobik.” He was thinking (once he controlled a
road of his own) of conferring with Butler and getting him
to use his influence. It would serve to quiet Strobik and his
friends. “I’m not asking you to change your plans on this North
Pennsylvania deal. You couldn’t do that very well. But there
are other things. In the future why not let’s see if you and
I can’t work some one thing together? You'll be much better
off, and so will I. We've done pretty well on the city-loan
proposition so far, haven’t we?”

The truth was, they had done exceedingly well. Aside from
what the higher powers had made, Stener’s new house, his lots,
his bank-account, his good clothes, and his changed and com-
fortable sense of life were largely due to Cowperwood’s-suc-
cessful manipulation of these city-loan certificates. Already
there had been four issues of two hundred thousand dollars
each. Cowperwood had bought and sold nearly three million
dollars’ worth of these certificates, acting one time as a “‘bull”
and another as a “bear.” Stener was now worth all of one
hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

“‘There’s a line that I know of here in the city which could
be made into a splendidly paying property,” continued Cow-
perwood, meditatively, “if the right things could be done with
it. Just like this North Pennsylvania line, it isn’t long enough.
The territory it serves isn’t big enough. It ought to be ex-
tended; but if you and I could get it, it might eventually be
worked with this North Pennsylvania Company or some other
as one company. ‘That would save officers and offices and a
lot of things. There is always money to be made out of a
larger purchasing power.”

He paused and looked out the window of his handsome little
hardwood office, speculating upon the future. The window
gave nowhere save into a back yard behind another office build-
ing which had formerly been a residence. Some grass grew
feebly there. The red wall and old-fashioned brick fence which
divided it from the next lot reminded him somehow of his old
home in New Market Street, to which his Uncle Seneca used
to come as a Cuban trader followed by his black PortuguesePEE

 

FINANCIER 155

servitor. He could see him now as he sat here looking at the
yard.

“Well,” asked Stener, ambitiously,. taking the bait, “why
don’t we get hold of that—you and me? I suppose I could fix
it so far as the money is concerned. How much would it
take ?”’

Cowperwood smiled inwardly again.

“T don’t know exactly,” he said, after a time. “I want to look
into it more carefully. The one trouble is that I’m carrying a
good deal of the city’s money as it is. You see, I have that two
hundred thousand dollars against your city-loan “deals. And
this new scheme will take two or three hundred thousand more.
If that were out of the way—”’

He was thinking of one of those inexplicable stock panics—
those strange American depressions which had so much to do
with the temperament of the people, and so little to do with
the—basic_conditions-of the country. “If this North Pennsyl-
vania deal were through and done with—”

He rubbed his chin and pulled at his handsome silky mus-
tache.

“Don’t ask me any more about it, George,” he said, finally,
as he saw that the latter was beginning to think as to which
line it might be. ‘Don’t say anything at all about it. I want
to get my facts exactly right, and then I’ll talk to you. I think
you and I can do this thing a little later, when we get the
North Pennsylvania scheme under way. I’m so rushed just now
I’m not sure that I want to undertake it at once; but you keep
quiet and we'll see.” He turned toward his desk, and Stener
got up.

“T’ll make any sized deposit with you that you wish, the
moment you think you’re ready to act, Frank,” exclaimed
Stener, and with the thought that Cowperwood was not nearly
as anxious to do this as he should be, since he could always rely
on him (Stener) when there was anything really profitable in
the offing. Why should not the able and wonderful Cowper-
wood be allowed to make the two of them rich? “Just notify
Stires, and he’ll send you a check. Strobik thought we ought
to act pretty soon.”

“T’ll tend to it, George,” replied Cowperwood, confidently.
“Tt will come out all right. Leave it to me.”THE FINANCIER

 

Stener kicked his stout legs to straighten his trousers, and
extended his hand. He strolled out in the street thinking of
this new scheme. Certainly, if he could get in with Cowper-
wood right he would be a rich man, for Cowperwood was so suc-
cessful and so cautious. His new house, this beautiful banking
office, his growing fame, andhis subtle connections with Butler
and_others put Stener in considerable awe of him. Another
line! They would control it and~the-North Pennsylvania!
Why, if this went on, he might become a magnate—he really
might—he, George W. Stener, once a cheap real-estate and in-
surance agent. He strolled up the street thinking, but with no
more idea of the importance of his civic duties and the nature
of the social ethics against which he was offending than if they
had never existed.CHAPTER XXII

HE services which Cowperwood performed during the en-

suing year and a half for Stener, Strobik, Butler, State
treasurer Van Nostrand, State Senator Relihan, representative of
“the interests,” so-called, at Harrisburg, and various banks
which were friendly to these gentlemen, were numerous and
confidential. For Stener, Strobik, Wycroft, Harmon and him-
self he executed the North Pennsylvania deal, by which he
became a holder of a fifth of the controlling stock. Together
he and Stener joined to purchase the Seventeenth and Nine-
teenth Street line and in the concurrent gambling in stocks.

By the summer of 1871, when Cowperwood was nearly thirty-
four-years of age,-he had a banking business estimated at nearly
two million dollars, personal holdings aggregating nearly half a
million, and prospects which other things being equal looked to
wealth which might rival that of any American. The city,
through its treasurer—still Mr. Stener—was a depositor with him
to the extent of nearly five hundred thousand dollars. The State,
through its State treasurer, Van Nostrand, carried two hundred
thousand dollars on his books. Bode was speculating in street-
railway stocks to the extent of fifty thousand dollars. Relihan
to the same amount. A small army of politicians and political
hangers-on were on his books for various sums. And for Ed-
ward Malia Butler he occasionally carried as high as one hun-
dred thousand dollars in margins. His own loans at the banks,
varying from day to day on variously hypothecated securities,
were as high as seven and eight hundred thousand dollars.
Like a spider in a spangled net, every thread of which he knew,
had laid, had tested, he had surrounded and entangled himself
in a splendid, glittering network of connections, and he was
watching all the details.

His one pet idea, the thing he put more faith in than anything
else, was his street-railway manipulations, and particularly his
actual control of the~Seventeenth and Nineteenth Street line.
Through an advance to him, on deposit, made in his bank by
Stener at a time when the stock of the Seventeenth and Nine-
157158 THE FINANCIER

teenth Street line was at a low ebb, he had managed to pick up
fifty-one per cent of the stock for himself and Stener, by virtue
of which he was able to do as he pleased with the road. To
accomplish this, however, he had_resorted to some~very_‘“‘pe-
culiar” methods, as they afterward came to be termed in finan-
cial circles, to get this stock at his own valuation. ‘Through
agents he caused suits for damages to be brought against the
company for non-payment of interest due. A little stock in the
hands of a hireling, a request made to a court of record to ex-
amine the books of the company in order to determine whether
a receivership were not advisable, a simultaneous attack in the
stock market, selling at three, five, seven, and ten points off,
brought the frightened stockholders into the market with their
holdings. The banks considered the line a poor risk, and called
their loans in connection with it. His father’s bank had made
one loan to one of the principal stockholders, and that was
promptly called, of course. Then, through an agent, the several
heaviest shareholders were approached and an offer was made to
help them out. The stocks would be taken off their hands at
forty. They had not really been able to discover the source of
all their woes; and they imagined that the road was in bad cone
dition, which it was not. Better let it go. “The money was
immediately forthcoming, and Cowperwood and Stener jointly
controlled fifty-one per cent. But, as in the case of the North
Pennsylvania line, Cowperwood had been quietly buying all of
the small minority holdings, so that he had in reality fifty-one
per cent of the stock, and Stener twenty-five per cent more.

This intoxicated him, for immediately he saw the opportu-
nity of fulfilling his long-contemplated dream—that of reorgan-
izing the company in conjunction with the North Pennsylvania
line, issuing three shares where one had been before and after
unloading all but a control on the general public, using the money
secured to buy into other lines which were to be boomed and
sold in the same way. In short, he was one of those early, daring
manipulators who later were to seize upon other and even
larger phases of American natural development for his own
aggrandizement.

In connection with this first consolidation, his plan was to
spread rumors of the coming consolidation of the two lines, to
appeal to the legislature for privileges of extension, to get upTHE FINANCIER 159

an arresting prospectus and later annual reports, and to boom
the stock on the stock exchange as much as his swelling resources
would permit. The trouble is that when you are trying to
make a market for a stock—to unload a large issue such as his
was (over five hundred thousand dollars’ worth)—while re-
taining five hundred thousand for yourself, it requires large
capital to handle it. ‘The owner in these cases is compelled
not only to go on the market and do much fictitious buying,
thus creating a fictitious demand, but once this fictitious demand
has deceived the public and he has been able to unload a con-
siderable quantity of his wares, he is, unless he rids himself of
all his stock, compelled to stand behind it. If, for instance,
he sold five thousand shares, as was done in this instance, and
retained five thousand, he must see that the public price of
the outstanding five thousand shares did not fall below a cer-
tain point, because the value of his private shares would fall
with it. And if, as is almost always the case, the private shares
had been hypothecated with banks and trust companies for money
wherewith to conduct other enterprises, the falling of their
value in the open market merely meant that the banks would
call for large margins to protect their loans or call their loans
entirely. ‘This meant that his work was a failure, and he might
readily fail. He was already conducting one such difficult cam-
paign in connection with this city-loan deal, the price of which
varied from day to day, and which he was only too anxious to
have vary, for in the main he profited by these changes.
But this second burden, interesting enough as it was, ‘meant
that he had-to be doubly watchful. Once the stock was sold
at a high price, the money borrowed from the city treasurer
could be returned; his own holdings created out of foresight, by
capitalizing the future, by writing the shrewd prospectuses and
reports, would be worth their face value, or little less. He
would have money to invest in other lines. He might obtain
the financial direction of the whole, in which case he would
be worth millions. One shrewd thing he did, which indicated
the foresight and subtlety of the man, was to make a_ separate
organization or company of any extension or addition which he
made to his line. ‘Thus, if he had two or three miles of track
on a street, and he wanted to extend it two or three miles
farther on the same street, instead of including this extensionRen ee ee seats

16¢c BEE. FINANCTER

 

in the existing corporation, he would make a second corporation
to control the additional two or three miles of right of way.
This corporation he would capitalize at so much, and issue
stocks and bonds for its construction, equipment, and manipula-
tion. Having done this he would then take the sub-corporation
over into the parent concern, issuing more stocks and bonds of
the parent company wherewith to do it, and, of course, selling
these bonds to the public. Eyen his brothers who worked for
him_did not know the various ramifications of his numerous deals,
and executed his orders blindly. Sometimes Joseph said to Ed-
ward, in a puzzled way, “Well, Frank knows what he is about,
I guess.”

On the other hand, he was most careful to see that every
current obligation was instantly met, and even anticipated, for
he wanted to make a great show of regularity. Nothing was so
precious as reputation and standing. His forethought, caution,
and promptness pleased the bankers. ‘They thought he was one
of the sanest, shrewdest men they had ever met.

However, by the spring and summer of 1871, Cowperwood
had actually, without being in any conceivable danger from any
source, spread himself out very thin. Because of his great
success he had grown more liberal—easier—in his financial ven-
tures. By degrees, and largely because of his own confidence in
himself, he had induced his father to enter upon his street-car
speculations, to use the resources of the Third National to carry
a part of his loans and to furnish capital at such times as quick
resources were necessary. In the beginning the old gentleman
had been a little nervous and skeptical, but as time had worn
on and nothing but profit eventuated, he grew bolder and more/
confident.

“Frank,” he would say, looking up over his spectacles, “aren’t
you afraid you're going a little too fast in these matters? You're
carrying a lot of loans these days.”

“No more than I ever did, father, considering my resources.
You can’t turn large deals without large loans. You know that
as well as I do.”

“Yes, I know, but—now that Green and Coates—aren’t you
going pretty strong there?”

“Not at all. I know the inside conditions there. The stockTHE FINANCIER 161

   

is bound to go up eventually. I’ll bull it up. I'll combine it
with my other lines, if necessary.”

Cowperwood stared at his boy. Never was there such 4
defiant, daring manipulator.

“You needn’t worry about me, father. If you are going to
do that, call my loans. Other banks will loan on my stocks.
I’d like to see your bank have the interest.”

So Cowperwood, Sr., was convinced. There was no gain-
saying-thisargument. His bank was loaning Frank heavily, but
not more so than any other. And as for the great blocks of
stocks he was carrying in his son’s companies, he was to be told
when to get out should thaé prove necessary. Frank’s brothers
were being aided in the same way to make money on the side, and
their_interests.were-also_now~ bound up indissolubly with his
own.

With his growing financial opportunities, however, Cowper-
wood had also grown very liberal in what might be termed his
standard of living. Certain young art dealers in Philadelphia,
learning of his artistic inclinations and his growing wealth, had
followed him up with suggestions as to furniture, tapestries, rugs,
objects of art, and paintings—at-first the American and later the
foreign masters-exclusively. His own and his father’s house had
not been furnished fully in these matters, and there was that
other house in North Tenth Street, which he desired to make
beautiful. Aileen had always objected to the condition of her
own home. Love of distinguished surroundings was a basic long-
ing with her, though she had not the-gift of interpreting her
longings. But this place where they were secretly meeting must
be beautiful. She was as keen for that as he was. So it became
a veritable treasure-trove, more distinguished in furnishings than
some of the rooms of his own home. He began to gather here
some rare examples of altar cloths, rugs, and tapestries of the
Middle Ages. He bought furniture after the Georgian theory—
a combination of Chippendale, Sheraton, and Heppelwhite modi-
fied by the Italian Renaissance and the French Louis. He
learned of handsome examples of porcelain, statuary, Greek vase
forms, lovely collections of Japanese ivories and netsukes.
Fletcher Gray, a partner in Cable & Gray, a local firm of im-
porters of art objects, called on him in connection with a tapestry
of the fourteenth century weaving. Gray was an enthusiast andTHE FINANCIER

almost instantly he conveyed some of his suppressed and yet fiery
love of the beautiful to Cowperwood.

“There are fifty periods of one shade of blue porcelain alone,
Mr. Cowperwood,” Gray informed him. ‘There are at least
seven distinct schools or periods of rugs—Persian, Armenian,
Arabian, Flemish, Modern Polish, Hungarian, and so on. If
you ever went into that, it would be a distinguished thing to
get-a-complete—I mean a representative—collection of some one
period, or of all these periods. They are beautiful. I have seen
some of them, others I’ve read about.”

“You'll make a convert of me yet, Fletcher,” replied Cowper-
wood. ‘You or art will be the ruin of me. I’m inclined that
way temperamentally as it is, I think, and between you and Ells-
worth and Gordon Strake”—another young man intensely inter-
ested in painting—‘“you’ll complete my downfall. Strake has a
splendid idea. He wants me to begin right now—I’m using that
word ‘right’ in the sense of ‘properly,’ ”’ he commented—“and get
what examples I can of just the few rare things in each school or
period of art which would properly illustrate each. He tells me
the great pictures are going to increase in value, and what I
could get for a few hundred thousand now will be w orth mil-
lions later. He doesn’t want me to bother with American-art.’

“He’s right,” exclaimed Gray, “although it isn’t good business
for me to praise another art man. It would take a great deal
of money, though.”

“Not so very much. At least, not all at once. It would be
a matter of years, of course. Strake thinks that some excellent
examples of different periods could be picked up now and later
replaced if anything better in the same field showed up.’

His mind, in spite of his outward placidity, was tinged with a
great seeking. Wealth, in the beginning, had seemed the only
goal, to which had been added the beauty of women. And
now art, for art’s sake—the first faint radiance of a rosy dawn—

had begun to shine in upon him, and to the beauty of woman-
hood he was beginning to see how necessary it was to add the
beauty of life—the beauty of material background—how, in fact,
the only background for great beauty was great art. This girl,
this Aileen Butler, her raw youth and radiance, was never-
theless creating in him a sense of the distinguished and a need
for it which had never existed in him before to the same degree.THE

   

FINAN CFER 163
It is impossible to define these subtleties of reaction, temperament
on temperament, for no one knows to what degree we are
marked by the things which attract us. A love affair such as
this had proved to be was little less or more than a drop of color-
ing added to a glass of clear water, or a foreign chemical agent
introduced into a delicate chemical formula.

In short, for all her crudeness, Aileen Butler was a definite
force personally. Her nature, in a way, a protest against the
clumsy conditions by which she found herself surrounded, was
almost irrationally ambitious. ‘To think that for so long, having
been born into the Butler family, she had been the subject, as
well as the victim of such commonplace and inartistic illusions
and conditions, whereas now, owing to her contact with, and
mental subordination to Cowperwood, she was learning so many
wonderful phases of social, as well as financial, refinement of
which previously she had guessed nothing. The wonder, for
instance, of a future social career as the wife of such a man as
Frank Cowperwood. The beauty and resourcefulness of his
mind, which, after hours of intimate contact with her, he was
pleased to reveal, and which, so definite were his comments
and instructions, she could not fail to sense. “The wonder of
his financial and artistic and future social dreams. And, oh,
oh, she was his, and he was hers. She was actually beside
herself at times with the glory, as well as the delight of all this.

At the same time, her father’s local reputation as a quondam
garbage contractor (“‘slop-collector” was the unfeeling com-
ment of the vulgarian cognoscenti) ; her own unavailing efforts
to right a condition of materjal vulgarity or artistic_anarehy-in
her own home; the hopelessness of ever being admitted to those
distinguished portals which she recognized=afar.off—as-the last
sanctum sanctorum of established respectability and~social dis-
tinction, had bred’ in her, even at this early age, a—feeling of
deadly opposition to her home~conditions as they stood. Such
a house compared to Cowperwood’s! Her dear, but ignorant,
father! And this great man, her lover, had now condescended
to love her—see in her his future wife. Oh, God, that it
might not fail! Through the Cowperwoods at first she had
hoped to meet a few people, young men and women—and par-
ticularly men—who were above the station in which she found
herself, and to whom her beauty and prospective fortune would164 cee FINANCIER

   

commend her; but this had not been the case. The Cowper:
woods themselves, in spite of Frank Cowperwood’s artistic pro
clivities and growing wealth, had not penetrated the inner circl
as yet. In fact, aside from the subtle, preliminary considera-
tion which they were receiving, they were a long way off.

None the less, and instinctively in Cowperwood Aileen recog-
nized a way out—a door—and by the same token a subtle, im-
pending artistic future of great magnificence. “This man would
rise beyond anything he now dreamed of—she felt it. There was
in him, in some nebulous, unrecognizable form, a great artistic
reality which was finer than anything she could plan for herself
She wanted luxury, magnificence, social station. Well, if she
could get this man they would come to her. ‘There were, ap-
parently, insuperable barriers in the way; but hers was ne
weakling nature, and neither was his. They ran together tem-
peramentally from the first like two leopards. Her own thought:
—crude, half formulated, half spoken—nevertheless matched his
to a degree in the equality of their force and their raw directness

“T don’t think papa knows how to do,” she said to him, one
day. ‘It isn’t his fault. He can’t help it. He knows that
he can’t. And he knows that I know it. For years I wanted
him to move out of that old house there. He knows that he
ought to. But even that wouldn’t do much good.”

She paused, looking at him with a straight, clear, vigorous
glance. He liked the medallion sharpness of her features—
their smooth, Greek modeling.

“Never mind, pet,” he replied. “We will arrange all these
things later. I don’t see my way out of this just now; but I
think the best thing to do is to confess to Lillian some day, andi
see if some other plan can’t be arranged. I want to fix it so the
children won’t suffer. I can provide for them amply, and ]
wouldn’t be at all surprised if Lillian would be willing to let:
me go. She certainly wouldn’t want any publicity.”

He was counting practically, and man-fashion, on her love for
her children.

Aileen looked at him with clear, questioning, uncertain eyes.
She was not wholly without sympathy, but in a way this situa-}
tion did not appeal to her as needing much. Mrs. Cowper-?
wood was not friendly in her mood toward her. It was not
based on anything save a difference in their point of view. Mrs.THE FINANCE 165

Cowperwood could never understand how a girl could carry
her head so high and “put on such airs,” and Aileen could not
understand how any one could be so lymphatic and lackadaisical
as Lillian Cowperwood. Life was made for riding, driving,
dancing, going. It was made for airs and banter and persiflage
and coquetry. To see this woman, the wife.of a young, force-
ful man like Cowperwood, acting, even though she were five
years older and the mother of two children, as though life on
its romantic and enthusiastic pleasurable side were all over was
too much for her. Of course Lillian was unsuited to Frank;
of course he needed a young woman like herself, and fate w ould
surely give him to her. Then what a delicious life they would
lead!

“Oh, Frank,” she exclaimed to him, over and over, “if we
could only manage it. Do you think we can?”

“Do I think we can? Certainly I do. It’s only a matter
of time. I think if I were to put the matter to her clearly, she
wouldn’t expect me to stay. You look out how you conduct
your affairs. If your father or your brother should ever sus-
pect me, there’d be an explosion in this town, if nothing worse.
They’d fight me in all my money deals, if they didn’t kill me.
Are you thinking carefully of what you are doing?”

“All the time. If anything happens [ll deny everything.
They can’t prove it, if I deny it. I’ll come to you in the long
run, just the same.”

They were in the Tenth Street house at the time. She
stroked his cheeks with the loving fingers of the wildly enamored
woman.

“Tl do anything for you, sweetheart,” she declared. “I’d die
for you if I had to. I love you so.”

“Well, pet, no danger. You won’t have to do anything like
that. But be careful,”CHAPTER XXIII

HEN, after several years of this secret relationship, in which

the ties of sympathy and understanding grew stronger in-
stead of weaker, came the storm. It burst unexpectedly and
out of a clear sky, and bore no relation to the intention or voli-
tion of any individual. It was nothing more than a fire, a dis-
tant one—the great Chicago fire, October 7th, 1871, which
burned that city—its vast commercial section—to the ground,
and instantly and incidentally produced a financial panic, vicious
though of short duration in various other cities in America.
The fire began on Saturday and continued apparently unabated
until the following Wednesday. It destroyed the banks, the
commercial houses, the shipping conveniences, and vast stretches
of property. The heaviest loss fell naturally upon the insurance
the majority—closed

 

companies, which instantly, in many cases
their doors. This threw the loss back on the manufacturers and
wholesalers in other cities who had had dealings with Chicago as
well as the merchants of that city. Again, very grievous losses
were borne by the host of eastern capitalists which had for
years past partly owned, or held heavy mortgages on, the mag-
nificent buildings for business purposes and residences in which
Chicago was already rivaling every city on the continent
Transportation was disturbed, and the keen scent of Wall
Street, and Third Street in Philadelphia, and State Street in
Boston, instantly perceived in the early reports the gravity of
the situation. Nothing could be done on Saturday or Sunday
after the exchange closed, for the opening reports came too late.
On Monday, however, the facts were pouring in thick and fast }
and the owners of railroad securities, government securities,
street-car securities, and, indeed, all other forms of stocks an¢
bonds, began to throw them on the market in order to raise
cash. The banks naturally were calling their loans, and the
result was a stock stampede which equaled the Black Friday of
Wall Street of two years before.

Cowperwood and his father were out of town at the time
166fh FINAN ih & 167

the fire began. They had gone with several friends—bankers—
to look at a proposed route of extension of a local steam-railroad,
on which a loan was desired. In buggies they had driven over
a good portion of the route, and were returning to Philadelphia
late Sunday evening when the cries of newsboys hawking an
“extra” reached their ears.

“Ho! Extra! Extra! All about the big Chicago fire!”

“Ho! Extra! Extra! Chicago burning down! Extra!
Extra!”

The cries were _long-drawn-out,.ominous, pathetic. In the
dusk of the dreary Sunday afternoon, when the city had ap-
parently retired to Sabbath meditation and prayer, with that
tinge of the dying year in the foliage and in the air, one caught
a sense of something grim and gloomy.

“Hey, boy,-called Cowperwood, listening, seeing a shabbily
clothed misfit of a boy with a bundle of papers under his arm
turning a corner. “What’s that? Chicago burning!”

He looked at his father and the other men in a significant
way as he reached for the paper, and then, glancing at the head-
lines, realized the worst.

ALL CHICAGO BURNING

FIRE RAGES UNCHECKED IN COMMERCIAL SECTION SINCE YES-
TERDAY EVENING. BANKS, COMMERCIAL HOUSES, PUBLIC
BUILDINGS IN RUINS. DIRECT TELEGRAPHIC COMMUNICA=
TION SUSPENDED SINCE THREE O'CLOCK TO-DAY. NO
END TO PROGRESS OF DISASTER IN SIGHT

“That looks rather serious,’ he said, calmly, to his com-
panions, a cold, commanding force coming into his eyes and
voice. To his father he said a little later, ‘It’s panic, unless the
Majority of the banks and brokerage firms stand together.”

He was thinking quickly, brilliantly, resourcefully of his own
Outstanding obligations. His father’s bank was carrying one
hundred thousand dollars’ worth of his street-railway securities
at sixty, and fifty thousand dollars’ worth of city loan at seventy.
His father had “up with him” over forty thousand dollars in
cash covering market manipulations in these stocks. ‘The bank-
ing house of Drexel & Co. was on his books as a creditor for
one hundred thousand, and that loan would be called unless168 THE FINANCIER

they were especially merciful, which was not likely. Jay Cooke
& Co. were his creditors for another one hundred and fifty
thousand. They would want their money. At four smaller
banks and three brokerage companies he was debtor for sums
ranging from fifty thousand dollars down. The city treasurer
was involved with him to the extent of nearly five hundred thou-
sand dollars, and exposure of that would create a scandal ;
the State treasurer for two hundred thousand. ‘There were
small accounts, hundreds of them, ranging from one hundred
dollars up to five and ten thousand. A panic would mean not
only a withdrawal of deposits and a calling of loans, but a heavy
depression of securities. How could he realize on his securities!
—that was the question—how, without selling so many points
off that his fortune would be swept away and he would be
ruined ?

He figured briskly the while he waved adieu to his friends,
who hurried away, struck with their own predicament.

“You had better go on out to the house, father, and I'll send
some telegrams.” (The telephone had not yet been invented.)
“T’]] be right out and we'll go into this thing together. It
looks like black weather to me. Don’t say anything to any one
until after we have had our talk; then we can decide what
to do.”

Cowperwood, Sr., was already plucking at his side-whiskers
in a confused and troubled way. He was cogitating as to what
might happen to him in case his son failed, for he was deeply
involved with him. He was a little gray in his complexion
now, frightened, for he had already strained many points in his
affairs to accommodate his son. If Frank should not be able
promptly on the morrow to meet the call which the bank might
have to make for one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, the
onus and scandal of the situation would be on him.

On the other hand, his son was meditating on the tangled
relation in which he now found himself in connection with
the city treasurer and the fact that it was not possible for him
to support the market alone. Those who should have been in a.
position to help him were now as bad off as himself. ‘There
were many unfavorable points in the whole situation. Drexel.
& Co. had been booming railway stocks—loaning heavily on.

them. Jay Cooke & Co. had been backing Northern Pacific—:THE FINANCIER 169

were practically doing their best to build that immense trans-
continental system alone. Naturally, they were long on that
und hence in a ticklish position. At the first word they would
throw over their surest securities—government bonds, and the
ike—in order to protect their more speculative holdings. The
years would see the point. “They would hammer and hammer,
elling short all along the line. Buyt he did not dare to do that.
He _ would—be—breaking—his—own back quickly, and what he
ueeded was time. If he could only get time—three—days, a
week, ten days—this storm would surely blow-over.

The thing that was troubling him most was the matter of
he half-million invested with him by Stener. A fall election
vas drawing near. Stener, although he had served two terms,
vas slated for reélection. A scandal in connection with the
ity treasury would be a very bad thing. It would end
itener’s career as an official—would very likely send him to the
enitentiary. It might wreck the Republican party’s chances to
vin. It would certainly involve himself as having much to do
vith it. If that happened, he would have the politicians to
eckon with. For, if he were hard’ pressed, as he would be,
ind failed, the fact that he had been trying to invade the city
treet-railway preserves which they held sacred to themselves,

 

vith borrowed city money, and that this borrowing was liable
o cost them the city election, would all come out. They would
lot view all that with a kindly eye. It would be useless to say,
is he could, that he had borrowed the money at two per cent
‘most of it, to save himself, had been covered by a protective
lause of that kind), or that he had merely acted as an agent for
‘tener. That might go down with the unsophisticated ofthe
iter world, but it woubd-never be-swallowed by the politicians.
Chey knew—better-than that.

There was another phase to this situation, however, that en-
ouraged him, and that was his knowledge of how city politics
vere going in_general:It was useless for any politician,
iowever-lofty,.to take a high and mighty tone in a crisis like
his. All of them, great and small, were profiting in one way
ind another through city privileges. Butler, Mollenhauer, and
simpson, he knew, made money out of contracts—legal enough,
hough they might be looked upon as rank favoritism—and also
ut of vast sums of money collected, in the shape of taxes—lanc170 THE FINANCIER

taxes, water taxes, etc.—which were deposited in the various
banks designated by these men and others as legal depositories for
city money. The banks supposedly carried the city’s money in
their vaults as a favor, without paying interest of any kind, and‘
then reinvested it—for whom? Cowperwood had no complaint
to make, for he was being well treated, but these men could
scarcely expect to monopolize all the city’s benefits. He did
not know either Mollenhauer or Simpson personally—but he
knew they as well as Butler had made money out of his own
manipulation of city loan. Also, Butler was most friendly to
him. It was not unreasonable for him to think, in a crisis like
this, that if worst came to worst, he could make a clean breast!
of it to Butler and receive aid. In case he could not get through
secretly with Stener’s help, Cowperwood made up his mind that
he would do this.

His first move, he decided, would be to go at once to Stener’s:
house and demand the loan of an additional three or four hun-
dred thousand dollars. Stener-had—always been very tractable.
and in this instance would~see-how important it -was_that_hi!
shortage of half a million should not be made public. Thes
he must-get-as much more as possible. But where to get it!
Presidents of banks and trust companies, large stock jobbers
and the like, would have to be seen. Then there was a loan o'
one hundred thousand dollars he was carrying for Butler. ‘The
old contractor might be induced to leave that. He hurries
to his home, secured his runabout, and drove rapidly to Stener’s.

As it turned out, however, much to his.distress and confusior
Stener was out of town—down on the Chesapeake with severa
friends shooting ducks and fishing, and was not expected baci

'

for several days. He was in the marshes back of some smal
town. Cowperwood sent an urgent wire to the nearest poiri
and then, to make assurance doubly sure, to several other points
in the same neighborhood, asking him to return immediatel}
He was not at all sure, however, that Stener would return 1)
time and was greatly nonplussed_and uncertain for the momen
as to what his next step would be. Aid must be forthcomin
from somewhere and at once.

Suddenly a helpful thought occurred to him. Butler an
Mollenhauer and Simpson were long on local street-railway
They must combine to support the situation and protect the!THE FINANCTER 171

interests. They could see the big bankers, Drexel & Co. and
Cooke & Co., and others and urge them to sustain the market.
They could strengthen things generally by organizing a buying
ring, and under cover of their support, if they would, he might
sell enough to let him out, and even permit him to go short and
make something—a whole lot. It was a_brilliant thought,
worthy of a greater situation, and its only weakness was that it
was not absolutely certain of fulfillment.

He decided to go to Butler at once, the only disturbing
thought being that he would now be compelled to reveal his
own and Stener’s affairs. So reéntering his runabout he drove
swiftly to the Butler home.

When he arrived there the famous contractor was at dinner.
He had not heard the calling of the extras, and of course, did
not understand as yet the significance of the fire. ‘The servant’s
announcement of Cowperwood brought him smiling to the
door.

“Won’t you come in and join us? We're just havin’ a light
supper. Have a cup of coffee or tea, now—do.”

“T can’t,’ replied Cowperwood. “Not to-night, ’m-in~too
much of a hurry. I want to see you for just a few moments, and
then I’ll be off again. I won’t keep you very long.”

“Why, if that’s the case, I’ll come right out.” And Butler
returned to the dining-room to put down his napkin. Aileen,
who was also dining, had heard Cowperwood’s voice, and was
on the gui vive to see him. She wondered what it was that
brought him at this time of night to see her father. She could
not leave the table at once, but hoped to before he wert. Cow-
perwood was thinking of her, even in the face of this impend-
ing storm, as he was of his wife, and many other things. If his
affairs came down in a heap it would go hard with those at-
tached to him. In this first clouding of disaster, he could not
tell how things would eventuate. He meditated on this des-
perately, but he was not panic-stricken. His naturally even-
molded face was set in fine, classic lines; his eyes were as hard
as chilled steel.

“Well, now,” exclaimed Butler, returning, his countenance
manifesting a decidedly comfortable relationship with the world
as at present constituted. ‘“What’s up with you to-night?
Nawthin’ wrong, I hope. It’s been too fine a day.”172 THE FINANCIER

“Nothing very serious, I hope myself,” replied Cowperwood,
“But I want to talk with you a few minutes, anyhow. Don't
you think we had better go up to your room?”

“T was just going to say that,” replied Butler—‘‘the cigars

 

are up there.”

They started from the reception-room to the stairs, Butler
preceding, and as the contractor mounted, Aileen came out
from the dining-room in a frou-frou of silk. Her splendid hair
was drawn up from the base of the neck and the line of the
forehead into some quaint convolutions which constituted a red-
dish-gold crown. Her complexion was glowing, and her bare
arms and shoulders shone white against the dark red of her
evening gown. She-realized-there—was something wrong.

“Oh, Mr. Cowperwood, how do you do?” she exclaimed,
coming forward and holding out her hand as her father went
on upstairs. She was delaying him deliberately in order to have
a word with him and_this-bold-acting-wasfor~ the benefit of
the others.

‘“What’s the trouble, honey?” she whispered as soon as her
father was out of hearing. “You look worried.”

“Nothing much, I hope, sweet,” he said. “Chicago is burn-
ing up and there’s going to be trouble to-morrow. I have to
talk to your father.”

She had time only for a sympathetic, distressed “Oh,” before
he withdrew his hand and followed Butler upstairs. She
squeezed his arm, and went through the reception-room to the
parlor. She sat_down,.thinking; for_nexer before-had-she—seert
Cowperwood’s face wearing such an expression of stern, dis-
turbed calculation. It was placid, like fine, white wax, and
quite_as_cold; and--those deep,--vague, inscrutable_eyes! * So
Chicago was burning. What would happen to him? Was he
very much involved? He had never told her in detail of his
affairs. She would not have understood fully any more thar.
would have Mrs. Cowperwood. But she was worried, never=
theless, because it was her Frank, and because she was bound to
him by what to her seemed indissoluble ties.

Literature, outside of the masters, has given us but one idea
of the mistress, the subtle, calculating siren who delights to
prey on the souls of men. The journalism and the moral
pamphleteering of the time seem to foster it with almost par-PHE, FRNANCLER 173

‘isan zeal. It would seem that a censorship of life had been
»stablished by divinity, and the care of its execution given into
the hands of the utterly conservative. Yet there is that other
‘orm of liaison which has nothing to do with conscious calcula-
tion. In the vast majority of cases it is without design or guile.
The average woman, controlled by her affections and deeply in
love, is no more capable than a child of anything save sacrificial
thought—the desire to give; and so long as this state endures,
she can only do this. She may change—Hell hath no fury, etc.
—but the sacrificial, yielding, solicitous attitude is more often
the outstanding characteristic of the mistress; and it is this very
attitude in contradistinction to the grasping legality of estab-
lished matrimony that has caused so many wounds in the de-
fenses of the latter. “The temperament of man, either male
or female, cannot help falling down before and worshiping this
non-seeking, sacrificial note. It approaches vast distinction in
life. It appears to be related to that last word in art, that
largeness of spirit which is the first characteristic of the great
sicture, the great building, the great sculpture, the great dec-
oration—namely, a giving, freely and without stint, of itself, of
beauty. Hence the significance of this particular mood in
Aileen.

All the subleties of the present combination were troubling
Cowperwood ashe followed Butler into the room upstairs.

“Sit down, sit down. You won’t take a little somethin’?
You never do. I remember now. Well, have a cigar, anyhow.
Now, what’s this that’s troublin’ you to-night?”

Voices could be heard faintly in the distance, far off toward
the thicker residential sections.

“Extra! Extra! All about the big Chicago fire! Chicago
burning down!”

“Just that,” replied Cowperwood, hearkening to them. “Have
you heard the news?”

“No. What's that they’re calling?”

“It’s a big fire out in Chicago.”

“Oh,” replied Butler, still not gathering the significance of it.

“Tt’s burning down the business section there, Mr. Butler,”
went on Cowperwood ominously, “and I fancy it’s going to
disturb financial conditions here to-morrow. ‘That is what I174 THAE FINANCIER

have come to see you about. How are your investments?
Pretty well drawn in?”

Butler suddenly gathered from Cowperwood’s expression that
there was something very wrong. He put up his large hand
as he leaned back in his big leather chair, and covered his
mouth and chin with it. Over those big knuckles, and bigger
nose, thick and cartilaginous, his large, shaggy-eye-browed eyes
gleamed. His gray, bristly hair stood up stiffly in a short, even
growth all over his head.

“So that’s it,’ he said. ‘‘You’re expectin’ trouble to-morrow.
How are your own affairs?”

“I’m in pretty good shape, I think, all told, if the money
element of this town doesn’t lose its head and go wild. ‘There
has to be a lot of common sense exercised to-morrow, or to-night,
even. You know we_are facing a real panic. Mr. Butler, you
may as well know that. It may not last long, but while it
does it will be bad. Stocks are going to drop to-morrow ten
or fifteen points on the opening. The banks are going to call
their loans unless some arrangement can be made to prevent
them. No one man can do that. It will have to be a com-
bination of men. You and Mr. Simpson and Mr. Mollenhauer
might do it—that is, you could if you could persuade the big
banking people to combine to back the market. ‘There is going
to be a raid on local street-railways—all of them. Unless they
are sustained the bottom is going to drop out. I have always
known that you were long on those. I thought you and Mr.
Mollenhauer and some of the others might want to act. If
you don’t I might as well confess that it is going to go rather
hard with me. I am not strong enough to face this thing
alone.”

He was meditating on how he should tell the whole truth in:
regard to Stener.

“Well, now, that’s pretty bad,” said Butler, calmly and
meditatively. He was_thinking of his own ~affairs...A—panic
was not good for him either, but he was not in a desperate
state. He could not fail. He might lose some money, but not
a vast amount—before he could adjust things. Still he did
not care to lose any money.

“How is it you’re so bad off?” he asked, curiously. He was
wondering how the fact that the bottom was going to drop out}THE FINANCIER 175

of local street-railways would affect Cowperwood so seriously.
You're not carryin’ any of them things, are you?” he added.

It was now a question of lying or telling the truth, and
Cowperwood was literally afraid to risk lying in this dilemma.
If he did not gain Butler’s comprehending support he might
fail, and if he failed the truth would come out, anyhow.

“T might as well make a clean breast of this, Mr. Butler,”
ne said, throwing himself on the old-man’s sympathies and look-
ing at him with that brisk assurance which Butler so greatly
admired. He felt as proud of Cowperwood at times as he
did of his own sons. He felt that he had helped to put him
where he was.

“The fact is that I have been buying street-railway stocks,
put not for myself exactly. I am going to do something now
which I think I ought not to do, but I cannot help myself. If
I don’t do it, it will injure you and a lot of people whom
I do not wish to injure. I-know you are naturally interested in
the outcome ofthe fallelection. The truth is I have been
carrying a lot of stocks for Mr. Stener and some of his friends.
I do not know that all the money has come from the city
treasury, but I think that most of it has. I know what that
means to Mr. Stener and the Republican party and your in-
terests in case I fail. I don’t think Mr. Stener started this of
his own accord in the first place—I think I am as much to
blame _as—anybody—but it grew out of other things. As you
know, I handled that matter of city loan for him and then some
of his friends wanted me to invest in street-railways for them.
I have been doing that ever since. Personally I have borrowed
considerable money from Mr. Stener at two per cent. In fact,
originally the transactions were covered in that way. Now I
don’t want to shift the blame on any one. It comes back to
me and I am willing to let it stay there, except that if I fail
Mr. Stener will be blamed and that will reflect on the ad-
ministration. Naturally, I don’t want to fail.There is no
excuse for my doing so. Aside from this panic I have never
been in a better position in my life. But-I cannot weather this
storm without assistance, and I want to know if-you won’t help
me. If I pull through I will give you my word that I will see
that the money which has been taken from the treasury is put176 THE FINAN CTE R

back there. Mr. Stener is out of town or I would have brought
him here with me.”

Cowperwood was lying out of the whole cloth in regard to
bringing Stener with him, and he had no intention of putting
the money back in the city treasury except by degrees and in
such manner as suited his convenience; but what he had said
sounded well and created a great seeming of fairness.

“How much money is it Stener has invested with you?” asked
Butler. He was a little confused by this curious development.
It put Cowperwood and Stener in an odd light.

“About five hundred thousand dollars,’ replied Cowper-
wood.

The old man straightened up. “Is it as much as that?” he
said.

“Tust about—a little more or a little less; I’m not sure
which.”

The old contractor listened solemnly to all Cowperwood had
to say on this score, thinking of the effect on the Republican
party and his own contracting interests. He liked Cowper-
wood, but this was a rough thing the latter was telling him—
rough, and a great deal to-ask. He was a slow-thinking and a
slow-moving man, but he did well enough when he did think,
He had considerable money invested in Philadelphia street-rail-
way stocks—perhaps as much as eight hundred thousand dol-
lars. Mollenhauer had perhaps as much more. Whether
Senator Simpson had much or little he could not tell. Cow-
perwood had told him in the past that he thought the Senator
had a good deal. Most of their holdings, as in the case of
Cowperwood’s, were hypothecated at the various banks for
loans and these loans invested in other ways. It was not ad-
visable or comfortable to have these loans called, though the
condition of no one of the triumvirate was anything like as bad
as that of Cowperwood. ‘They could see themselves through
without much trouble, though not without probable—loss~unless
they took hurried action to protect themselves.

He would not have thought so much of it if Cowperwood
had told him that Stener was involved, say, to the extent of
seventy-five or a hundred thousand dollars. ‘That might be
adjusted. But five hundred thousand dollars!

“That’s a lot of money,” said Butler, thinking of the amaz-TEA EN AN CDE RK ¥77
ing audacity of Stener, but failing at the moment to identify it
with the astute machinations-of Cowperwood. ‘“That’s some-
thing to think about. There’s no time to lose if there’s going to
be a panic in the morning. How much good will it do ye
if we do support the market?”

“A great deal,” returned Cowperwood, “although of course
I have to raise money in other ways. I have that one hundred
thousand dollars of yours on deposit. Is it likely that you'll
want that right away?”

“It may be,” said Butler.

“Tt’s just as likely that I'll need it so badly that I can’t give
it up without seriously injuring myself,’ added Cowperwood.
“That’s just one of a lot of things. If you and Senator Simp-
son and Mr. Mollenhauer were to get together

 

you're the
largest holders of street-railway stocks—and were to see Mr.
Drexel and Mr. Cooke, you could fix things so that matters
would be considerably easier. I will be all right if my loans
are not called, and my loans will not be called if the market
does not slump too heavily. If it does, all my securities are de-
preciated, and I can’t hold out.”

Old Butler got up. “This is serious business,’ he said.
“T-wish you’d never gone in with Stener in that way. It don’t
leok_quite right™and-it can’t be made to. It’s bad, bad_busi-
ness,” he added dourly. “Still, V’ll do what I-can.._I can’t
promise-much, but I’ve always liked ye and _I’ll not be turning
on_ye now unless I have to. But I’m sorry—very. And I’m
not the only one that has a hand in things in this town.” At
the same time he was thinking it was right decent of Cowper-
wood to forewarn him this way in regard to his own affairs and
the city election, even though he was saving his own neck by
so doing. He meant to do what he could.

“T don’t suppose you could keep this matter of Stener and
the city treasury quiet for a day or two until I see how I come
out?” suggested Cowperwood warily.

“I can’t promise that,” replied Butler. “I'll have to do the
best I can. I won’t lave it go any further than I can help—
you can depend on that.” He was thinking how the effect of

Stener’s-crime-could be overcome if Cowperwood failed.
“Owen!”178 THE FINANCIER

He stepped to the door, and, opening it, called down over the
banister.

“Yes, father.”

“Have Dan hitch up the light buggy and bring it around to
the door. And you get your hat and coat. I want you to go
along with me.”

“Yes, father.”’

He came back.

“Sure that’s a nice little storm in a teapot, now, isn’t it?
Chicago begins to burn, and I have to worry here in Phila-
delphia. Well, well—’ Cowperwood was up now and moy-
ing to the door. ‘And where are you going?”

“Back to the house. I have several people coming there to
see me. But I’ll come back here later, if I may.”

“Yes, yes,” replied Butler. ‘To be sure I'll be here by
midnight, anyhow. Well, good night. I’ll see you later, then,
I suppose. I'll tell you what I find out.”

He went back in his room for something, and Cowperwood
descended the stair alone. From the hangings of the reception-
room entryway Aileen signaled him silently to draw near.

“T hope it’s nothing serious, honey?” she sympathized, looking
into his solemn eyes.

It-was not time for love, and he felt it.

“No,” he said, almost coldly, “I think not.”

“Frank, don’t let this thing make you forget me for long,
please. You won’t, will you? I love you so.”

“No, no, I won't!” he replied earnestly, quickly and yet
absently. “I can’t! Don’t you know I won't?” He had
started to kiss her, but a noise disturbed him. “Sh!”

He walked to the door, and she followed him with eager, sym-
pathetic eyes.

What if anything should happen to her Frank? What if
anything could? What would she do? ‘That was what was
troubling her. What would, what could she do to help him ?
He looked so pale—strained.CHAPTER XXIV

HE condition of the Republican party at this time in
Philadelphia, its relationship to George W. Stener, Ed-
ward Malia Butler, Henry A. Mollenhauer, Senator Mark
Simpson, and others, will have to be briefly indicated here, in
order-to foreshadow Cowperwood’s actual situation. Butler, as
we have seen, was normally intérested in and friendly to Cowper-
wood. Stener was Cowperwood’s tool. Mollenhauer and Sena-
tor Simpson were strong rivals of Butler for the control of city
affairs. Simpson represented the Republican control of the State
legislature, which could dictate to the city if necessary, making
new election laws, revising the city charter, starting political
investigations, and the like. He had many influential news-
papers, corporations, banks, at his beck and call. Mollenhauer
represented the Germans, some Americans, and some large
stable corporations—a very solid and respectable man. All
three were strong, able, and dangerous politically. “The two
latter counted on Butler’s influence, particularly with the
Irish, and a certain number of ward leaders and Catholic poli-
ticians and laymen, who were as loyal to him as though he were
a part of the church itself. Butler’s return to these followers
was protection, influence, aid, and good-will generally. ‘The
city’s return to him, via Mollenhauer and Simpson, was in the
shape of contracts—fat ones—street-paving, bridges, viaducts,
sewers. And in order for him to get these contracts the affairs
of the Republican party, of which he was a beneficiary as well
as a leader, must be kept reasonably straight. At the same time
it was no more a part of his need to keep the affairs of the party
straight than it was of either Mollenhauer’s or Simpson’s, and
Stener we, not his appointee. The latter was more directly
responsihié to Mollenhauer than to any one else.
As hhutler stepped into the buggy with his son he was thinking
about this, and it was puzzling him greatly.
““Cowperwood’s just been here,” he said to Owen, who had
179180 THE FINANCIER

 

been rapidly coming into a sound financial understanding of late,
and was already a shrewder man politically and socially than
his father, though he had not the latter’s magnetism. ‘“He’s
been tellin? me that he’s in a rather tight place. You hear
that?” he continued, as some voice in the distance was calling
“Rxtra! Extra!” ‘“That’s Chicago burnin’, and there’s goin’
to be trouble on the stock exchange to-morrow. We have a lot
of our street-railway stocks around at the different banks. If
we don’t look sharp they’ll be callin’ our loans. We have to
‘end to that the first thing in the mornin’. Cowperwood has
a hundred thousand of mine with him that he wants me to let
stay there, and he has some money that belongs to Stener, he
tells me.”

“tener?” asked Owen, curiously. ‘Has he been dabbling in
stocks?” Owen had heard some rumors concerning Stener and
others only very recently, which he had not credited nor yet
communicated to his father. ‘How much money of his has
Cowperwood?” he asked.

Butler meditated. ‘Quite a bit, I’m afraid,” he finally said.
“As a matter of fact, it’s a great deal—about five hundred
thousand dollars. If that should become known, it would be
makin’ a good deal of noise, I’m thinkin’.”

“Whew!” exclaimed Owen in astonishment. “Five hundred
thousand dollars! Good Lord, father! Do you mean to say
Stener has got away with five hundred thousand dollars? Why,
I wouldn’t think he was clever enough to do that. Five hun-
dred thousand dollars! It will make a nice row if that comes
out.”

“Aisy, now! Aisy, now!” replied Butler, doing his best to
keep all phases of the situation in mind. ‘We can’t tell exactly
what the circumstances were yet. He mayn’t have meant to
take so much. It may all come out all right yet. The money’s
invested. Cowperwood hasn’t failed yet. It may be put back.
The thing to be settled on now is whether anything can be done
to save him. If he’s tellin’ me the truth—and I never knew
him to lie—he can get out of this if street-railway stocks don’t
break too heavy in the mornin’. I’m going over to see Henry
Mollenhauer and Mark Simpson. They’re in on this. Cow-
perwood wanted me to see if I couldn’t get them to get the
bankers together and have them stand by the market. ~HetHE ELNAN CIER 181

thought we might protect our loans by comin’ on and buyin’ and
holdin’ up the price.”

Owen was running swiftly in his mind over Cowperwood’s
affairs—as much as he knew of them. He felt keenly that the
banker ought to be shaken out. This dilemma was his fault, not
Stener’s—he felt. It was strange to him that his father did
not see it and resent it.

“You see what it is, father,” he said, dramatically, after a
time. ‘‘Cowperwood’s been using this money of Stener’s to pick
up stocks, and he’s in a hole. If it hadn’t been for this fire he’d
have got away with it; but now he wants you and Simpson and
Mollenhauer and the others to pull him out. He’s a nice fellow,
and--I-like him fairly-well ;-but_you’re_ a fool if-you.do as he
wants_you.to...He_has_more_than_belongs—to-him already. I
heard the other day that he has the Front Street line, and almost
all of Green and Coates; and that he and Stener own the
Seventeenth and Nineteenth; but I didn’t believe it. I’ve been
intending to ask you about it. I think Cowperwood has a ma-
jority for himself stowed away somewhere in every instance.
Stener is just a pawn. He moves him around where-he pleases.”

Owen’s eyes-gleamed-avariciously, opposingly. Cowperwood
ought to be punished,-sold out, driyen out of the street-railway
business in which Owen was anxious to rise.

“Now you know,” observed Butler, thickly and solemnly, “I
always thought that young felly was clever, but I hardly thought
he was as clever as all that. So that’s his game. You're pretty
shrewd yourself, aren’t you? Well, we can fix that, if we think
well of it. But there’s more than that to all this. You don’t
want to forget the Republican party. Our success goes with
the success of that, you know’—and he paused and looked at
his son. “If Cowperwood should fail and that money couldn't
be put back—”~——He broke off abstractedly. ‘The thing’s that
troublin’ me is this matter of Stener and the city treasury. If
somethin’ ain’t done about that, it may go hard with the party
this fall, and with some of our contracts. You don’t want to
forget that an election is comin’ along in November. I’m won-
derin’ if I ought to call in that one hundred thousand dollars.
It’s goin’ to take considerable money to meet my loans in, the
mornin’.”

It is a curious matter of psychology, but it was.only now.182 THE FINANCIER

that the real difficulties of the situation were beginning to dawn
on Butler. In the presence of Cowperwood he was so influenced
by that young man’s personality and his magnetic presentation. of
his need and his own liking for him that he had not stopped to
consider_all the phases-of-his*own relationship to the situation.
Out here in the cool night air, talking to Owen, who was am-
bitious on his own account and anything but sentimentally con-
siderate of Cowperwood, he was beginning to sober down and see
things in their true light. He had to admit that Cowperwood
had seriously compromised the city treasury and the Republican
party, and incidentally Butler’s own private interests. Never-
theless, he liked Cowperwood. He was in no way prepared to
desert him. He was now going to see Mollenhauer and Simp-
son as much to save Cowperwood really as the party and his
own affairs. And yet a scandal. He did not like that—resented
it. This young scalawag! To think he should be so sly. None
the less he still liked him, even here and now, and was feeling
that he ought to do something to help the young man, if any-
thing could help him. He might even leave his hundred-thou-
sand-dollar loan with him until the last hour, as Cowperwood
had requested, if the others were friendly.

“Well, father,” said Owen, after a time, “I don’t see why
you need to worry any more than Mollenhauer or Simpson.
If you three want to help him out, you can; but for the life
of me I don’t see why you should. I know this thing will have
a bad effect on the election, if it comes out before then; but
it could be hushed up until then, couldn’t it? Anyhow, your
street-railway holdings are more important than this election,
and if you can see your way clear to getting the street-railway
lines in your hands you won’t need to worry about any elections.
My advice to you is to call that one-hundred-thousand-dollar loan
of yours in the morning, and meet the drop in your stocks
that way. It-may make Cowperwood fail, but that won’t hurt
you any. You can go into the market and buy his stocks. I
wouldn’t be surprised if he would run to you and ask you to
take them. You ought to get Mollenhauer and Simpson to scare
Stener so that he won’t loan Cowperwood any more money. If
you don’t, Cowperwood will run there and get more. Stener’s
in too far now. If Cowperwood won’t sell out, well and good;
the chances are he will bust, anyhow, and then you can pick upTHE FINANCIER 183

as-much on the market-as anyone else. I think he'll sell. You
can’t afford to worry about Stener’s five hundred thousand dol-
lars. No one told him to loan it. Let him look out for himself.
It may hurt the party, but you can look after that later. You
and Mollenhauer can fix the newspapers so they won’t talk about
it till after election.”

“Aisy! Aisy!” was all the old contractor would say. He

was thinking hard.CHAPTER XXV

HE residence of Henry A. Mollenhauer was, at that time,
in a section of the city which was almost as new as that
in which Butler was living. It was on South Broad Street,
near a handsome library building which had been recently erected.
It was a spacious house of the type usually affected by men
of new wealth in those days—a structure four stories in height
of yellow brick and white stone, built after no school which one
could readily identify, but not unattractive in its architectural
composition. A broad flight of steps leading to a wide veranda
gave into a decidedly ornate door, which was set on either side
by narrow windows and ornamented to the right and left with
pale-blue jardiniéres of considerable charm of outline. The
interior, divided into twenty rooms, was paneled and parqueted
in the most expensive manner for homes of that day. ‘There
was a great reception-hall, a large parlor or drawing-room, a
dining-room at least thirty feet square paneled in oak; and on
the second floor were a music-room devoted to the talents of
Mollenhauer’s three ambitious daughters, a library and private
office for himself, a boudoir and bath for his wife, and a con-
servatory.

Mollenhauer was, and felt himself to be, a very important
man. His financial and political judgment was exceedingly
keen. Although he was a German, or rather an American of
German parentage, he was a man of a rather impressive Amer-
ican presence. He was tall and heavy and shrewd and cold. His
large chest and wide shoulders supported a head of distinguished
proportions, both round and long when seen from different
angles. ‘The frontal bone descended. in a protruding curve
over the nose, and projected solemnly over the eyes, which
burned with a shrewd, inquiring gaze. And the nose and
mouth and chin below, as well as his smooth, hard cheeks,
confirmed the impression that he knew very well what he wished
in this world, and was very able without regard to let or
hindrance to get it, It was a big face, impressive; well

Q
184THE FINANCIER 185
modeled. He was an excellent friend of Edward Malia But-
ler’s, as such friendships go, and his regard for Mark Simpson
was as sincere as that of one tiger for another. He~respected
ability.;.he-was_willing to play fair whenfair was the game.
When_it.was_not, the reach of his -cunning was not easily
measured.

When Edward Butler and his son arrived on this Sunday
evening, this distinguished representative of one-third of the city’s
interests was not expecting them. He was in his library read-
ing and listening to one of his daughters playing the piano. His
wife and his other two daughters had gone to church. He was
of a domestic turn of mind. Still, Sunday evening being an ex-
cellent one for conference purposes generally in the world of
politics, he was not without the thought that some one or other
of his distinguished confréres might call, and when the combina-
tion footman and butler announced the presence of Butler and
his son, he was well pleased.

“So there you are,”’ he remarked to Butler, genially, extending
his hand. “I’m certainly glad to see you. And Owen! How
are you, Owen? What will you gentlemen have to drink, and
what will you smoke? I know you'll have something. John”
—to the servitor—‘‘see if you can find something for these gen-
tlemen. I have just been listening to Caroline play; but I think
you’ve frightened her off for the time being.”

He moved a chair into position for Butler, and indicated to
Owen another on the other side of the table. In a moment
his servant had returned with a silver tray of elaborate design,
carrying whiskies and wines of various dates and cigars in pro-
fusion. Owen was the new type of young financier who neither
smoked nor drank. His father temperately did both.

“Tt’s a_comfortable place you have here,” said Butler, without
any indication of the important mission that had brought him.
“I don’t wonder you stay at home Sunday evenings. What's new
in the city?”

“Nothing much, so far as I can see,” replied Mollenhauer,
pacifically. ‘Things seem to be running smooth enough. You
don’t know anything that we ought to worry about, do you?”

“Well, yes,” said Butler, draining off the remainder of a
brandy and soda that had been prepared for him. “One thing.
“You haven’t seen an avenin’ paper, have you?”186 ak FINAN GEER

“No, I haven’t,” said Mollenhauer, straightening up. “Is
there one out? What’s the trouble anyhow?”

“Nothing—except Chicago’s burning, and it looks as though
we'd have a little money-storm here in the morning.”

“You don’t say! I didn’t hear that. There’s a paper out,
is there? Well, well—is it much of a fire?”

“The city is burning down, so they say,” put in Owen, who
was watching the face of the distinguished politician with con-
siderable interest.

“Well, that is news. I must send out and get a paper. John!”
he called. His man-servant appeared. “See if you can get
me a paper somewhere.” ‘The servant disappeared. “What
makes you think that would have anything to do with us?”
observed Mollenhauer, returning to Butler.

“Well, there’s one thing that goes with that that I didn’t
know till a little while ago and that is that our man Stener is
apt to be short in his accounts, unless things come out better
than some people seem to think,” suggested Butler, calmly. ‘“That
might not look so well before election, would it?” His shrewd
eray Irish eyes looked into Mollenhauer’s, who returned his gaze.

“Where did you get that?” queried Mr. Mollenhauer icily.
“He hasn’t deliberately taken much money, has he? How much
has he taken—do you know?”

“Quite a bit,” replied Butler, quietly. “Nearly five hundred
thousand, so I understand. Only I wouldn’t say that it has
been taken as yet. It’s in danger of being lost.”

“Rive hundred thousand!” exclaimed Mollenhauer in amaze-
ment, and yet preserving his usual calm. “You don’t tell me!
How long has this been going on? What has he been doing
with the money?”

“He’s loaned a good deal—about five hundred thousand dol-
lars to this young Cowperwood in Third Street, that’s been
handlin’ city loan. They've been investin’ it for themselves in
one thing and another—mostly in buyin’ up street-railways.”

(At the mention of street-railways Mollenhauer’s impassive
countenance underwent a barely perceptible change.) “This
fire, accordin’ to Cowperwood, is certain to produce a panic in
the mornin’, and unless he gets considerable help he doesn’t see
how he’s to hold out. If he doesn’t hold out, there'll be fivi:
hundred thousand dollars missin’ from the city treasury whichLAE ERDNANCIER

 

187

can’t be put back. Stener’s out of town and Cowperwood’s come
to me to see what can be done about it. As a matter of fact,
he’s done a little business for me in times past, and he thought
naybe I could help him now—that is, that I might get you and
the Senator to see the big bankers with me and help support the
market in the mornin’. If we don’t he’s goin’ to fail, and he
thought the scandal would hurt us in the election. He doesn’t
appear to me to be workin’ any game—just anxious to save
himself and do the square thing by me—by us, if he can.”
Butler paused.

Mollenhauer, sly and secretive himself, was apparently not at
all moved by this unexpected development. At the same time,
mever having thought of Stener as having any particular executive
or financial ability, he was a little stirred and curious. So his
treasurer was using money without his knowing it, and now
stood in danger of being prosecuted! Cowperwood he knew of
only indirectly, as one who had been engaged to handle city
loan. He had profited by his manipulation of city loan. Evi-
dently the banker had made a fool of Stener, and had used the
money for street-railway shares! He and Stener must have
quite some private holdings then. “That did interest Mollen-
hauer greatly.

“Five hundred thousand dollars!” he repeated, when Butler
had finished. ‘“That is quite a little money. If merely support-
ing the market would save Cowperwood we might do that, al-
though if it’s a severe panic I.do not see how anything we can
do-will-be of very-much assistance to him. If he’s in a very
tight place and a severe slump is coming, it will take a great
deal more than our merely supporting the market to save him.
{’ve been through that before. You don’t know what his lia-
bilities are?”

“I do not,” said Butler.

“He didn’t ask for money, you say?”

“He wants me to l’ave a hundred thousand he has of mine
until he sees whether he can get through or not.”

“Stener is really out of town, I suppose?” Mollenhauer was
innately suspicious.

“So Cowperwood says. We can send and find out.”

Mollenhauer was thinking of the various aspects of the case.
Supporting the market would be all very well if that would188 THE FINANCIER

save Cowperwood, and the Republican party and his treasurex,,
At the same time Stener could then be compelled to restore the
five hundred thousand dollars to the city treasury, and release
his holdings to some one—preferably to him—Mollenhauer. But
here was Butler also to be considered in this matter. What
might he not want? He consulted with Butler and learned that
Cowperwood had agreed to return the five hundred thousand in
case he could get it together. “The various street-car holdings
were not asked after. But what assurance had any one that
Cowperwood could be so saved? And could, or would get the
money together? And if he were saved would he give the
money back to Stener? If he required actual money, who would
loan it to him in a time like this—in case a sharp panic was immi-
nent? What security could he give? On the other hand, under
pressure from the right parties he might be made to surrendei
all his street-railway holdings for a song—his and Stener’s. Ii
he (Mollenhauer) could get them he would not particularly care
whether the election was lost this fall or not, although he felt
satisfied, as had Owen, that it would not be lost. It could, be
bought, as usual. The~defalcation—if Cowperwood’s_ failure
made Stener’s loan into one—could be concealed long enough,
Mollenhauer thought, to win. Personally as it came to him now
he would prefer to frighten Stener into refusing Cowperwoed
additional aid, and then raid the latter’s street-railway stock in
combination with everybody else’s, for that matter—Simpson’s
and Butler’s included. One of the big sources of future wealth
in Philadelphia lay in these lines. For the present, however, he
had to pretend an interest in saving the party at the polls.

“T can’t speak for the Senator, that’s sure,” pursued Mollen-
hauer, reflectively. “I don’t know what he may think. As for
myself, I am_ perfectly willing to do what I can to keep up
the price of stocks, if that will do any good. J would do s¢
naturally in order to protect my loans. The thing that we
ought to be thinking about, in my judgment, is how to prevent
exposure, in case Mr. Cowperwood does fail, until after election.
We have no assurance, of course, that however much we support:
the market we will be able to sustain it.”

“We have not,” replied Butler, solemnly.

Owen thought he could see Cowperwood’s approaching doont)
quite plainly. At that moment the door-bell rang. A maid, in)HE BINANCLER 189

the absence of the footman, brought in the name of Senator
Simpson.

“Just the man,” said Mollenhauer. “Show him up. You can
see what he thinks.”

“Perhaps I had better leave you alone now,” suggested Owen
to his father. ‘Perhaps I can find Miss Caroline, and she will
sing for me. I'll wait for you, father,” he added.

Mollenhauer cast him an ingratiating smile, and as he stepped
out Senator Simpson walked in.

A more interesting type of his kind than Senator Mark Simp-
son- never flourished in the State of Pennsylvania, which has
been productive of interesting types. Contrasted with either of
the two men who now greeted him warmly and shook his hand,
‘ae was physically unimpressive. He was small—five feet nine
inches, to Mollenhauer’s six feet and Butler’s five feet eleven
inches and a half, and then his face was smooth, with a receding
jaw. In the other two this feature was prominent. Nor were
hiseyes_as frank as—those-of Butler,.nor as defiant as those
of Mollenhauer; but for subtlety they were unmatched by
either—deep, strange, receding, cavernous eyes which con-
templated you as might those of a cat looking out of a dark
hole, and suggesting all the artfulness that has ever distinguished
the feline family. He had a strange mop of black hair sweeping
down over a fine, low, white forehead, and a skin as pale and
bluish as poor health might make it; but.there was, nevertheless,
resident here a strange, resistant, capable force that ruled men—
the subtlety with which he knew how to feed cupidity with hope
and gain and the ruthlessness with which he repaid those who said
him nay. He was a still man, as such a man might well have
been—feeble and fish-like in his handshake, wan and slightly
lackadaisical in his smile, but speaking always with eyes that
answered for every defect.

“Av’nin’, Mark, I’m glad to see you,” was Butler’s greeting.

**How are you, Edward?” came the quiet reply.

“Well, Senator, you’re not looking any the worse for wear.
Can I pour you something?”

“Nothing to-night, Henry,” replied Simpson. “I haven’t
long to stay. I just stopped by on my way home. My wife’s
over here at the Cavanaghs’, and I have to stop by to fetch her.”
“Well, it’s a good thing you dropped in, Senator, just when

>THE FINANCIER

 

you did,” began Mollenhauer, seating himself after his guest.
“Butler here has been telling me of a little political problem
that has arisen since I last saw you. I suppose you’ve heard
that Chicago is burning?”

“Yes: Cavanagh was just telling me. It looks to be quite
serious. I think the market will drop heavily in the morning.”

“T wouldn’t be surprised myself,’ put in Mollenhauer,
laconically.

“Here’s the paper now,” said Butler, as John, the servant,
came in from the street bearing the paper in his hand. Mollen-
hauer took it and spread it out before them. It was among the
earliest of the “extras” that were issued in this country, and
contained a rather impressive spread of type announcing that
the conflagration in the lake city was growing hourly worse
since its inception the day before.

“Well, that is certainly dreadful,” said Simpson. “I’m very
sorry for Chicago. I have many friends there. I shall hope to
hear that it is not so bad as it seems.”

The man had a rather grandiloquent manner which he never
abandoned under any circumstances.

“The matter that Butler was telling me about,” continued
Mollenhauer, “has something to do with this in a way. You
know the habit our city treasurers have of loaning out their
money at two per cent?”

“Yes?” said Simpson, inquiringly.

“Well, Mr. Stener, it seems, has been loaning out a good
deal of the city’s money to this young Cowperwood, in Third
Street, who has been handling city loans.”

“You don’t say!” said Simpson, putting on an air of sur-
prise. ‘Not much, I hope?” ‘The Senator, like Butler and
Mollenhauer, was profiting greatly by cheap loans from the
same source to various designated city depositories.

“Well, it seems that Stener has loaned him as much as five
hundred thousand dollars, and if by any chance Cowperwood
shouldn’t be able to weather this storm, Stener is apt to be short
that amount, and that wouldn’t look so good as a voting propo-
sition to the people in November, do you think? Cowperwood
owes Mr. Butler here one hundred thousand dollars, and be-
cause of that he came to see him to-night. He wanted Butler
to see if something couldn’t be done through us to tide him over.DAE PL NAN CLE R IQI

””

If not”—he waved one hand suggestively—‘“‘well, he might fail.
Simpson fingered his strange, wide mouth with his delicate
hand. ‘What have they been doing with the five hundred
thousand dollars?” he asked.
“Oh, the boys must make a little somethin’ on the side,” said
Butler, cheerfully. “I think they’ve been buyin’ up street-rail-
ways, for one thing.’’ He stuck his thumbs in the armholes of

his vest. Both Mollenhauer and Simpson smiled wan smiles.
“Quite so,” said Mollenhauer. Senator Simpson merely

looked the deep things that he thought.

He, too, was thinking how useless it was for any one to ap-
proach a group of politicians with a proposition like this, par-
ticularly in a crisis such as_bid-fair to occur. He reflected that
if he and~Butler and Mollenhauer could get together and
promise Cowperwood protection in return for the surrender of
his street-railway holdings it would be a very different matter.
It would be very easy in this case to carry the city treasury loan
along in silence and even issue more money to support it; but
it was not sure, in the first place, that Cowperwood could be
made to surrender his stocks, and in the second place that
either Butler or Mollenhauer would enter into any such deal
with_him, Simpson. Butler had evidently come here to say a
good word for Cowperwood. Mbollenhauer and himself were
silent-rivals...Although they worked together_politically it was
toward essentially different financial ends. “They were allied in
no one particular financial proposition, any more than Mollen-
hauer and Butler were. And besides, in all probability Cowper-
wood was no-fool. He was not equally guilty with Stener; the
latter had loaned him money. -The Senator reflected on whether
he should broach some such subtle solution of the situation as
had occurred to him to his colleagues, but he decided not. Really
Mollenhauer was too treacherous a man to work with on a thing
of this kind. It was a splendid chance but dangerous. He had
better go it alone. For the present they should demand of Stener
that he get Cowperwood to return the five hundred thousand
dollars if he could. If not, Stener could be sacrificed for the
benefit of the party, if need be. Cowperwood’s stocks, with this
tip as to his condition, would, Simpson reflected, offer a good
opportunity for a little stock-exchange work on the part of his
own brokers. ‘They could spread rumors as to Cowperwood’sWHE EK PN AN Chie

condition and then offer to take his shares off his hands—for a
song, of course. It was an evil moment that led Cowperwood
to Butler.

“Well, now,” said the Senator, after a prolonged silence, “I
might sympathize with Mr. Cowperwood in his situation, and I
certainly don’t blame him for buying up street-railways if he can;
but I really don’t see what can be done for him very well in this
crisis. I don’t know about you, gentlemen, but I am rather cer-
tain that I am not in a position to pick other people’s chestnuts
out of the fire if I wanted to, just now. It all depends on
whether we feel that the danger to the party is sufficient to war-
rant our going down into our pockets and assisting him.”

At the mention of real money to be loaned Mollenhauer pulled
a long face. “I can’t see that I will be able to do very much
for Mr. Cowperwood,” he sighed.

“Begad,” said Butler, with a keen sense of humor, “it looks to
me as if I’d better ‘be gettin’ in my one hundred thousand dollars.
That’s the first business of the early mornin’.”

Neither Simpson nor Mollenhauer condescended on this occa-
sion to smile even the wan smile they had smiled before. ‘They
merely looked wise and solemn.

“But this matter of the city treasury, now,” said Senator Simp-
son, after the atmosphere had been allowed to settle a little, “is
something to which we shall have to devote a little thought. If
Mr. Cowperwood should fail, and the treasury lose that much
money, it would embarrass us no little. What lines are they,”
he added, as an afterthought, “that this man has been particu-
larly interested in?”

“T really don’t know,” replied Butler, who did not care to say
what Owen had told him on the drive over.

“T don’t see,’”’ said Mollenhauer, “unless we can make Stener
get the money back before this man Cowperwood fails, how we
can save ourselves from considerable annoyance later; but if we
did anything which would look as though we were going to com-
pel restitution, he would probably shut up shop anyhow. So
there’s no remedy in that direction. And it wouldn’t be very
kind to our friend Edward here to do it until we hear how he
comes out on his affair.”

He was referring to Butler’s loan.lnk RINAN CITE EK 193

“Certainly not,’ said Senator Simpson, with true political
sagacity and feeling.

“T’ll have that one hundred thousand dollars in the mornin’,”
said Butler, “and never fear.”

“T think,” said Simpson, “if anything comes of this matter
that we will have to do our best to hush it up until after the
election. The newspapers can just as well keep silent on that
score as not. ‘There’s one thing I would suggest’—and he was
now thinking of the street-railway properties which Cowper-
wood had so judiciously collected—‘“and that is that the city
treasurer be cautioned against advancing any more money in a
situation of this kind. He might readily be compromised into
advancing much more. I suppose a word from you, Henry,
would prevent that.”

“Yes; I can do that,” said Mollenhauer, solemnly.

“My judgment would be,” said Butler, in a rather obscure
manner, thinking of Cowperwood’s mistake in appealing to these
noble protectors of the public, ‘“‘that it’s best to let sleepin’ dogs
run be thimselves.”

Thus ended Frank Cowperwood’s dreams of what Butler and
his political associates might do for him in his hour of distress.

The energies of Cowperwood after leaving Butler were de-
voted to the task of seeing others who might be of some
assistance to him. He had left word with Mrs. Stener that if
any message came from her husband he was to be notified at once.
He hunted up Walter Leigh, of Drexel & Co., Avery Stone of
Jay Cooke & Co., and President Davison of the Girard National
Bank. He wanted to see what they thought of the situation and
to negotiate a loan with President Davison covering all his real
and personal property.

“I can’t tell you, Frank,’ Walter Leigh insisted, “I don’t
know how things will be running by to-morrow noon. I’m glad
to know how you stand. I’m glad you’re doing what you're
doing—getting all your affairs in shape. It will help a lot. Vl
favor you all I possibly can. But-if the chief decides on a certain
group of loans to be called, they’ll-have to be called, that’s-all.
I'll do my best to make things look better. If the whole of
some of them,

 

Chicago is wiped out, the insurance companies
anyhow—are sure to go, and then look out. I suppose you'll
call in all your loans?”THE FINANCIER

 

“Not any more than I have to.”

“Well, that’s just the way it is here—or will be.”

The two men shook hands... They liked each other. Leigh
was of the city’s fashionable coterie, a society man to the manner
born, but with a wealth of common sense and a great deal of
worldly experience.

“T’ll tell you, Frank,” he observed, at parting, “I’ve always
thought you were carrying too much street-railway. It’s great
stuff if you can get away with it, but it’s just in a pinch like this
that you’re apt to get hurt. You’ve been making money pretty
fast out of that and city loans.”

He looked directly into his long-time friend’s eyes, and they
smiled.

It was the same with Avery Stone, President Davison, and
others. They had all already heard rumors of disaster when he
arrived. ‘They: were not sure what the morrow would bring
forth. It looked’ very unpromising.

Cowperwood décided to stop and see Butler again for he felt
certain his interview with Mollenhauer and Simpson was now
over. Butler, who had been meditating what he should say to
Cowperwood, was not unfriendly in his manner. “So you're
back,” he said, when Cowperwood appeared.

“Yes, Mr. Butler.” i

“Well, I’m not sure that I’ve been able to do anything for
you. I’m afraid not,” Butler said, cautiously. “It’s a hard job
you set me. Mollenhauer seems to think that he’ll support the
market, on: his own account. I think he will. Simpson has in-
terests which he has to protect. I’m going to buy for myself, of
course.”

He paused to reflect.

“T couldn’t get them to call a conference with any of the big
moneyed men as yet,” he added, warily. ‘“They’d rather wait
and see what happens in the mornin’. Still, I wouldn’t be down-
hearted if I were you. If things turn out very bad they may
change their minds. I had to tell them about Stener. It’s
pretty bad, but they’re hopin’ you'll come through and straighten
that out. I hope so. About my own loan—well, I'll see how
things are in the mornin’. If I raisonably can I'll lave it with
you. You'd better see me again about it. I wouldn’t try to getTHE FINANCIER 195

any more money out of Stener if I were you. It’s pretty bad
aS it-18;””

Cowperwood saw at once that he was to get no aid from
the politicians. The one thing that disturbed him was this ref-
erence to Stener. Had they already communicated with him
—warned him? If so, his own coming to Butler had been a bad
move; and yet from the point of view of his possible failure on
the morrow it had been advisable. At least now the politicians
knew where he stood. If he got in a very tight corner he would
come to. Butler again—the politicians could assist him or not, as
they chose. If they did not help him and he failed, and the elec-
tion were lost, it was their own fault. Anyhow, if he could see
Stener first the latter would not be such a fool as to stand in his
own light in a crisis like this.

“Things look rather dark to-night, Mr. Butler,” he said,
smartly, “but I still think I’ll come through. I hope so, any-
how. I’m sorry to have put you to so much trouble. I wish, of
course, that you gentlemen could see your way clear to assist me,
but if you can’t, you can’t. I have a number of things that I can
do. I hope that you will leave your loan as long as you can.”

He went briskly out, and Butler meditated. ‘A clever young
chap that,” he said. “It’s too bad. But he may come out all right
aft: that.’

Cowperwood hurried to his own home only to find his father
awake and brooding. To him he talked with that strong vein of
sympathy and understanding which is usually characteristic of
those drawn by ties of flesh and blood. - He-liked~his -father.
He sympathized with his painstaking effort to get up in the
world. He could not forget that as a boy he had had the loving
sympathy and interest of his father. The loan which he had
from the Third National, on somewhat weak Union Street Rail-
way shares he could probably replace if stocks did not drop too
tremendously. He must replace this at all costs. But his father’s
investments in street-railways, which had risen with his own
ventures, and which now involved an additional two hundred
thousand—how could he protect those? The shares were hy-
pothecated and the money was used for other things. Addi-
tional collateral would have to be furnished the several banks
carrying them. It was nothing except loans, loans, loans, and
the need of protecting them. If he could only get an additional196 DHE: FINANCIER

deposit of two or three hundred thousand dollars from Stener.
But that, in the face of possible financial difficulties, was rank
criminality. All depended on the morrow.

Monday, the ninth, dawned gray and cheerless. He was up
with the first ray of light, shaved and dressed, and went over,
under the gray-green pergola, to his father’s house. He was
up, also, and stirring about, for he had not been able to sleep.
His gray eyebrows and gray hair looked rather shaggy and
disheveled, and his side-whiskers anything but decorative. The
old gentleman’s eyes were tired, and his face was gray. Cow-
perwood could see that he was worrying. He looked up from
a small, ornate escritoire of buhl, which Ellsworth had found
somewhere, and where he was quietly tabulating a list of his
resources and liabilities. Cowperwood winced. He_hated to see
his father worried, but he could not help it. He had hoped
sincerely, when they built their houses together, that the days of
worry for his father had gone forever.

“Counting up?” he asked, familiarly, with a smile. He
wanted to hearten the old gentleman as much as possible.

“T was just running over my affairs again to see where I
stood in case—” He looked quizzically at his son, and Frank
smiled again.

“T wouldn’t worry, father. I told you how I fixed it so that
Butler and that crowd will support the market. I have Rivers
and Targool and Harry Eltinge on ’change helping me sell out,
and they are the best men there. ‘They'll handle the situation
carefully. I couldn’t trust Ed or Joe in this case, for the mo-
ment they began to sell everybody would know what was going
on with me. This way my men will seem like bears hammering
the market, but not hammering too hard. I ought to be able
to unload enough at ten points off to raise five hundred thou-
sand. The market may not go lower than that. You can’t tell.
It isn’t going to sink indefinitely. If I just knew what the big
insurance companies were going to do! ‘The morning paper
hasn’t come yet, has it?”

He was going to pull a bell, but remembered that the servants
would scarcely be up as yet. He went to the front door him-
self. "There were the Press and the Public Ledger lying damp
from the presses. He picked them up and glanced at the front
pages. His countenance fell. On one, the Press, was spreadTHE FINANCIER 197

a great black map of Chicago, a most funereal-looking thing,
the black portion indicating the burned section. He had never
seen a map of Chicago before in just this clear, definite way.
‘That white portion was Lake Michigan, and there was the
Chicago River dividing the city into three almost equal por-
tions—the north side, the west side, the south side. He saw
at once that the city was curiously arranged, somewhat like Phila-
delphia, and that the business section was probably an area of
two or three miles square, set at the juncture of the three sides,
and lying south of the main stem of the river, where it flowed
into the lake after the southwest and northwest branches had
united to form it. This was a significant central area; but, ac-
cording to this map, it was all burned out. “Chicago in Ashes”
ran a great side-heading set in heavily leaded black type. It went
on to detail the sufferings of the homeless, the number of the
dead, the number of those whose fortunes had been destroyed.
Then it descanted upon the probable effect in the East. Insur-
ance companies and manufacturers might not be able to meet
the great strain of all this.

“Damn!” said Cowperwood gloomily. “I wish I were out
of this stock-jobbing business. I wish I had never gotten into
it.’ He returned to his drawing-room. and scanned both ac-
counts most carefully.

Then, though it was still early, he and his father drove to
his office. There were already messages awaiting him, a dozen
or more, to cancel or sell. While he was standing there a mes-
senger-boy brought him three more. One was from Stener and
said that he would be back by twelve o’clock, the very earliest
he could make it. Cowperwood-was-relieved-and_yet distressed.
He would need large sums of money to meet various loans be-
fore three. Every hour was precious. He must arrange to meet
Stener at the station and talk to him before any one else should
see him. Clearly this was going to be a hard, dreary, strenuous
day. ;

Third Street, by the time he reached there, was stirring with
other bankers and brokers called forth by the exigencies of the
occasion. ‘There was a suspicious hurrying of feet—that in-
tensity which makes all the difference in the world between a
hundred people placid and a hundred people disturbed. At the
exchange, the atmosphere was feverish. At the sound cf the198 Hh FINAN CEER

   

gong, the staccato uproar began. Its metallic vibrations were
still in the air when the two hundred men who composed
this local organization at its utmost stress of calculation, threw
themselves upon each other in a gibbering struggle to dispose of
or seize bargains of the hour. The interests were so varied that
it was impossible to say at which pole it was best to sell or buy.

Targool and Rivers had been delegated to stay at the center
of things, Joseph and Edward to hover around on the outside and
to pick up such opportunities of selling as might offer a reasonable
return on the stock. ‘The ‘‘bears” were determined to jam things
down, and it all depended on how well the agents of Mollen-
hauer, Simpson, Butler, and others supported things in the street-

railway world whether those stocks retained any strength or not.

The last thing Butler had said the night before was that they
would do the best they could. They would buy up to a certain
point. Whether they would support the market indefinitely he
would not say. He could not vouch for Mollenhauer and Simp-
son. Nor did he know the condition of their affairs.

While the excitement was at its highest Cowperwood came in.
As he stood in the door looking to catch the eye of Rivers, the
’change gong sounded, and trading stopped. All the brokers and
traders faced about to the little balcony, where the secretary of
the ’change made his announcements; and there he~stood, the
door open behind him, a small, dark, clerkly man of thirty-eight
or forty, whose spare figure and pale face bespoke the methodic
mind that knows no venturous thought. In his right hand he
held a slip of white paper.

“The American Fire Insurance Company of Boston announces
its inability to meet its obligations.” “The gong sounded again.

Immediately the storm broke anew, more voluble than before,
because, if after one hour of investigation on this Monday morn-
ing one insurance company had gone down, what would four
or five hours or a day or two bring forth? It meant that men
who had been burned out in Chicago would not be able to re-
sume business. It meant that all loans connected with this con-
cern had been, or would be called now. And the cries of fright-
ened “bulls” aferine thousand and five thousand lot holdings in
Northern Pacific, Illinois Central, Reading, Lake Shore, Wa- |
bash; in all the local street-car lines; and in Cowperwood’s city}
loans at constantly falling prices was sufficient to take the heart:THE FINANCIER 199

   

out of all concerned. He hurried to Arthur Rivers’s side in the
Jull; but there was little he could say.

“Tt looks as though the Mollenhauer and Simpson crowds
aren’t doing much for the market,” he observed, gravely.

“They've had advices from New York,” explained Rivers
solemnly. “It can’t be supported very well. ‘There are three
insurance companies over there on the verge of quitting, I un-
derstand. I expect to see them posted any minute.”

They stepped apart from the pandemonium, to discuss ways
and means. Under his agreement with Stener, Cowperwood
could buy up to one hundred thousand dollars of city loan,
above the customary wash sales, or market manipulation, by which
they were making money. ‘This was in case the market had to
be genuinely supported. He decided to buy sixty thousand dollars
worth now, and use this to sustain his loans elsewhere. Stener
would pay him for this instantly, giving him more ready cash.
It might help him in one way and another; and, anyhow, it might
tend to strengthen the other securities long enough at least to
allow him to realize a little something now at better than ruinous
rates. If only he had the means “to go short” on this market!
If only doing so did not really mean ruin to his present position.
It was characteristic of the man that even in this crisis he should
be-seeing hoy--the very thing that of necessity, because.of his
present-obligations, might»ruin him;-might-also; under. slightly
different conditions, yield him a great harvest. He could not
take advantage of it, however. He could not be on both sides
of this market. It was either “bear” or “bull,” and of necessity
he was “bull.”’ It was strange but true. His subtlety could not
avail him here. He was about to turn and hurry to see a cer-
‘ain banker who might loan him something on his house, when
the gong struck again. Once more trading ceased. Arthur
Rivers, from his position at the State securities post, where city
loan was sold, and where he had started to buy for Cowperwood,
looked significantly at him. Newton Targool hurried to Cow-
perwood’s side.

“You’re up against it,” he exclaimed. “I wouldn’t try to sell
against this market. It’s no use. ‘They’re cutting the ground
from under you. The bottom’s out. Things are bound to turn
in a few days. Can’t you hold out? Here’s more trouble.”

He raised his eyes to the announcer’s balcony.200 re? FINAN Gre R

 

“The Eastern and Western Fire Insurance Company of New
York announces that it cannot meet its obligations.”

A low sound something like ‘““Haw!” broke forth.

The announcer’s gavel struck for order.

“The Erie Fire Insurance Company of Rochester announces
that it cannot meet its obligations.”

Again that “‘H-a-a-a-w!”

Once more the gavel.

“The American Trust Company of New York has suspended
payment.”

“H-a-a-a-w

The storm was on.

“What do you think?” asked Targool. ‘You can’t brave this
storm. Can’t you quit selling and hold out for a few days?
Why not sell short?”

“They ought to close this thing up,” Cowperwood said, shortly.
“Tt would be a splendid way out. ‘Then nothing could be
done.”

He hurried to consult with those who, finding themselves in
a similar predicament with himself, might use their influence
to bring it about. It was a sharp trick to play on those who, now
finding the market favorable to their designs in its falling condi-
tion, were harvesting a fortune. But what was thet to him?
Business was business. There was no use selling at ruinous
figures, and he gave his lieutenants orders to stop. Unless the
bankers favored him heavily, or the stock exchange was closed,
or Stener could be induced to deposit an additional three hun-
dred thousand with him at once, he was ruined. He hurried
down the street to various bankers and brokers suggesting that
they do this—close the exchange. At a few minutes before
twelve o’clock he drove rapidly to the station to meet Stener;
but to his great disappointment the latter did not arrive. It
looked as though he had missed his train. Cowperwood sensed
something, some trick; and decided to go to the city hall and also
to Stener’s house. Perhaps he had returned and was trying to
avoid him.

Not finding him at his office, he drove direct to his house.
Here he was not surprised to meet Stener just coming out, look~
ing very pale and distraught. At the sight of Cowperwood he
actually blanched.

}»?rH FINAN CLE: 201

“Why, hello, Frank,’ he exclaimed, sheepishly, “where do
you come from?”

“What’s up, George?” asked Cowperwood. “I thought you
were coming into Broad Street.”

“So I was,” returned Stener, foolishly, “but I thought I would
get off at West Philadelphia and change my clothes. I’ve a lot
of things to ’tend to yet this afternoon. I was coming in to see
you.” After Cowperwood’s urgent telegram this was silly, but
the young banker let it pass.

“Jump in, George,’ he said. “I have something very im-
portant to talk to you about. I told you in my telegram about
the likelihood of a panic. It’s on. ‘There isn’t a moment to
lose. Stocks are ’way down, and most of my loans are being
called. I want to know if you won’t let me have three hundred
and fifty thousand dollars for a few days at four or five per
cent. I'll pay it all back to you. I need it very badly. If I
don’t get it I’m likely to fail. You know what that means,
George. It will tie up every dollar I have. ‘Those street-car
holdings of yours will be tied up with me. I won't be able to let
you realize on them, and that will put those loans of mine from
the treasury in bad shape. You won't be able to put the money
back, and you know what that means. We’re in this thing to-
gether. I want to see you through safely, but I can’t do it
without your help. I had to go to Butler last night to see about
a loan of his, and I’m doing my best to get money from other
sources. But I can’t see my way through on this, I’m afraid,
unless you’re willing to help me.” Cowperwood paused. He
wanted to put the whole case clearly and succinctly to him be-
fore he had a chance to refuse—to make him realize it as his
own predicament.

As a matter of fact, what Cowperwood had keenly suspected
was literally true. Stener had been reached. “he moment But-
ler and Simpson had left him the night before, Mollenhauer
ihad sent for his very able secretary, Abner Sengstack, and des-
‘patched him to learn the truth about Stener’s whereabouts.
Sengstack had then sent a long wire to Strobik, who was
with Stener, urging him to caution the latter against Cowper-
wood. The state of the treasury was known. Stener and Stro-
bik were to be met by Sengstack at Wilmington (this to fore-
fend against the possibility of Cowperwood’s reaching Stener202 THE FINAN CTPER

 

first) —and the whole state of affairs made perfectly plain. No
more money was to be issued under penalty of prosecution. If
Stener wanted to see any one he must see Mollenhauer. Seng-
stack, having received a telegram from Strobik informing him of
their proposed arrival at noon the next day, had proceeded to
Wilmington to meet them. The result was that Stener did not
come direct into the business heart of the city, but instead got
off at West Philadelphia, proposing to go first to his house to
change his clothes and then to see Mollenhauer before meeting
Cowperwood. He was very badly frightened and wanted time to
think.

“T can’t do it, Frank,” he pleaded, piteously. “I’m in pretty
bad in this matter. Mollenhauer’s secretary met the train out
at Wilmington just now to warn me against this situation, and
Strobik is against it. They know how much money I’ve got
outstanding. You or somebody has told them. I can’t go
against Mollenhauer. I owe everything I’ve got to him, in a
way. He got me this place.”

“Listen, George. Whatever you do at this time, don’t let this
political loyalty stuff cloud your judgment. You’re in a very
serious position and so am I. If you don’t act for yourself with
me now no one is going to act for you—now or later—no one.
And later will be too late. I proved that last night when I
went to Butler to get help for the two of us. They all know
about this business of our street-railway holdings and they want
to shake us out and that’s the big and little of it—nothing more
and nothing less. It’s a case of dog eat dog in this game and
this particular situation and it’s up to us to save ourselves
against everybody or go down together, and that’s just what: I’m
here to tell you. Mollenhauer doesn’t care any more for you
to-day than he does for that lamp-post. It isn’t that money
you've paid out to me that’s worrying him, but who’s getting
something for it and what. Well they know that you and I are
getting street-railways, don’t you see, and they don’t want us
to have them. Once they get those out of our hands they
won’t waste another day on you or me. Can’t you see that!
Once we've lost all we’ve invested, you’re down and so am [—
and no one is going to turn a hand for you or me politically or
in any other way. I want you to understand that, George,
because it’s true. And before you say you won't or you willLHE FINAN CTIER 203

do anything because Mollenhauer says so, you want to think
over what I have to tell you.”

He was in front of Stener now, looking him directly in the
zye and by the kinetic force of his mental way attempting to
make Stener take the one step that might save him—Cowper-
wood—however little in the long run it might do for Stener.
And, more interesting still, he did not care. Stener, as he saw
him now, was a pawn in whosoever’s hands he happened to be at
the time, and despite Mr. Mollenhauer and Mr. Simpson and
Mr. Butler he proposed to attempt to keep him in his own hands
if possible.- And so he stood, there looking at him as might a
snake at a bird determined to galvanize him into selfish self-
interest if possible.

But Stener was so frightened that at the moment it looked as
though there was little to be done with him. His face was a
grayish-blue: his eyelids and eye rings puffy and his hands and
lips moist. God, what a hole he was in now!

“Say that’s all right, Frank,” he exclaimed desperately. ‘TI
know what you say is true. But look at me and my position,
if I do give you this money. What can’t they do to me, and
won't. If you only look at it from my point of view. If only
you hadn’t gone to Butler before you saw me.”

“As though I could see you, George, when you were off duck
shooting and when I was wiring everywhere I knew to try to
get in touch with you. How could I? ‘The situation had to be
met. Besides, I thought Butler was more friendly to me than
he proved. But there’s no use being angry with me now,
George, for going to Butler as I did, and anyhow you can’t
afford to be now. We're in this thing together. It’s a case of
sink_or_swim~-for-just-us two—not any. one else—just us—don’t
you get that? Butler couldn’t or wouldn’t do what I wanted
him to do—get Mollenhauer and Simpson to support the market.
Instead of that they are hammering it. They have a game of
their own. It’s to shake us out—can’t you see that? ‘Take
everything that you and I have gathered. It is up to you and
me, George, to save ourselves, and that’s what I’m here for
now. If you don’t let me have three hundred and fifty thousand
dollars—three hundred thousand, anyhow—you and I are ruined.
It will be worse for you, George, than for me, for I’m not
involved in this thing in-any way—not legally, anyhow. But204 THE FINANCIER

that’s not what I’m thinking of. What I want to do is to save
us both—put us on easy street for the rest of our lives, whatever
they say or do, and it’s in your power, with my help, to do that
for both of us. Can’t you see that? I want to save my business
so then I can help you to save your name and money.” He
paused, hoping this had convinced Stener, but the latter was
still shaking.

“But what can I do, Frank?’ he pleaded, weakly. “I
can’t go against Mollenhauer. They can prosecute me if I do
that. They can do it, anyhow. I can’t do that. I’m not strong
enough. If they didn’t know, if you hadn’t told them, it might
be different, but this way—” He shook his head sadly, his gray
eyes filled with a pale distress.

“George,” replied Cowperwood, who realized now that only
the sternest arguments would have any effect here, “don’t talk
about what I did. What I did I had to do. You’re in danger
of losing your head and your nerve and making a serious mistake
here, and I don’t want to see you make it. I have five hundred
thousand of the city’s money invested for you—partly for me,
and partly for you, but more for you than for me”—which, by
the way, was not true—‘“and here you are hesitating in an hour
like this as to whether you will protect your interest or not. |
can’t understand it. ‘This is a crisis, George. Stocks are tum-'
bling on every side—everybody’s stocks. You're not alone_in/
this—neither am I. This is a panic, brought on by a fire, and}
you can’t expect to come out of a panic alive unless you do some-
thing to protect yourself. You say you owe your place-to Mol.
lenhauer and that you’re afraid of what he'll do. If you look
at your own situation and mine, you'll see that it doesn’t make:
much difference what he does, so long as I don't fail. If-I fail,
where are you? Who's going to save you from prosecution?
Will Mollenhauer or any one else come forward and put five
hundred thousand dollars in the treasury for you? He will not
If Mollenhauer and the others have your interests at heart, why:
aren’t they helping me on ’change to-day? Ill tell you why.
They want your street-railway holdings and mine, and they don’t
care whether you go to jail afterward or not. Now if you're!
wise you will listen to me. I’ve been loyal to you, haven’t I’
You’ve made money through me—lots of it. If you're wise!
George, you ll go to your office and write me your check fosTHE FINANCIER 205

three hundred thousand dollars, anyhow, before you do a single
other thing. Don’t see anybody and don’t do anything till
you've done that. You can’t be hung any more for a sheep
than you can for a lamb. No one can prevent you from giving
rae that check, You’re the city treasurer. Once I have that I
can see my way out of this, and I'll pay it all back to you next
week or the week after—this panic is sure to-end in that time.
With that put back in the treasury we can see them about the
five hundred thousand a little later. In three months, or less,
I can fix it so that you can put that back. As a matter of fact,
I can do it in fifteen days once I am on my feet again. Time is
all I want. You won’t have lost your holdings and nobody will
cause you any trouble if you put the money back. They don't
care to risk a scandal any more than you do. Now what'll you
Jo, George? Mollenhauer can’t stop you from doing this any
more than I can make you. Your life is in your own hands.
What will you-do?”

Stener stood there ridiculously meditating when, as a matter
of fact, his very financial blood was oozing away. Yet he was
afraid to act. He was afraid of Mollenhauer, afraid of Cow-
perwood,-afraid of life and of himself. The thought of panic,
loss, was not so much a definite thing connected with his own
property, his money, as it was with his social and political
standing in the community. Few people have the sense of
financial individuality strongly developed. They do not know
what it means to be a controller of wealth, to have that which
releases the sources of social action—its medium of exchange.
They want money, but not for money’s sake. They want it
for what it will buy in the way of simple comforts, whereas
the financier wants it for what it will control—for what it
will represent in the way of dignity, force, power. Cowper-
wood wanted money in that way; Stener not. That was why
he had been so ready to let Cowperwood act for him; and now,
when he should have seen more clearly than ever the significance
of what Cowperwood was proposing, he was frightened and his
reason obscured by such things as Mollenhauer’s probable oppo-
sition and rage, Cowperwood’s possible failure, his own inability
to face a real crisis. Cowperwood’s innate financial ability did
not reassure Stener in this hour. “The banker was too young,
too new. Mollenhauer was older, richer. So was Simpson;206 THE FINAN CHER

so was Butler. These men, with their wealth, represented the
big forces, the big standards in his world. And besides, did not
Cowperwood himself confess that he was in great danger—that
he was in a corner. “That was the worst possible confession to
make to Stener—although under the circumstances it was the
only one that could be made—for he had no courage to face
danger.

So it was that now, Stener stood by Cowperwood meditat-
ing—pale, flaccid, unable to see the main line of his interests
quickly, unable to follow it definitely, surely, vigorously—while
they drove to his office. Cowperwood entered it with him for
the sake of continuing his plea.

“Well, George,” he said earnestly, “I wish you'd tell me.
Time’s short. We haven’t a moment to lose. Give me the
money, won’t you, and I'll get out of this quick. We haven’t
a moment, I tell you. Don’t let those people frighten you off.
They’re playing their own little game; you play yours.”

“T can’t, Frank,” said Stener, finally, very weakly, his sense
of his own financial future, overcome for the time being by the
thought of Mollenhauer’s hard, controlling face. “T’ll have to
thmk. I can’t do it right now. Strobik just left me before
I saw you, and—”

“Good God, George,” exclaimed Cowperwood, scornfully,
“don’t talk about Strobik! What’s he got to do with it?) Think
of yourself. Think of where you will be. It’s your future—
not Strobik’s—that you have to think of.”

“T know, Frank,” persisted Stener, weakly; “but, really, I
don’t see how I can. Honestly I don’t. You say yourself you’re
not sure whether you can come out of things all right, and three
hundred thousand more is three hundred thousand more. I
can’t, Frank. I really can’t. It wouldn’t be right. Besides,
I want to talk to Mollenhauer first, anyhow.”

“Good God, how you talk!” exploded Cowperwood, angrily,
looking at him will ill-concealed contempt. “Go ahead! See
Mollenhauer! Let him tell you how to cut your own throat
for his benefit. It won’t be right to loan me three hundred
thousand dollars more, but it will be right to let the five hun-
dred thousand dollars you have loaned stand unprotected and
lose it. That’s right, isn’t it? ‘That’s just what you propose
to do—lose it, and everything else besides. I want to tell you1a Ee hi NAN CLE Rr 207

what_it-is, George—you’ve lost your mind. You've let a single
message from Mollenhauer frighten you to death, and because
of that you’re going to risk your fortune, your reputation, your
standing—everything. Do you really realize what this means
if I fail? You will be a convict, I tell you, George. You will
go to prison. This fellow Mollenhauer, who is so quick to tell
you what not to do now, will be the last man to turn a hand for
you once you're down. Why, look at me—lI’ve helped you,
haven’t I? Haven’t I handled your affairs satisfactorily for
you up to now? What in Heaven’s name has got into you?
What have you to be afraid of?”

Stener was just about to make another weak rejoinder when
the door from the outer office opened, and Albert Stires, Stener’s
chief clerk, entered. Stener was too flustered to really pay any
attention to Stires for the moment; but Cowperwood took mat-
ters in his own hands.

“What is it, Albert?” he asked, familiarly.

“Mr. Sengstack from Mr. Mollenhauer to see Mr. Stener.”

At the sound of this dreadful name Stener wilted like a leaf.
Cowperwood saw it. He realized that his last hope of getting
the three hundred thousand dollars was now probably gone.
Still he did not propose to give up as yet.

“Well, George,” he said, after Albert had gone out with
instructions that Stener would see Sengstack in a moment, “I
see how it is. This man has got you mesmerized. You can’t
act for yourself now—you’re too frightened. I'll let it rest for
the present; I’ll come back. But for Heaven’s sake pull your-
self together. Think what it means. I’m telling you exactly
what’s going to happen if you don’t. You'll be independently
rich if you do. You'll be a convict if you don’t.”

And deciding he would make one more effort in the street
before seeing Butler again, he walked out briskly, jumped into
his light spring runabout waiting outside—a handsome little
yellow-glazed vehicle, with a yellow leather cushion-seat, drawn
by a young, high-stepping bay mare—and sent her scudding from
door to door, throwing down the lines indifferently and bound-
ing up the steps of banks and into office doors.

But all without avail. All were interested, considerate; but
things were very uncertain. The Girard National Bank refused
an hour’s grace, and he had to send a large bundle of his mosteH. Wal NAN CGE R

   
  
   
   
  
 
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
   
   

208

valuable securities to cover his stock shrinkage there. Word
came from his father at two that as president of the Third Na-
tional he would have to call for his one hundred and fifty
thousand dollars due there. “The directors were suspicious of
his stocks. He at once wrote a check against fifty thousand
dollars of his desposits in that bank, took twenty-five thousand
of his available offic: funds, called a loan of fifty thousand against
Tighe & Co., and sold sixty thousand Green & Coates, a line
he had been tentatively dabbling in, for one-third their value—
and, combining the general results, sent them all to the Third
National. His father was immensely relieved from one point
of view, but sadly depressed from another. He hurried out
at the noon-hour to see what his own holdings would bring.
He was compromising himself in a way by doing it, but his
parental heart, as well as his own financial interests, were in-
volved. By mortgaging his house and securing loans on his furni-
ture, carriages, lots, and stocks, he managed to raise one hun-
dred thousand in cash, and deposited it in his own bank to
Frank’s credit; but.it was a very light anchor to windward
in this swirling storm, at that. Frank had been counting on
getting all of his loans extended three or four days at least.
Reviewing his situation at two o'clock of this Monday after-
noon, he said to himself thoughtfully but grimly: ‘Well, Stener
has to loan me three hundred thousand—that’s all there is to
it. And I’ll have to see Butler now, or he’ll be calling his loan
before three.”

He hurried out, and was off to Butler’s house, driving like
mad.CHAPTER XXVI

HINGS had changed greatly since last Cowperwood had

talked with Butler. Although most friendly at the time
he proposition was made that he should combine with Mollen-
auer and Simpson to sustain the market, alas, now of this
VMionday morning at nine o'clock, an additional complication had
een added to the already tangled situation which had changed
3utler’s-attitude completely. As he was leaving his home to
mter his runabout, at nine o’clock in the morning of this same
lay in which Cowperwood was seeking Stener’s aid, the postman,
oming up, had handed Butler four letters, all of which he paused
or a2 moment to glance at. One was from a sub-contractor by the
ame of O’Higgins, the second was from Father Michel, his
onfessor, of St. Timothy’s, thanking him for a contribution to
he parish poor fund; a third was from Drexel & Co. relating
o a deposit, and the fourth was an anonymous communication,
m cheap stationery from some one who was apparently not very
iterate—a woman most likely—written in a scrawling hand,

vhich read:

DEAR Sir—This is to warn you that your daughter Aileen is running
round with a man that she shouldn’t, Frank A. Cowperwood, the banker.
f you don’t believe it, watch the house at 931 North Tenth Street. Then
ou can see for yourself.

There was neither signature nor mark of any kind to indi-
ate from whence it might have come. Butler got the impression
trongly that it might have been written by some one living in
he vicinity of the number indicated. His intuitions were keen
it times. As a matter of fact, it was written by a girl, a member
f St. Timothy’s Church, who did live in the vicinity of the
louse indicated, and. who knew Aileen by sight andwas jealous
yf her airs and her position. She-was.a thin, anemic, dissatisfied
sreature who had the type of brain which can reconcile the
sratification of personal spite with a comforting sense of having
fulfilled a moral duty. Her home was some five doors north
209210 ree Pi NANCE R

 

of the unregistered Cowperwood domicile on the opposite side of
the street, and by degrees, in the course of time, she made out,
or imagined that she had, the significance of this institution,
piecing fact to fancy and fusing all with that keen intuition
which is so closely related to fact. The result was eventually
this letter which now spread clear and grim before Butler’s eyes.

The Irish are a philosophic as well as a practical race. Their
first and strongest impulse is to make the best of a bad situation
—to put a better face on evil than it normally wears. On first
reading these lines the intelligence they conveyed sent a pe-
culiar chill over Butler’s sturdy frame. His jaw instinctively
closed, and his gray eyes narrowed. Could this be true?. If it
were not, would the author of the letter say so practically, “If
you don’t believe it, watch the house at 931 North Tenth
Street”? Wasn’t that in itself proof positive—the hard, matter-
of-fact realism of it? And this was the man who had come to
him the night before seeking aid—whom he had done so much
to assist. “There forced itself into his naturally slow-moving but
rather accurate mind a sense of the distinction and charm of his
daughter—a considerably sharper picture than he had ever had
before, and at the same time a keener understanding of the
personality of Frank Algernon Cowperwood. How was it he
had failed to detect the real subtlety of this man? How was
it he had never seen any sign of it, if there had been anything
between Cowperwood and Aileen?

Parents are frequently inclined, because of a time-flattered
sense of security, to take their children for granted. Nothing
ever has happened, so nothing ever will happen. They see their
children every day, and through the eyes of affection; and
despite their natural charm and their own strong parental love,
the children are apt to become not only commonplaces, but
ineffably secure against evil. Mary is naturally a good girl—
a little wild, but what harm can befall her? John is a straight-
forward, steady-going boy—how could he get into trouble?
‘The astonishment of most parents at the sudden accidental revela-
tion of evil in connection with any of their children is almost
invariably pathetic. “My John! My Mary! Impossible!’
But it is possible. Very possible. Decidedly likely. Some,
through lack of experience or understanding, or both, grow
hard and bitter on the instant. They feel themselves astonish-Pek FENANC TIE K 211

ingly abased in the face of notable tenderness and sacrifice.
Others collapse before the grave-manifestation of the inseeurity
and_uncertainty—of—life—the. mystic chemistry~-ef-our~being.
Still others, taught roughly by life, or endowed with under-
standing or intuition, or both, see in this the latest manifestation
of that incomprehensible chemistry which we call life and per-
sonality, and, knowing that it is quite vain to hope to gainsay
it, save by greater subtlety, put the best face they can upon the
matter and call a truce until they can think. We all know that
life is unsolvable—we who think. "The remainder imagine a
vain thing, and are full of sound and fury signifying nothing.

So Edward Butler, being a man of much wit and hard, grim
experience, stood there on his doorstep holding in his big, rough
hand this thin slip of cheap paper which contained such a terrific
indictment of his daughter. There came to him now a picture
of her as she was when she was a very little girl—she was his
first baby girl—and how keenly he had felt about her all these
years. She had been a beautiful child—her red-gold hair had
been pillowed on his breast many a time, and his hard, rough
fingers had stroked her soft cheeks, lo, these thousands of times.
Aileen, his lovely, dashing daughter of twenty-three! He was
lost in dark, strange, unhappy speculations, without any present
ability to think or say or do the right thing. He did not know
what the right thing was, he finally confessed to himself. Aileen!
Aileen! His Aileen! If her mother knew this it would break
her heart. She mustn’t! She mustn’t! And yet mustn’t she?

The heart of a father! The world wanders into many
strange by-paths of affection. The love of a mother for her
children is dominant, leonine, selfish, and unselfish. It is concen-
tric. The love of a husband for his wife, or of a lover for his
sweetheart, is a sweet bond of agreement and exchange—fair
trade in a lovely contest. The love of a father for his son or
daughter, where it is love at all, is a broad, generous, sad, con-
templative giving without thought of return, a hail and farewell
to a troubled traveler whom he would do much to guard, a bal-
anced judgment of weakness and strength, with pity for failure
and pride in achievement. It is a lovely, generous, philosophic
blossom which rarely asks too much, and seeks only to give
wisely and plentifully. “That my boy may succeed! That my212 THEE OPT NAN CRE

daughter may be happy!” Who has not heard and dwelt upon
these twin fervors of fatherly wisdom and tenderness?

As Butler drove downtown his huge, slow-moving, in some
respects chaotic mind turned over as rapidly as he could all of
the possibilities in connection with this unexpected, sad, and
disturbing revelation. Why had Cowperwood not been satisfied
with his wife? Why should he enter into his (Butler’s) home,
of all places, to establish a clandestine relationship of this char-
acter? Was Aileen in any way to blame? She was not without
mental resources of her own. She must have known what she
was doing. She was a good Catholic, or, at least, had been raised
so. All these years she had been going regularly to confession and
communion. True, of late Butler had noticed that she did not
care so much about going to church, would sometimes make
excuses and stay at home on Sundays; but she had gone, as a
rule. And now, now—his thoughts would come to the end of
a blind alley, and then he would start back, as it were, mentally,
to the center of things, and begin all over again.

He went up the stairs to his own office slowly. He went in
and sat down, and thought and thought. ‘Ten o’clock came, and
eleven. His son bothered him with an occasional matter of
interest, but, finding him moody, finally abandoned him to his
own speculations. It was twelve, and then one, and he was
still sitting there thinking, when the presence of Cowperwood
was announced.

Cowperwood, on finding Butler not at home, and not encoun-
tering Aileen, had hurried up to the office of the Edward Butler
Contracting Company, which was also the center of some of But-
ler’s street-railway interests. The floor space controlled by the
company was divided into the usual official compartments, with
sections for the bookkeepers, the road-managers, the treasurer,
and so on. Owen Butler and his father had small but attrac-
tively furnished offices in the rear, where they transacted all the
important business of the company.

During this drive, curiously, ‘by reason of one of those strange
psychologic intuitions which so often precede a human difficulty
of one sort or another, he had been thinking of Aileen. He
was thinking of the peculiarity of his relationship with her, and
of the fact that now he was running to ker father for assistance.
As he mounted the stairs he had a peculiar sense of the unto-THE FINANCIER 213

ward; but he could not, in his view of life, give it countenance.
One glance at Butler showed him that something had gone amiss.
He was not so friendly; his glance was dark, and there was a
certain sternness to his countenance which had never previously
been manifested there in Cowperwood’s memory. He perceived
at once that here was something different from a mere intention
to refuse him aid and call his loan. What was it? Aileen?
It must be that. Somebody had suggested something. ‘They
had been seen together. Well, even so, nothing could be proved.
Butler would obtain no sign from him. But his loan—that was
to be called, surely. And as for an additional loan, he could
see now, before a word had been said, that that thought was
useless.

“T came to see you about that loan of yours, Mr. Butler,” he
observed, ‘briskly, with an old-time, jaunty air. You could not
have told from his manner or his face that he had observed any-
thing out of the ordinary.

Butler, who was alone in the room—Ovwen having gone into
an adjoining room—merely stared at him from under his shaggy
brows.

“T’1] have to have that money,” he said, brusquely, darkly.

An old-time Irish rage suddenly welled up in his bosom as
he contemplated this jaunty, sophisticated undoer of his daugh-
ter’s virtue. He fairly glared at him as he thought of him and
her.

“IT judged from the way things were going this morning that
you might want it,” Cowperwood replied, quietly, without sign
of tremor. ‘The bottom’s out, I see.”

“The bottom’s out, and it’ll not be put back soon, I’m thinkin’.
V’ll have to have what’s belongin’ to me to-day. I haven’t any
time to spare.”

“Very well,” replied Cowperwood, who saw clearly how
treacherous the situation was. “The old man was in a dour
mood. His presence was an irritation to him, for some reason
a deadly provocation. Cowperwood felt clearly that it must
be Aileen, that he must know or suspect something. He must pre-
tend business hurry and end this. “I’m sorry. I thought I
might get an extension; but that’s all right. I can get the
money, though. I'll send it right over.”

He turned and walked quickly to the door.

 

  

asst“214

  

ELE =P LN AVN er

 

Butler got up. He had thought to manage this differently,
He had thought to denounce or even assault this man. He was
about to make some insinuating remark which would compel ar
answer, some direct charge; but Cowperwood was out and away
as jaunty as ever.

The old man was flustered, enraged, disappointed. He opened
the small office door which led into the adjoining room, and
called, “Owen!”

“Yes, father.”

“Send over to Cowperwood’s office and get that money.”
“You decided to call it, eh?”

“‘T have.”

Owen was puzzled by the old man’s angry mood. He won-
dered what it all meant, but thought he and Cowperwood might
have had a few words. He went out to his desk to write a
note and call a clerk. Butler went to the window and stared
out. He was angry, bitter, brutal in his vein.

“The dirty dog!” he suddenly exclaimed to himself, in a low
voice. “I’ll take every dollar he’s got before I’m through with

him. Ill send him to jail, I will. ITIl break him, I will.

Wait!”

He clinched his big fists and his teeth.

mally cixe shim}:

scoundrel!”

TP’ll show him. The dog! The damned

Never in his life before had he been so bitter, so cruel, se
relentless in his mood.

He walked his office floor thinking what he could do. Ques-
tion Aileen—that was what he would do. If her face, or her
lips, told him that his suspicion was true, he would deal with
Cowperwood later. This city treasurer business, now. It was
not a crime in so far as Cowperwood was concerned; but it
might be made to be.

So now, telling the clerk to say to Owen that he had gone
down the street for a few moments, he boarded a street-car and!
rode out to his home, where he found his elder daughter just
getting ready to go out. She wore a purple-velvet street dress
edged with narrow, flat gilt braid, and a striking gold-and-

purple turban.

She had on dainty new boots of bronze kid and |

long gloves of lavender suede. In her ears was one of her latest

affectations, a pair of long jet earrings. The old Irishman:WHE EUN AN € IER 215

realized on this occasion, when he saw her, perhaps more clearly
than he ever had in his life, that he had grown a bird of rare
plumage.

“Where are you going, daughter?” he asked, with a rather
unsuccessful attempt to conceal his fear, distress, and smolder-
ing anger.

“To the library,” she said, easily, and yet with a sudden
realization that all was not right with her father. His face
was too heavy and gray. He looked tired and gloomy.

“Come up to my office a minute,” he said. “I want to see

,

you before you go.”

Aileen heard this with a strange feeling of curiosity and
wonder. It was not customary for her father to want to see
her in his office just when she was going out; and his manner
indicated, in this instance, that the exceptional procedure por-
tended a strange revelation of some kind. Aileen, like every
other person who offends against a rigid convention of the time,
was conscious of and sensitive to the possible disastrous results
which would follow exposure. She had often thought about
what her family would think if they knew what she was doing;
she had never been able to satisfy herself in her mind as to what
they would do. Her father was a very vigorous man. But
she had never known him to be cruel or cold in his attitude
toward her or any other member of the family, and especially
not toward her. Always he seemed too fond of her to be com-
pletely alienated by anything that might happen; yet she could
not be sure.

Butler led the way, planting his big feet solemnly on the steps
as he went up. Aileen followed with a single glance at herself
in the tall pier-mirror which stood in the hall, realizing at
once how charming she looked and how uncertain she was feel-
ing about what was to follow. What could her father want?
It made the color leave her cheeks for the moment, as she
thought what he might want.

Butler strolled into his stuffy room and sat down in the big
leather chair, disproportioned to everything else in the chamber,
but which, nevertheless, accompanied his desk. Before him,
against the light, was the visitor’s chair, in which he liked to
have those sit whose faces he was amxious to study. When216 THE FINANCIER

Aileen entered he motioned her to it, which was also ominous to
her, and said, “Sit down there.”

She took the seat, not knowing what to make of his procedure.
On the instant her promise to Cowperwood to deny everything,
whatever happened, came back to her. If her father was about
to attack her on that score, he would get no satisfaction, she
thought. She owed it to Frank. Her pretty face strengthened
and hardened on the instant. Her small, white teeth set them-
selves in two even rows; and her father saw quite plainly that
she was consciously bracing herself for an attack of some kind.
He feared by this that she was guilty, and he was all the more
distressed, ashamed, outraged, made wholly unhappy. He fum-
bled in the left-hand pocket of his coat and drew forth from
among the various papers the fatal communication so cheap in its
physical texture. His big fingers fumbled almost tremulously as
he fished the letter-sheet out of the small envelope and unfolded
it without saying a word. Aileen watched his face and his
hands, wondering what it could be that he had here. He
handed the paper over, small in his big fist, and said, “Read that.”

Aileen took it, and for a second was relieved to be able to
lower her eyes to the paper. Her relief vanished in a second,
when she realized how in a moment she would have to raise
them again and look him in the face.

Dear Sir—This is to warn you that your daughter Aileen is running
around with a man that she shouldn’t, Frank A. Cowperwood, the banker.
If you don’t believe it, watch the house at 931 North Tenth Street. Then

you can see for yourself.

In spite of herself the color fled from her cheeks instantly, only
to come back in a hot, defiant wave.

“Why, what a lie!” she said, lifting her eyes to her father’s.
“To think that any one should write such a thing of me! How
dare they! I think it’s a shame!”

Old Butler looked at her narrowly, solemnly. He was not
deceived to any extent by her bravado. If she were really
innocent, he knew she would have jumped to her feet in her
defiant way. Protest would have been written all over her.
As it was, she only stared haughtily. He read through her

eager defiance to the guilty truth.
“How do ye know, daughter, that I haven’t had the houseHE BUNANCIER 217

watched?” he said, quizzically. ‘How do ye know that ye
haven’t been seen goin’ in there?”

Only Aileen’s solemn promise to her lover could have saved
her from this subtle thrust. As it was, she paled nervously;
but she saw Frank Cowperwood, solemn and distinguished, ask-
ing her what she would say if she were caught.

“It’s a lie!” she said, catching her breath. “I wasn’t at any
house at that number, and no one saw me going in there. How
can you ask me that, father?”

In spite of his mixed feelings of uncertainty and yet unshak-
able belief that his daughter was guilty, he could not help ad-
miring her courage—she was-so-defiant, as she sat there, so set
in her determination to lie and thus defend herself. Her beauty
helped her-in his mood, raised her in his esteem. After all,
what could you do with a woman of this kind? She was not a
ten-year-old girl any more, as in a way he sometimes continued
to fancy her.

“Ye oughtn’t to say that if it isn’t true, Aileen,” he said.
“Ye oughtn’t to lie. It’s against your faith, Why would
anybody write a letter like that if it wasn’t so?”

“But it’s not so,” insisted Aileen, pretending anger and out-
raged feeling, “and I don’t think you have any right to sit
there and say that to me. I haven’t been there, and I’m not
running around with Mr. Cowperwood. Why, I hardly know
the man except in a social way.”

Butler shook his head solemnly.

“It’s a great blow to me, daughter. It’s a great blow to
me,” he said. “I’m willing to take your word if ye say so;
but I can’t help thinkin’ what a sad thing it would be if ye
were lyin’ to me. I haven’t had the house watched. I only
got this this mornin’. And what’s written here may not
be so. I hope it isn’t. But we'll not say any more about that
now. If there is anythin’ in it, and ye haven’t gone too far yet
to save yourself, I want ye to think of your mother and your
sister and your brothers, and be a good girl. ‘Think of the
church ye was raised in, and the name we’ve got to stand up
for in the world. Why, if ye were doin’ anything wrong, and
the people of Philadelphy got a hold of it, the city, big as it is,
wouldn’t be big enough to hold us. Your brothers have got a
reputation to make, their work to do here. You and your sister218 THE FINANCIER

Want to get married sometime. How could ye expect to look the
world in the face and do anythin’ at all if ye are doin’ what this
letter says ye are, and it was told about ye?”

The old man’s voice was thick with a strange, sad, alien
emotion. He did not want to believe that his daughter was
guilty, even though he knew she was. He did not want to face
what he considered in his vigorous, religious way to be his duty,
that_of reproaching her sternly. There were some fathers wha
would have turned her out, he fancied. There were others wha
might possibly kill Cowperwood after a subtle investigation,
(That course was not for him. If vengeance he was to have, it
must be through politics and finance—he must drive him out,
But as for doing anything desperate in connection with Aileen,
he could not think of it.

“Oh, father,” returned Aileen, with considerable histrionic
ability in her assumption of pettishness, “how can you talk like
this when you know I’m not guilty? When I tell you so?”

The old Irishman saw through her make-believe with profound
sadness—the feeling that one of his dearest hopes had been shat-
tered. He had expected so much of her socially and matri-
monially. Why, any one of a dozen remarkable young men
might, have married her, and she would have had lovely chil-
dren to comfort him in his old age.

“Well, we'll not talk any more about it now, daughter,” he
said, wearily. “Ye’ve been so much to me during all these years
that I can scarcely belave anythin’ wrong of ye. I don’t want
to, God knows. Ye’re a grown woman, though, now; and if ye
are doin’ anythin’ wrong I don’t suppose I could do so much to
stop ye. I might turn ye out, of course, as many a father would;
but I wouldn’t like to do anythin’ like that. But if ye are doin’
anythin’ wrong’—and he put up his hand to stop a proposed
protest on the part of Aileen—“remember, I’m certain to find it
out in the long run, and Philadelphy won’t be big enough to
hold me and the man that’s done this thing to me. I’ll get him,”
he said, getting up dramatically. “Ill get him, and when I
do—” He turned a livid face to the wall, and Aileen saw
clearly that Cowperwood, in addition to any other troubles
which might beset him, had her father to deal with. Was this
why Frank had looked so sternly at her the night before?
“Why, your mother would die of a broken heart if sheHit PINANCIER 219

hought there was anybody could say the least word against ye,”
yursued Butler, in a shaken voice. “This man has a family—a
vife and children. Ye oughtn’t to want to do anythin’ to hurt
hem. They'll have trouble enough, if I’m not mistaken—
‘acin’ what’s comin’ to them in the future,” and Butler’s jaw
jardened just a little. ‘“Ye’re a beautiful girl. Ye’re young.
Ye have money. ‘There’s dozens of young men’d be proud to
nake ye their wife. Whatever ye may-bethinkin’ or doin’, don’t
hrow away your life. Don’t destroy your immortal soul. Don’t
yreak my heart entirely.”

Aileen, not ungenerous—fool of mingled affection and pas-
ion—could now have cried. She pitied her father from her
veart; but her allegiance was to Cowperwood, her loyalty un-
haken. She wanted to say something, to protest much more;
ut she knew that it was useless. Her father knew that she was
lying.

“Well, there’s no use of my saying anything more, father,”
she said, getting up. “The light of day was fading in the win-
lows. The downstairs door closed with a light slam, indicat-
ing that one of the boys had come in. Her proposed trip to the
library was now without interest to her. “You won’t believe
me, anyhow. I tell you, though, that I’m innocent just the
same.”

Butler lifted his big, brown hand to command silence. She
saw that this shameful relationship, as far as her father was
concerned, had been made quite clear, and that this trying con-
ference was now at an end. She turned-and walked.shame-
facedly out. He waited until He heard her steps fading into
faint nothings down the hall toward her room.

Then he arose. Once more he clinched his big fists.

“The scoundrel!” he said. ‘The scoundrel! I'll drive him
out of Philadelphy, if it takes the last dollar I have in the
world,”CHAPTER XXVII

 

OR the first time in his life Cowperwood felt conscious of

having been in the presence of that interesting social phenom:
enon—the outraged sentiment of a parent. While he had no
absolute knowledge as to why Butler had been so enraged, he
felt that Aileen was the contributing cause. He himself was 2
father. His boy, Frank, Jr., was to him not so remarkable. But
little Lillian, with her dainty little slip of a body and bright-
aureoled head, had always appealed to him. She was going to be
a charming woman one day, he thought, and he was going to do
much to establish her safely. He used to tell her that she hae
“eyes like buttons,” ‘feet like a pussy-cat,” and hands that were
‘Gust five cents’ worth,” they were so little. The child admired
her father and would often stand by his chair in the library or
the sitting-room, or his desk in his private office, or by his seat
at the table, asking him questions.

This attitude toward his own daughter made him see clearly
how Butler might feel toward Aileen. He wondered how he
would feel if it were his own little Lillian, and still he did not
believe he would make much fuss over the matter, either with
himself or with her, if she were as old as Aileen. Children.and
their lives were more or less above the willing of parents, any-
how, and it would be a difficult thing for any parent to control
any child, unless the child were naturally docile-minded and
willing to be controlled.

It also made him smile, in a grim way, to. see how fate was
raining difficulties on him. ‘The Chicago fire, Stener’s early
absence, Butler, Mollenhauer and Simpson’s indifference tec
Stener’s fate and his. And now this probable revelation in con-
nection with Aileen. He could not be sure as yet, but his_in-
tuitive instincts told him that it must be something like this.
Now he was distressed as to what Aileen would do, say if sud-
denly she were confronted by her father. If he could only get
to her! But if he was to meet Butler’s call for his loan, and
the others which would come yet to-day or on the morrow,
220THE FINAN CTE R 221

there was not a moment to lose. If he did not pay he must
assign at once. Butler’s-rageAileen,his-own danger,_were
brushed aside for the moment. His mind concentrated wholly
on how to save himself financially.
He hurried to visit George Waterman; Davi
wife’s brother, who was now fairly well to «
man, the wealthy dry-goods dealer who had dealt with him in the
past; Judge Kitchen, a private manipulator of considerable
wealth: Frederick Van gs nd, the State treasurer, who was
1 others. Of all those
ition to do

ulating

 

interested in local street-railway stocks, and
to whom he appealed one was actu:
anything for him; another was af
eagerly to drive a hard bargain; a fourth was leliberate,

anxious to have much time. Al of his

 

situation, all wanted time to consider time to
consider. Judge Kitchen did agree to lend him thirty thousand
dollars paltry sum. Joseph Zimmerman would only risk

twenty-five thousand dollars. He could see where, al told, he
; :

 

 

might raise seventy-five thousand dollars by hypothecating double
the amount in share hi idiculously i icient. He
had figured again, 1 he n have least two
hundred and fifty e all presen ldings
or he must close his doors. To-morrow at two o’clock would
know. If he. didn’t he would be written down < failed” on
a score of ledgers in Philadelphia.

What a pretty pass for one to co to whose hopes had s

: :

j z : .
recently run so high! “There was a loan of one hundred thou-
o ¢ 1: 1 > . : pi ey x é gee
sand dollars from the Girard National Bank which he was

particularly anxious to clear off. “This bank was the m im-
portant in the city,,and if he retained its good will by meeting
this loan Boa he might hope for favors in th future
whatever happened. Yet, at the moment, he did not see how
he could do it. He decided, however, after som«e valeeeient

that he would deliver the stocks which Judge Kitchen,
Zimmerman, and others had agreed to take and get their checks
or cash yet this ts Then he would persuade Stener to let
him have a check for the sixty thousands dollars

loan he had purchased this morning on chatiees Out of it he
could take twenty-five thousand dollars to make up the balance

due the bank, and still have thirty-five thousand for himself.

x

N orth of cityTHE FINANCIER

The one unfortunate thing about such an arrangement was
that by doing it he was building up a rather complicated situation
in regard to these same certificates. Since their purchase in the
morning, he had not deposited them in the sinking-fund, where
they belonged (they had been delivered to his office by half past
one in the afternoon), but, on the contrary, had immediately
hypothecated them to cover another loan. It was a risky thing to
have done, considering that he was in danger of failing and that
he was not absolutely sure of being able to take them up in time.

But, he reasoned, he had-a~werking-agreement..with—the.city
treasurer (illegal of course), which would make such a transac-
tion rather plausible;-and-almost all right, even if he failed, and
that was that none of his accounts were supposed necessarily to be
put straight until the end of the month. If he failed, and the cer-
tificates were not in the sinking-fund, he could say, as was the
truth, that he was in the habit of taking his time, and had forgot-
ten. This collecting of a check, therefore, for these as yet un-
deposited certificates would be technically, if not legally and
morally, plausible. ‘The city would be out only an additional
sixty thousand dollars—making five hundred and sixty thousand
dollars all told, which in view of its probable loss of five hundred
thousand did not make so much difference. But his caution
clashed_with his need_on_this.occasion,.,and he decided that he
would not call for the check unless Stener finally refused to aid
him with three hundred thousand more, in which case he would
claim it as his right. In all likelihood Stener would not think to
ask whether the certificates were in the sinking-fund or not. If
he did, he would have to lie—that was-all.

He drove rapidly back to his office, and, finding Butler’s note,
as he expected, wrote a check on his father’s bank for the one
hundred thousand dollars which had been placed to his credit
by his loving parent, and sent it around to Butler’s office. ‘There
was another note, from Albert Stires, Stener’s secretary, advising
him not to buy or sell any more city loan—that until further
notice such transactions would not be honored. Cowperwood im-
mediately sensed the source of this warning. Stener had been in
conference with Butler or Mollenhauer, and had been warned
and frightened. Nevertheless, he got in his buggy again and
drove directly to the city treasurer’s office.

Since Cowperwood’s visit Stener had talked still more withTHE FINAN GIER 223

 

Sengstack, Strobik, and others, all sent to see that a proper
fear of things financial had been put in his heart. ‘The result
was decidedly one which spelled opposition to Cowperwood.
Strobik was considerably disturbed himself. He and Wycroft
and Harmon had also been using money out of the treasury—
much smaller sums, of course, for they had not Cowperwood’s
financial imagination—and were disturbed as to how they would
return what they owed before the storm broke. If Cowper-
wood failed, and Stener was short in his accounts, the whole
budget might be investigated, and then their loans would be
brought to light. The thing to do was to return what they
owed, and then, at least, no charge of malfeasance would lie
against them.

“Go to Mollenhauer,” Strobik had advised Stener, shortly
after Cowperwood had left the latter’s office, “and tell him the
whole story. He put you here. He was strong for your
nomination. ‘Tell him just where you stand and ask him what
to do. He'll probably be able to tell you. Offer him your
holdings to help you out. You have to. You can’t help your-
self. Don’t loan Cowperwood another damned dollar, whatever
you do. He’s got you in so deep now you can hardly hope to
get out. Ask Mollenhauer if he won’t help you to get Cowper-
wood to put that money back. He may be able to influence him.”

There was more in this conversation to the same effect, and
then Stener hurried as fast as his legs could carry him to Mollen-
hauer’s office. He was so frightened that he could scarcely
breathe, and he was quite ready to throw himself on his knees
before the big German-American financier and leader. Oh, if
Mr. Mollenhauer would only help him! If he could just get out
of this without going to jail!

“Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!” he repeated, over and
over to himself, as he walked. ‘What shall I do?”

The attitude of Henry A. Mollenhauer, grim, political boss
that he was—trained in a hard school—was precisely the attitude
of every such man in all such trying circumstances.

He was wondering, in view_of what Butler had told him,
just how much he could advantage himself in this Situation. If
he could; he-wantedto~get™ control” of whatever street-railway
stock Stener now had, without in any way compromising himself.
Stener’s shares could easily be transferred on ‘change through224. ih EE DINAN Ce HR

Mollenhauer’s brokers to a dummy, who would eventually
transfer them to himself (Mollenhauer). Stener must be
squeezed thoroughly, though, this afternoon, and as for his five
hundred thousand dollars’ indebtedness to the treasury, Mollen-
hauer did not see what could be done about that. If Cowper-
wood could not pay it, the city would have to lose it; but the
scandal must be hushed up until after election. Stener, unless the
various party leaders had more generosity than Mollenhauer
imagined, would have to suffer exposure, arrest, trial, confiscation
of his property, and possibly sentence to the penitentiary,
though this might easily be commuted by the governor, once
public excitement died down. - He did not trouble to think
whether Cowperwood was criminally involved-ornot. A hun-
dred to one he was not:~L-rust_a.shrewd man-hke that to take
care of himself. But if there-was-any way to Shoulder the blame
on to Cowperwood, and so clear the treasurer and the skirts of
the party, he would not object to that-< He wanted to hear the
full story of Stener’s relations with the broker first. Meanwhile,
the thing to do was to seize what Stener had to yield.

The troubled city treasurer, on being shown into Mr. Mollen-
hauer’s presence, at once sank feebly in a chair and collapsed.
He was entirely done for mentally. His nerve was gone, his
courage exhausted like a breath.

“Well, Mr. Stener?” queried Mr. Mollenhauer, impressively,
pretending not to know what brought him.

“I came about this matter of my loans to Mr. Cowperwood.”

“Well, what about them?”

“Well, he owes me, or the city treasury rather, five hundred
thousand dollars, and I understand that he is going to fail and
that he can’t pay it back.”

“Who told you that?”

“Mr. Sengstack, and since then Mr. Cowperwood has been
to see me. He tells me he must have more money or he will
fail and he wants to borrow three hundred thousand dollars
more. He says he must have it.”

“So!” said Mr. Mollenhauer, impressively, and with an air of
astonishment which he did not feel. “You would not think of
doing that, of course. You’re too badly involved as it is. If he
wants to know why, refer him to me. Don’t advance him an-
other dollar. If you do, and this case comes to trial, no courtHE FENANCIER 225

would have any mercy on you. It’s going to be difficult enough
to do anything for you as it is. However, if you don’t advance
him any more—we will see. It may be possible, I can’t say,
Nut at any rate, no more money must leave the treasury to
bolster up this bad business. It’s much too difficult as it now is.”
He stared at Stener warningly. And he, Acer and_sick, yet
because of the faint suggestion of mercy involved somewhere in
Mollenhauer’s remarks,

slipped from his chair to his knees
and folded his hands in the uplifted attitude of a devotee before

J

a sacred image.

“Oh, Mr. Mollenhauer,” he choked, beginning to cry, “I
didn’t mean to do anything wrong. Strobik and Wycroft told
me it was all right. You sent me to Cowperwood in the
first place. I only did what I thought the others had been doing.
Mr. Bode did it, just like I have been doing. He dealt with
‘Tighe and eno . I have a wife and four children, Mr.
Mollenhauer. My youngest boy is only seven years old. Think
of them, Mr. Molleshaver! Think of what my arrest will-mean
to-them! I don’t want to.go.to-jail._] aida t think I was doing
1onestly I.didn’t. I'll give up all I’ve got.

  

anything very wrong

 

You can have all my stocks and houses and lots—any
you'll only get me out of this. You won't let ’em send me _to
jail, will you?”

His fat, white lips were trembling—wabbling nervously—and
big hot tears were coursing

(
T
flushed cheeks. He presented

lown his previously pale but now

one of those almost unbelievable
pictures which are yet so intensely human™~and so true. If
only the great financial and political giants would for once
See reveal the details of their lives!

Mollenhauer looked at him calmly, meditatively. oi yw often
had he seen weaklings no more dishonest than hit , but with-
out his courage and subtlety, Bune to him a this fashion,
not on their knees exactly, but intellectually so! Life to him,
as to every other man of large practical knowledge and insight,
was an inexplicable tangle. What were you going to do about
the-so-called-morals and precepts of the world? This man Stener
fancied that he was dishonest, and that he, Mollenhauer, was

T
Aes o
self-convicted of sin, pleading to him,

honest. He was here, s
Mollenhauer, as he would to a righteous, unstained pane Asa

matter of fact, Mollenhauer knew that he was simply shrewder,226 GEHE EPINANCIEER

more far-seeing, more calculating, not less dishonest. Stener was
lacking in force and brains—not morals. This lack was‘his prin-
cipal crime. “There were people*who believed in some esoteric
standard of right—some ideal of conduct absolutely and very far
removed from practical life; but he had never seen them prac-
tice it save to their own financial (not moral—he would not say
that) destruction. “They were never significant, practical men
who clung to these fatuous ideals. They were always poor, non-
descript, negligible dreamers. He could not have made Stener
understand all this if he had wanted to, and he certainly did
not want to. It was too bad about Mrs. Stener and the little
Steners. No doubt she had worked hard, as had Stener, to get
up in the world and be something—just a little more than
miserably poor; and now this unfortunate complication had to
arise to undo them—this Chicago fire. What a curious thing
that was! If any one thing more than another made him doubt
the existence of a kindly, overruling Providence, it was the
unheralded storms out of clear skies—financial, social, anything
you choose—that so often brought ruin and disaster to so many.

“Get up, Stener,” he said, calmly, after a few moments. “You
mustn’t give way to your feelings like this. You must not cry.
‘These troubles are never unraveled by tears. You must do a
little thinking for yourself. Perhaps your situation isn’t so bad.”

As he was saying this Stener was putting himself back in his
chair, getting out his handkerchief, and sobbing hopelessly in it.

“T’ll do what I can, Stener. I won’t promise anything. I
can’t tell you what the result will be. ‘There are many peculiar
political forces in this city. I may not be able to save you, but
I am perfectly willing to try. You must=putyourself-abselutely
under my direction... You must not say or do .anything=without
first consulting with me. I will send my secretary to you from
time to time. He will tell you what to do. You must not come
to me unless I send for you. Do you understand that thor-
oughly ?”

“Yes, Mr. Mollenhauer.”

“Well, now, dry your eyes. I don’t want you to go out of this
office crying. Go back to your office, and I will send Sengstack
to see you. He will tell you what to do. Follow him exactly.
And whenever I send for you come at once.”

He got up, large, self-confident, reserved. Stener, buoyed upWhee Pi NAN © Lik 227

by ‘the subtle reassurance of his remarks, recovered to a degree
his equanimity. Mr. Mollenhauer, the great, powerful Mr.
Mollenhauer was going to help him out of his scrape. He might
not have to go to jail after all. He left after a few moments,
his face a little red from weeping, but otherwise free of telltale
marks, and returned to his office.

Three-quarters of an hour later, Sengstack called on him
for the second time that day—Abner Sengstack, small, dark-
faced, club-footed, a great sole of leather three inches thick
under his short, withered right leg, his slightly Slavic, highly
intelligent countenance burning with a pair of keen, pierc-

 
 

ing, inscrutable black eyes. Sengstack was a fit secretary for
Mollenhauer. You could see at one glance that he would
make Stener do exactly what Mollenhauer suggested. His
business was to induce Stener to part with his street-railway
holdings at once through Tighe & Co., Butler’s brokers, to the
political sub-agent who would eventuall; transfer them to Mol-
lenhauer. What little Stener received for them might well go
into the treasury. Tighe & Co. would manage the ~ ’change”’
subtleties of this without giving any one else a chance to bid,
while at the same time making it appear an open-market transac-
tion. At the same time Sengstack went carefully into the state
of the treasurer’s office for his master’s benefit—finding out what
it was that Strobik, Wycroft, and Harmon had been doing with
their loans. Via another source they were ordered to disgorge
at once or face prosecution. “They were a part of Mollenhauer’s
political machine. ‘Then, having cautioned Stener not to set
over the remainder of his property to any one, and not to listen
to any one, most of all to the Machiavellian counsel of Cowper-
avoods Sengstack left.

Needless to say, Mollenhauer was greatly gratified by this
turn of affairs. Cowperwood was now most likely in a position
where he would have to come and see him, or if not, a good
share of the properties he controlled were already in Mollen-
hauer’s possession. If by some hook or crook he could secure the
remainder, Simpson and Butler might well talk to him about
this street-railway business. His holdings were now as large as
any, if not quite the largest.CHAPTER XXVIII

 

T was in the face of this very altered situation that Cowper-

wood arrived at Stener’s office late this Monday afternoon.

Stener was quite alone, worried and distraught. He was
anxious to see Cowperwood, and at the same time afraid.

“George,” began Cowperwood, briskly, on seeing him, “I
haven’t much time to spare now, but I’ve come, finally, to tell
you that you'll have to let me have three hundred thousand more
if you don’t want me to fail. Things are looking very bad to-
day. They’ve caught me in a corner on my loans; but this storm
isn’t going to last. You can see by the very character of it that
itvcan't;;’

He was looking at Stener’s face, and seeing fear and a pained
and yet very‘ definite necessity for opposition written there.
“Chicago is burning, but it will be built up again. Business will
be all the better for it later on. Now, I want you to be reason-
able and help me. Don’t get frightened.” Stener stirred un-
easily. “Don’t let these politicians scare you to death. It will
all blow over in a few days, and then we'll be better off than
ever. Did you see Mollenhauer ?”’

Pees.

“Well, what did he have to say?”

“He said just what I thought he’d say. He won’t let me do
this. I can’t, Frank, I tell you!’ exclaimed Stener, jumping up.
He was so nervous that he had had a hard time keeping his seat
during this short, direct conversation. “I can’t! ‘They-ve got
me inacorner! “They’re after me! ‘They all know what we’ve
been doing. Oh, say, Frank’—he threw up his arms wildly—
“vou’ve got to get me out of this. You’ve got to let me have
that five hundred thousand back and get me out of this. If you
don’t, and you should fail, they'll send me to the penitentiary.
I’ve got a wife and four children, Frank. I can’t go on in this.
It’s too big for me.—denever*should»have-gone.in on it in the first
place. JI never would haye if you hadn’t persuaded me, ina
way. I neverethought when I began that I would ever get in as
bad as all this. I can’t goon; Frank. I can’t! I’m willing you
228Tike EINAN CIE R 229

 

should have all nay stock. Only give me back that five hundred
thousand, and we’ll call it even.’ His voice rose nervously as

he talked, and he wiped his wet forehead with his hand and
stared at Cowpervrood pleadingly, foolishly.

Cowperwood stared at him in return for a few moments with
a cold, fishy eye. He knew-a-great deal-about human.nature, and
he was ready for and expectant of any queer shift in an indi-
vidual’s attitude, particularly in time of panic; but this shift of
Stener’s Was quite too'much. “Whom else have you been talking
to, George, since I saw you? Whom have you seen? What did

 

Sengstack have to say?”

“He says just what Mollenhauer does, that I mustn’t loan any
more money under any circumstances, and he says I ought to get
that five hundred thousand back as quickly as possible.”

“And you think Mollenhauer wants to help you, do you?”
inquired Cowperwood, finding it hard to efface the contempt
which kept forcing itself into his voice.

“I think he does, yes. I don’t know who else will, Frank,’ if
he don’t. He’s one of the big political forces in this town.”

“Listen to me,” began Cowperwood, eyeing him fixedly. Then
he paused. ‘What did he say you should do about your hold-

eae
ings:

“Sell them through Tighe & Company and put the money
back in the treasury, if you won’t take them.”

“Sell them to whom?” asked Cowperwood, thinking of
Stener’s last words.

“To any one on ’change who'll take them, I suppose. I d n't
know.”

“T thought so,” said Cowperwood, comprehendingly. “I might
have known as much. They’re working you, George. They're
simply trying to get your stocks away trom you. Mollenhauer
is leading you on. He knows I can’t do what you want—give
you back the five hundred thousand dollars. He wants you to
throw your stocks on the market so tha
Depend on it, that’s all arranged for already.
he’s got me in his clutches, or he thinks he has
and Simpson. They want to get together on this local street-
I’ve felt it coming

out
‘

t he can pick them up.
When. you do}

he and Butler

 

railway situation, and I know it, I feel it.
all along. Mollenhauer hasn’t any more intention of helping
you than he has of flying. Once you've sold your stocks he’sTHE FINANCIER

through with you—mark my word. Do you ‘hink he’ll turn a
hand to keep you out of the penitentiary once you’re out of this
street-railway situation? He will not. And if you think so,
you're a bigger fool than I take you to be, George. Don’t go
crazy. Don’t lose your head. Be sensible. ' Look the situation
in the face. Let me explain-itto~you. If you don’t help me
now—if you don’t let me have three hundred thousand dollars
by to-morrow noon, at the very latest, I’m through, and so are
you. There is not a thing the matter with our_situation.—Fhose
stocks of ours are as good to-day_as-they ever were. _Why;great
heavens, man, the railways are there behind them.__They’re pay-
ing. “The Seventeenth and Nineteenth Street line is earning one
thousand dollars a day right now. What-better evidence do. you
want than that? Green & Coates is earning five hundred dol-
lars. You’re frightened, George. These damned political
schemers have scared you. Why, you’ve as good a right to loan
that money as Bode and Murtagh had before you. They did it.
You’ve been doing it for Mollenhauer and the others, only so long
as you do it for them it’s all right. What’s a designated city
depository but a loan?”

Cowperwood was referring to the system under which certain
portions of city money, like the sinking-fund, were permitted to
be kept in certain banks at a low rate of interest or no rate—
banks in which Mollenhauer and Butler and Simpson were in-
terested. This_was their safe graft.

“Don’t throw your.chances_away, George. Don’t quit now.
You'll be worth millions in a few years; -and-you-worrt have to
turn a hand. All you will have to do will be to keep what you
have. If you don’t help me, mark my word, they’ll throw you
over the moment I’m out of this, and they'll let you go to the
penitentiary. Who’s going to put up five hundred thousand dol-
lars for you, George? Where is Mollenhauer going to get it,
or Butler, or anybody, in these times? “They can’t. They don’t
intend to. When I’m through, you’re through, and you'll be
exposed quicker than any one else. “They can’t hurt me, George.
I’m an agent. I didn’t ask you to come to me.-You came to
me in the first place of your own accord. If you don’t help me,
you're through, I tell you, and you’re going to be sent to the
penitentiary as sure as there are jails. Why don’t you take a
stand, George? Why don’t you stand your ground? You haveTHE FINANCIER 231

your wife and children to look after. You can’t be any worse
off loaning me three hundred thousand more than you are right
now. What difference does it make—five hundred thousand or
eight hundred thcusand? It’s all one and the same thing, if
you’re going to be tried for it. Besides,ifyou-loan me this, there
isn’t_going to be any trial. I’m not going to fail. This storm
will blow over in-a—week.or_ten-days;-and—we II be rich again.
For Heaven's~sake, George, don’t go to-pieces this way! Be
sensible! Be reasonable!”

He paused, for Stener’s face had become a jelly-like mass of
woe.

“T can’t, Frank,” he wailed. “I tell you I can’t. They'll
punish me worse than ever if I do that. They'll never let up
on me. You don’t know these people.”

In Stener’s crumpling weakness Cowperwood read his own
fate. What could you do with a man like that? How brace
him up? You couldn’t! And with a gesture of infinite under-
standing, disgust, noble indifference, he threw up his hands and
started to walk out. At the door he turned.

“George,” he said, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for you, not for
myself. I’ll come out of things all right, eventually. [Il be
rich. But, George, you’re making the one great mistake of your
life. You'll be poor; you'll be a convict, and you'll have only
‘yourself to blame. ‘There isn’t a thing the matter with this
money situation except the fire. There isn’t a thing wrong
with my affairs except this slump in stocks—this panic. You
sit there, a fortune in your hands, and you allow a lot of schemers,
highbinders, who don’t know any more of your affairs or mine
than a rabbit, and who haven’t any interest in you except to
plan what they can get out of you, to frighten you and prevent
you from doing the one thing that will save-your-life. Three
hundred thousand paltry dollars that in three or four weeks from
now I can pay back to you four and five times over, and for
that you will see me go broke and yourself to the penitentiary.
I can’t understand it, George. You’re out of your mind.
You're going to rue this the longest day that you live.”

He waited a few moments to see if this, by any twist of
chance, would have any effect; then, noting that Stener still
remained a wilted, helpless mass of nothing, he shook his head
gloomily and walked out.THE FINANCIER

It was the first time in his life that Cowperwood had ever
shown the least sign of weakening or despair. He had felt all
along as though there were nothing to the Greek theory of being
pursued by the furies. Now, however, there s¢emed an untoward
fate which was pursuing him. It looked that way. Still, fate
or no fate, he did not propose to be daunted. Even in this very
beginning of a tendency to feel despondent he threw back his
head, expanded his chest, and walked as briskly as ever.

In the large room outside Stener’s private office he encoun-
tered Albert Stires, Stener’s chief clerk and secretary. He and
Albert had exchanged many friendly greetings in times ie and
all the little minor transactions in regard to city loan had been
discussed between them, for Albert knew more of the intricacies
of finance and financial bookkeeping than Stener would ever
know.

At the sight of Stires the thought in regard to the sixty thou-
sand dollars’ worth of city loan certificates, previously referred to,
flashed suddenly through his mind. He had not deposited them in
the sinking-fund, and did not intend to for the present—could not,
unless considerable free money were to reach him shortly
had used them to satisfy other pressing demands, and had no free
money to buy them back—or, in other words, release them. And
he did not want to just at this moment. Under the law govern-
ing transactions of this kind with the city treasurer, he was
supposed to deposit them at once to the credit of the city, and
not to draw his pay therefor from the city treasurer until he had.
To be very exact, the city treasurer, under the law, was not
supposed to pay him for any transaction of this kind until he or
his agents presented a voucher from the bank or other organiza-
tion carrying the sinking-fund for the city showing that the
certificates so purchased had actually been deposited there.
As a matter of fact, under the custom which had grown
up between him and Stener, the law had long been ig-
nored in this respect. He could buy certificates of city loan for
the sinking-fund up to any reasonable amount, hypothecate them
where he pleased, and draw his pay from the city without present-
ing a voucher. At the end of the month sufficient certificates of
city loan could usually be gathered from one source’ and another
to make up the deficiency, or the deficiency could actually beTILE, FINANCIER 233

ignored, as had been done on more than one ey for long
periods of time, while he used money secured by hypothecating
the shares for speculative purposes. This_was_actually illegal;
but neither Cowperwood nor Stoner saw it in that light or cared.
The trouble with this particular transaction was the note that
he had received from Stener ordering him to stop both buying
and selling, which put his relations with the city treasury on a
very formal basis. He had bought these certificates before re-
ceiving this note, but had not deposited them. He was going
now to collect his check; but perhaps the old, easy system of
balancing matters at the end of the month might not be said to
obtain any longer. Stires might ask him to present a voucher of
deposit. If so, he could not now get this check for sixty thou-
sand dollars, for he did not have the certificates to deposit. If
not, he mene get the money; but, also, it might constitute the
basis of some subsequent legal action. If he did not eventually
deposit the certificates before failure, some charge such as that
of larceny might be brought against him. Still, he said to him-
self, he might not really fail even yet. If any of his banking
associates should, for any reason, modify their decision in regard
to calling his loans, he would not. Would Stener make a row
about this if he so secured this check? Would the city officials
pay any attention to him if he did? Could you get any district
attorney to take cognizance of such a transaction, if Stener did
complain? No, not in all likelihood; and, anyhow, nothing
would come of it. No jury wotld-punish-him-in-the face of the
understanding ™~existing—between hi
broker and principal. And, once he had™the money, it was a

im and Stener~as agent or
hundred to one Stener would think no more about it. It would
zo in among the various unsatisfied liabilities, and nothing more
would be thought about it. Like lightning the entire situation
flashed through his mind. He would risk it. He stopped béfore
the chief clerk’s desk. ore

“Albert,” he said, in a low voice, “I bought sixty thousand
dollars’ worth of city loan for the sinking-fund this morning.
Will you give my boy a check for it in the morning, or, better
yet, will you give it to me now? I got your note about no
more purchases. I’m going back to the office. You can just
credit the sinking-fund with eight hundred certificates at from

seventy-five to eighty. I’ll send you the itemized list later.”fie Ei N AN Geir

“Certainly, Mr. Cowperwood, certainly,” replied Albert, with
alacrity. ‘Stocks are getting an awful knock, aren't they? &
hope you’re not very much troubled by it?”

“Not very, Albert,” replied Cowperwood, smiling, the while
the chief clerk was making out his check. He was wondering
if by any chance Stener would appear and attempt to interfere
with this. It was-a-legal_transaction. He had a right to the
check provided he deposited the certificates, as was his custom,
with the trustee of the fund. He waited tensely while Albert
wrote, and finally, with the check actually in his hand, breathed
a sigh of relief. Here, at least, was sixty thousand dollars, and
to-night’s work would enable him to cash the seventy-five thou-
sand that had been promised him. To-morrow, once more he must
see Leigh, Kitchen, Jay Cooke & Co., Edward Clark & Co.—all
the long list of people to whom he owed loans—and find out what
could be done. If he could only get time! If he-could-get just
a week!CHAPTER XXIX

UT time-was-not.a thing to-be-had in this emergency. With

the seventy-five thousand dollars his friends had extended
to him, and sixty thousand dollars secured from Stires, Cowper-
wood met the Girard call and placed the balance, thirty-five
thousand dollars, in a private safe in his own home. He then
made a final appeal to the bankers and financiers, but they re-
fused to help him. He did not, however, commiserate himself
in this hour... He looked out of his office window into the little
court, and sighed. What more could he-do? He sent a note to
his father, asking him to call for lunch. He sent a note to his
lawyer, Harper Steger, a man of his own age whom he liked very
much, and asked him to call also. He evolved in his own mind
various plans of delay, addresses to creditors and the like, but
alas! he was going to fail. And the worst of it was that this
matter of the city treasurer’s loans was bound to become a public,
and more than a public, a political, scandal. And the charge of
conniving, if not illegally, at least morally, at the misuse of the
city’s money was the one thing that would hurt him most.
How industriously his rivals would advertise this fact! He
might get on his feet again if he failed; but it would be uphill
work. And his father! His father would be pulled down with
him. It was probable that he would be forced out of the
presidency of his bank. With these thoughts Cowperwood sat
there waiting. As he did so Aileen Butler was announced by
his office-boy, and at the same time Albert Stires.

“Show in Miss Butler,” he said, getting up. “Tell Mr. Stires
to wait.” Aileen came briskly, vigorously in, her beautiful body
clothed as decoratively as ever. ‘The street suit that she wore
was of a light golden-brown broadcloth, faceted with small, dark-
red buttons. Her head was decorated with a brownish-red shako
of a type she had learned was becoming to her, brimless and
with a trailing plume, and her throat was graced by a three-
strand necklace of gold beads. Her hands were smoothly gloved
as usual, and her little feet daintily shod. ‘There was a look
235236 THE FINANCIER

of girlish distress in her eyes, which, however, she was trying
hard to conceal.

“Honey,” she exclaimed, on seeing him, her arms extended—
‘“\vhat is the trouble? I wanted so much to ask you the other
night. You're not going to fail, are you? I heard father and
Owen talking about you last night.”

‘What did they say?” he inquired, putting his arm around her
and looking quietly into her nervous eyes.

“Oh, you know, I think papa is very angry with you. He
suspects. Some one sent him an anonymous letter. He tried to
get it out of me last night, but he didn’t succeed. I denied
everything. I was in here twice this morning to see you, but
you were out. I was so afraid that he might see you first, and
that you might say something.”

“Me, Aileen?”

“Well, no, not exactly. I didn’t think that. I don’t know
what I thought. Oh, honey, I’ve been so worried. You know,
I didn’t sleep at all. I’thought-I-was stronger~-than that; but
I was so worried about you. You know, he put me in a strong
light by his desk, where he could see my face, and then he showed
me the letter. I was so astonished for a moment I hardly know
what I said or how I looked.”

“What did you say?”

“Why, I said: ‘What a shame! It isn’t so!’ But I didn’t
say it right away. My heart was going like a trip-hammer.
I’m afraid he must have been able to tell something from my
face. I could hardly get my breath.”

“He’s a shrewd man, your father,’ he commented. “He
knows something about life. Now you see how difficult these
situations are. It’s a blessing he decided to show you the letter
instead of watching the house. I suppose he felt too bad to da
that. He can’t prove anything now. But he knows. You can’t
deceive him.”

“How do you know he knows?”

“T saw him yesterday.”

“Did he talk to you about it?”

“No: I saw his face. He simply looked at me.”

“Honey! I’m so sorry for him!”

“T know you are. SoamI. But it can’t be helped now. Wei}
should have thought of that in the first place.”LHe FINAN CTE R 237

“But I love you so. Oh, honey, he will never forgive me.
He loves me so. He mustn’t know. I won’t admit anything.
But, oh, dear!”

She put her hands tightly together on his bosom, and he looked
consolingly into her eyes. Her eyelids, were trembling,—and her
lips. She was sorry for her father, herself, Cowperwood.
Through her he could sense the force of Butler’s parental af-
fection; the volume and danger of his rage. “There were so
many, many things as he saw it now converging to make a

 

dramatic dénouement.

“Never mind,” he replied; “it can’t be helped now. Where is
my strong, determined Aileen? I thought you were going to be
so brave? Aren’t you going to be? I need to have you that way
now.”

“Do you?”

Yes. |

“Are you in trouble?”

“T think I am going to fail, dear.”

“Oh;-not”

“Yes~honey.-_I’m_at_the end of my rope.I-don’t see any
way out just-at-present. I’ve sent for my father and my lawyer.
You mustn’t stay here, sweet. Your father may come in here
at any time. We must meet somewhere—to-morrow, say
—to-morrow afternoon. You remember Indian Rock, out on
the Wissahickon?”

‘Mes:

“Could you be there at four?”

HALES: :

“Took out for who’s following. If I’m not there by four-
thirty, don’t wait. You know why. It will be because I think
some one is watching. There won’t be, though, if we work it
right. And now you must run, sweet. We can’t use Nine-thirty-
one any more. I’ll have to rent another place somewhere else.”

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.”

“Aren’t you going to be strong and brave? You see, I need
you to be.”

He was-almost, for the first time, a little sad in his mood.

“Yes, dear, yes,” she declared, slipping her arms under his
and pulling him tight. “Oh, yes! You can depend on me, Oh,
Frank, I love you so! I’m so sorry. Oh, I do hope you don’t238 THE FINANCIER

fail! But it doesn’t make any difference, dear, between you and
me, whatever happens, does it? We will love each other just
the same. I’ll do anything for you, honey! I'll do anything
you say. You can trust me. They sha’n’t know anything from
me.”

She looked at his still, pale face, and a sudden strong de-
termination to fight for him welled up in her heart. Her love
was unjust, illegal, outlawed; but it was love, just the same,
and had much of the fiery daring of the outcast from justice.

“T love you! I love you! I love you, Frank!” she declared.

He unloosed her hands.

“Run, sweet. To-morrow at four. Don’t fail. And don’t
talk. And don’t admit anything, whatever you do.”

“IT won't.”

“And don’t worry about me. I'll be all right.”

He barely had time to straighten his tie, to assume a non-
chalant attitude by the window, when in hurried Stener’s chief
clerk—pale, disturbed, obviously out of key with himself.

“Mr. Cowperwood! You know that check I gave you last
night? Mr. Stener says it’s illegal, that I shouldn’t have given
it to you, that he will hold me responsible. He says I can be
arrested for compounding a felony, and that he will discharge
me and have me sent to prison if I don’t get it back. Oh, Mr.
Cowperwood, I am only a young man! I’m just really starting
out in life. I’ve got my wife and little boy to look after. You
won’t let him do that to me? You'll give me that check back,
won’t you? I can’t go back to the office without it. He says
you're going to fail, and that you knew it, and that you haven’t
any right to it.”

Cowperwood looked at him curiously. He was surprised at
the variety and character of these emissaries of disaster. Surely,
when troubles chose to multiply they had great skill in pre-
senting themselves in rapid order. Stener had no right to make
any such statement. The transaction was not illegal. The man
had gone wild. ‘True, he, Cowperwood, had received an order
after these securities were bought not to buy or sell any more
city loan, but that did not invalidate previous purchases. Stener
was browbeating and frightening his poor underling, a better man
than himself, in order to get back this sixty-thousand-dollar
check. What a petty creature he was! How true it was, asTHE’ FENAN CTE R 239

somebody had remarked, that you could not possibly measure the
petty meannesses to which a fool could stoop!

“You go back to Mr. Stener, Albert, and tell him that it can’t
be done. The certificates of loan were purchased before his order
arrived, and the records of the exchange will prove it. ‘There
is no illegality here. I am entitled to that check and could have
collected it in any qualified court of law. ‘The man has gone
out of his head. I haven’t failed yet. You are not in any danger
of any legal proceedings; and if you are, I’ll help defend you.
I can’t give you the check back because I haven’t it to give; and
if I had, I wouldn’t. That would be allowing a fool to make a
fool of me. I’m sorry, very, but I can’t do anything for you.”

“Oh, Mr. Cowperwood!” Tears were in Stires’s eyes. “He'll
discharge me! He’ll forfeit my sureties. I'll be turned out into
the street. I have only a little property of my own—outside of
my salary!”

He wrung his hands, and Cowperwood shook his head sadly.

“This isn’t as bad as you think, Albert. He won’t do what he
says. He can’t. It’s unfair and illegal. You can bring suit
and recover your salary. I’ll help you in that as much as I’m
able. But I can’t give you back this sixty-thousand-dollar check,
wecause I haven’t it to give. I couldn’t if I wanted to. It isn’t
here any more. I’ve paid for the securities I bought with it.
The securities are not here. ‘They’re in the sinking-fund, or
will be.”

He paused, wishing he had not mentioned that fact. It was
a slip of the tongue, one of the few he ever made, due to the
peculiar pressure of the situation. Stires pleaded longer. It was
no use, Cowperwood—told him. Finally he went away, crest-
fallen, fearsome, broken. ‘There were tears of suffering in his
eyes. Cowperwood was very sorry.

And then his father was announced.

The elder Cowperwood brought a haggard face. He and
Frank had had a long conversation the evening before, lasting
until early morning, but it had not been productive of much
save uncertainty.

“Hello, father!’ exclaimed Cowperwood, cheerfully, noting
his father’s gloom. He was satisfied that there was scarcely a
coal of hope to be raked out of these ashes of despair, but there
was no use admitting it.240 THE FINANCIER

“Well?” said his father, lifting his sad eyes in a peculiar
way.

“Well, it looks like stormy weather, doesn’t it? I’ve decided
to call a meeting of my creditors, father, and ask for time.
There isn’t anything else to do. I can’t realize enough on any-
thing to make it worth while talking about. I thought Stener
might change his mind, but he’s worse rather than better. His
head bookkeeper just went out of here.”

“What did he want?” asked Henry Cowperwood.

“Fe wanted me to give him back a check for sixty thousand
that he paid me for some city loan I bought yesterday morning.”
Frank did not explain to his father, however, that he had
hypothecated the certificates this check had paid for, and used the
check itself to raise money enough to pay the Girard National
Bank and to give himself thirty-five thousand in cash besides.

“Well, I declare!’ replied the old man. “You'd think he’d
have better sense than that. That’s a perfectly legitimate
transaction. When did you say he notified you not to buy city
loan ?”

“Yesterday noon.”

“FHe’s out of his mind,” Cowperwood, Sr., commented, lacon-
ically.

“Tt’s Mollenhauer and Simpson and Butler, I know. They
want my street-railway lines. Well, they won’t get them.
They'll get them through a receivership, and after the panic’s
all over. Our creditors will have first chance at these. If
they buy, they’ll buy from them. If it weren’t for that five-
hundred-thousand-dollar loan I wouldn’t think a thing of this.
My creditors would sustain me nicely... But. the-moment-that
gets-noised around! ... And this election! I hypothecated
those city loan certificates because I didn’t want to get on the
wrong side of Davison. I expected to take in enough by now
to take them up. They ought to be in the sinking-fund, really.’

The old gentleman saw the point at once, and winced.

“They might cause you trouble there, Frank.”

“‘Tt’s a technical question,” replied his son. “I might have been
intending to take them up. As a matter of fact, I will if I cam
before three. I’ve been taking eight and ten days to deposit them}
in the past. In a storm like this ’m entitled to move my pawns!
as best I can.”HE, BINANCIER 241

Cowperwood, the father, put his hand over his mouth again.
He felt very disturbed about this. He saw no way out, how-
ever. He was at the end of his own resources. He felt the
side-whiskers on his left cheek. He looked out of the window
into the little green court. Possibly it was a technical question,
who should say. The financial relations of the city treasury
with other brokers before Frank had been very lax. Every
banker knew that. Perhaps precedent would or should govern
in this case. He could not say. Still, it was dangerous—not
straight. If Frank could get them out and deposit them it
would be so much better.

“Td take them up if I were you and I could,” he added.

elewillit sl cant?

“How much money have you?”

“Oh, twenty thousand, all told. If I suspend, though, I’ll
have to have a little ready cash.”

“I have eight or ten thousand, or will have by night, I hope.”

He was thinking of some one who would give him a second
mortgage on his house.

Cowperwood looked quietly at him. There was nothing more
to be said to his father. “I’m going to make one more appeal
to Stener after you leave here,” he said. “I’m going over there
with Harper Steger when he comes. If he won’t change I’ll
send out notice to my creditors, and notify the secretary of the
exchange. I want you to keep a stiff upper lip, whatever
happens. I know you will, though. I’m going into the thing
head down. If Stener had any sense—”’ He paused. “But
what’s the use talking about a damn fool ?”

He turned to the window, thinking of how easy it would have
been, if Aileen and he had not been exposed by this anonymous
note, to have arranged all with Butler. Rather than injure the
party, Butler, in extremis, would have assisted him. Now... !

His father got up to go. He was as stiff with despair as
though he were suffering from cold.

“Well,” he said, wearily.

Cowperwood suffered intensely for him. What a shame! His
father! He felt a great surge of sorrow sweep over him but
a moment later mastered it, and settled to his quick, defiant
thinking. As the old man went out, Harper Steger was brought
in. They shook hands, and at once started for Stener’s office.THE FINANCTER

But Stener had sunk in on himself like an empty gas-bag, and no
efforts were sufficient to inflate him. ‘They went out, finally.
defeated.

“TI tell you, Frank,” said Steger, “I wouldn’t worry. We can
tie this thing up legally until election and after, and that will
give all this row a chance to die down. Then you can get your
people together and talk sense to them. They’re not going to
give up good properties like this, even if Stener does go to jails

Steger did not know of the sixty thousand dollars’ worth of
hypothecated securities as yet. Neither did he know of Aileen
Butler and_her father’s-boundless rage.CHAPTER XXX

HERE was one development in connection with all of

this_ofwhich Cowperwood -was~as—yet_unaware. ‘The
same day that brought Edward Butler the anonymous communi-
cation in regard to his daughter, brought almost a duplicate of
it to Mrs. Frank Algernon Cowperwood, only in this case the
name of Aileen Butler had curiously been omitted.

Perhaps you don’t know that your husband is running with another
woman. If you don’t believe it, watch the house at 931 North Tenth

Street.

Mrs. Cowperwood was in the conservatory watering some
plants when this letter was brought by her maid Monday morn-
ing. She was most placid in her thoughts, for she did not
know what all the conferring of the night before meant. Frank
was occasionally troubled by financial storms, but they did not
seem to harm him.

“Tay it on the table in the library, Annie. I'll get it.

She thought it was some social note.

In a little while (such was her deliberate way), she put down
her sprinkling-pot and went into the library. There it was
lying on the green leather sheepskin which constituted a part
of the ornamentation of the large library table. She picked it
up, glanced at it curiously because it was on cheap paper, and
then opened it. Her face paled slightly as she read it; and
then her hand trembled—not much. Hers.was not a soul that
ever loved. passionately, hence she could not suffer passionately.
She was hurt, disgusted, enraged for the moment, and. fright-
ened; but she was not broken in spirit entirely. “Thirteen years
of life with Frank Cowperwood had taught her a number of
things. He was selfish, she knew now, self-centered, and not as
much charmed by her as he had been. The fear she had
originally felt as to the effect of her preponderance of years
had been to some extent justified by the lapse of time. Frank
did not love her as he had—he had not for some time; she
243

”THE FINANCIER

had felt it. What was it?—she had asked herself at times—
almost, who was it? Business was engrossing him so. Finance
was his master. Did this mean the end of her régime, she
queried. Would he cast her off? Where would she go? What
would she do? She was not helpless, of course, for she had
money of her own which he was manipulating for her. Who
was this other woman? Was she young, beautiful, of any social
position? Was it—? Suddenly she stopped. Was it? Could
it be, by any chance—her mouth opened Aileen Butler?

She stood still, staring at this letter, for she could scarcely
countenance her own-thought. She had observed often, in spite
of all their caution, how friendly Aileen had been to him and
he to her. He liked her; he never lost a chance to defend her.
Lillian had thought of them at times as being curiously suited
to each other temperamentally. He liked young people. But,
of course, he was married, and Aileen was infinitely beneath him
socially, and he had two children and herself. And. his-social
and financial position was so fixed and stable that he did not
dare trifle with it. Still she paused; for forty years and two
children, and some slight wrinkles, and the suspicion that we
may be no longer loved as we once were, is apt to make any
woman pause, even in the face of the most significant financial
position. Where would she go if she left him? What would
people think? What about the children? Could she prove this
liaison? Could she entrap him in a compromising situation?
Did she want to?

She saw now that she did not love him as some women
love their husbands. She was not wild about him. In a way
she had been taking him for granted all these years, had
thought that he loved her enough not to be unfaithful to her;
at least fancied that he was so engrossed with the more serious
things of life that no petty liaison such as this letter indicated
would trouble him or interrupt his great career. Apparently
this was not true. What should she do? What say? How act?
Her none too brilliant mind was not of much service in this
crisis. She did not know very well how either to plan or to
fight.

The conventional mind is at best a petty piece of machinery.
It is oyster-like in its functioning, or, perhaps better, clam-like.
It has its little siphon of thought-processes forced up or downTHE ELTNAN Cli R 245

into the mighty ocean of fact and circumstance; but it uses so
little, pumps so faintly, that the immediate contiguity of the
rvast mass is not disturbed. Nothing of the subtlety of life is
perceived. No least inkling of its storms or terrors is ever dis-
covered except through accident. When some crude, suggestive’
fact, such as this letter proved to be, suddenly manifests itself in
the placid flow of events, there is great agony or disturbance
and clogging of the so-called normal processes. ‘The siphon does
not work right. It sucks in fear and distress. “There is great
grinding of maladjusted parts—not unlike sand in a machine—
and life, as is so often the case, ceases or goes lamely ever after.

Mrs. Cowperwood was possessed of a conventional mind. She
really knew nothing about life. And life could not teach her.
Reaction in her from salty thought-processes was not possible.
She was not alive in the sense that Aileen Butler was, and yet
she thought that she was very much alive. All illusion. She
wasn’t. She was charming if you loved placidity. If you did
not, she was not. She was not engaging, brilliant, or forceful.
Frank Cowperwood might well have asked himself in the be-
ginning why he married her. He did not do so now because
he did not believe it was wise to question the past as to one’s
failures and errors. It was, according to him, most unwise to
regret. He kept his face and thoughts to the future.

But Mrs. Cowperwood was truly distressed in her way, and
she went about the house thinking, feeling wretchedly. She
decided, since the letter asked her to see for herself, to wait.
She must think how she would watch this house, if at all.
Frank must not know. If it were Aileen Butler by any chance
—but surely not—she thought she would expose her to her
parents. Still, that meant exposing herself. She determined
to conceal her mood as best she could at dinner-time—but Cow-
perwood was not able to be there. He was so rushed, so closeted
with individuals, so closely in conference with his father and
others, that she scarcely saw him this Monday night, nor the
next day, nor for many days.

For on Tuesday afternoon at two-thirty he issued a call for
a meeting of his creditors, and at five-thirty he decided to go into
the hands of a receiver. And yet, as he stood before his principal
creditors—a group of thirty men—in his office, he did not feel
that his life was ruined. He was temporarily embarrassed.246 THE FINANCIER

Certainly things looked-very-black. ‘The city-treasurership deal
would make a great fuss. “Those hypothecated city loan certifi-
cates, to the extent of sixty thousand, would make another, if
Stener chose. Still, he did not feel that-he-was utterly destroyed.

“Gentlemen,” he said, in closing his address of explanation
at the meeting, quite as erect, secure, defiant, convincing as he
had ever been, “you see how things are. ‘These securities are
worth just as much as they ever were. There is nothing the
matter with the properties behind them. If you will give me
fifteen days or twenty, I am satisfied that I can straighten the
whole matter out. I am almost the only one who can, for I
know all about it. The market is bound to recover. Business
is going to be better than ever. It’s time I want. Time-is the—
only significant factor-in-this situation. I want to know if you
won’t give me fifteen or twenty days—a month, if you can.
That is all I want.”

He stepped aside and out of the general room, where the
blinds were drawn, into his private office, in order to give his
creditors an opportunity to confer privately in regard to his
situation. He had friends in the meeting who were for him.
He waited one, two, nearly three hours while they talked.
Finally Walter Leigh, Judge Kitchen, Avery Stone, of Jay
Cooke & Co., and several others came in. They were a commit-
tee appointed to gather further information.

“Nothing more can be done to-day, Frank,” Walter Leigh
informed him, quietly. ‘The majority want the privilege of
examining the books. "There is some uncertainty about this
entanglement with the city treasurer which you say exists. They
feel that you’d better announce a temporary suspension, anyhow ;
and if they want to let you resume later they can do so.”

“I’m sorry for that, gentlemen,” replied Cowperwood, the
least bit depressed. “I would rather do anything than suspend
for one hour, if I could help it, for I know just what it means.
You will find assets here far exceeding the liabilities if you
will take the stocks at their normal market value; but that
won’t help any if I close my doors. The public won’t believe
in me. I ought to keep open.”

“Sorry, Frank, old boy,” observed Leigh, pressing his hand
affectionately. ‘If it were left to me personally, you could have
all the time you want. There’s a crowd of old fogies out thereTHE FINANCIER 247

that_won’t listen to reason. They’re panic-struck. I guess
they’re pretty hard hit themselves. You can scarcely blame them.
You'll come out all right, though I wish you didn’t have to shut
up shop. We_can’t do anything with them, however. Why,
damn it, man, I don’t see how you can fail, really. In ten days
these stocks will be all right.”

Judge Kitchen commiserated with him also; but what good
did that do? He was being compelled to suspend. An expert
accountant would have to come in and go over his books. Butler
might spread the news of this city-treasuey connection. Stener
might complain of this last city-loan transaction. A half-dozen
of his helpful friends stayed with him until four o’clock in the
morning; but he had to suspend just the same. And when he
did that, he knew he was seriously crippled if not ultimately
defeated in his race for wealth and fame.

When he was really and finally quite alone in his private
bedroom he stared at himself in the mirror. His face was pale
and tired, he thought, but strong and effective. ‘“‘Pshaw!” he said
to himself, “I’m not whipped. I’m still young. I'll get out of
this in some way yet. Certainly I will. I’ll find some way out.”

And so, cogitating heavily, wearily, he began to undress.
Finally he sank upon his bed, and in a little while, strange as it
may seem, with all the tangle of trouble around him, slept.
He could do that—sleep and gurgle most peacefully, the while
his father paced the floor in his room, refusing to be comforted.
All was dark before the older man—the future hopeless. Before
the younger man was still hope.

And in her room Lillian Cowperwood turned and tossed in the
face of this new calamity. For it had suddenly appeared from
news from her father and Frank and Anna and her mother-
in-law that Frank was about to fail, or would, or had—it was
almost impossible to say just how it was. Frank was too busy
to explain. The—Chicago fire was to blame. ‘There was no
mention as yet of the city treasurership. Frank was caught in
qa.trap, and was fighting for his life.

In.this crisis, for the moment, she forgot about the note as
to his infidelity, or rather ignored it. She was astonished,
frightened, dumbfounded, confused. Her little, placid, beautiful
world was going around in a dizzy ring. The charming, ornate
ship of their fortune was being blown most ruthlessly here andTHE FINANCIER

there. She felt it a sort of duty to stay in bed and try to sleep ;
but her eyes were quite wide, and her brain hurt her. Hours
before Frank had insisted that she should not bother about him,
that she could do nothing; and she had left him, wondering more
than ever what and where was the line of her duty. To stick
by her husband, convention told her; and so she decided. Yes,
religion dictated that, also custom. There were the children.
They must not be injured. Frank must be reclaimed, if possible.
He would get over this. But what a blow!CHAPTER XXXI

HE suspension of the banking house of Frank A. Cowper-
wood & Co. created a great stir on change and in Phila-
delphia generally. It was so unexpected, and the amount in-
volved was comparatively so large. Actually he failed for one
million two hundred and fifty thousand dollars; and his assets,
under the depressed condition of stock values, barely totaled
seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars. There had been
considerable work done on the matter of his balance-sheet before
it was finally given to the public; but when it was, stocks dropped
an additional three points generally, and the papers the next
day devoted notable headlines to it. Cowperwood had no idea
of failing permanently; he merely wished to suspend temporarily,
and later, if possible, to persuade his creditors to allow him to
resume. ‘There were only two things which stood in the way
of this: the matter of the five hundred thousand dollars bor-
rowed from the city treasury at a ridiculously low rate of inter-
est, which showed plainer than words what had been going on,
and the other, the matter of the sixty-thousand-dollar check.
His financial wit had told him there were ways to assign
his holdings in favor of his largest creditors, which would
tend to help him later to resume; and he had been swift to-act.
Indeed, Harper Steger had drawn up documents which named
Jay Cooke & Co., Edward Clark & Co., Drexel & Co., and
others as preferred. He knew that even though dissatisfied
holders of smaller shares in his company brought suit and com-
pelled readjustment or bankruptcy later, the intention shown
to prefer some of his most influential aids was important. They
would like it, and might help him later when all this was over.
Besides, suits in plenty are an excellent way of tiding over a
crisis of this kind until stocks and common sense are restored,
and he was for many suits. Harper Steger smiled once rather
grimly, even—-in-the-whirl of the financial chaos where smiles
were few, as they were figuring it out.
“Frank,” he said, ‘‘you’re a wonder. You'll have a network
249THE FINANCIER

 

of suits spread here shortly, which no one can break through.
They'll all be suing each other.”

Cowperwood smiled.

“T only want a little time, that’s all,” he replied. Neverthe-
less, for the first time in his life he was a little depressed; for
now this business, to which he had devoted years of active work
and thought, was ended.

The thing that was troubling him most in all of this was not

the five hundred thousand dollars which was owing the city
treasury, and which he knew would stir political and social life
to the center once it was generally known—that was a legal
or semi-legal-transaction, at least—but rather the matter of the
sixty thousand dollars’ worth of unrestored city loan certificates
which he had not been able to replace in the sinking-fund and
could not now even though the necessary money should fall
from heaven. ‘The fact of their absence was a matter of
source. He pondered over the situation a good deal. The thing
to do, he thought, if he went to Mollenhauer or Simpson, or
both (he had never met either of them, but in view of Butler’s
desertion they were his only recourse), was to say that, although
he could not at present return the five hundred thousand dollars,
if no action were taken against him now, which would prevent
his resuming his business on a normal scale a little later, he
would pledge his word that every dollar of the involved five
hundred thousand dollars would eventually be returned to
the treasury. If they refused, and injury was done him, he
proposed to let them wait until he was “good and ready,” which
in all probability would be never. But, really, it was not quite
clear how action against him was to be prevented—even by
them. The money was down on his books as owing the city
treasury, and it was down on the city treasury’s books as owing
from him. Besides, there was a local organization known as the
Citizens’ Municipal Reform Association which occasionally con-
ducted investigations in connection with public affairs. His
defalcation would be sure to come to the ears of this body and a
public investigation might well follow. Various private indi-
viduals knew of it already. His creditors, for instance, who
were now examining his books.

This matter of seeing Mollenhauer or Simpson, or both, was
important, anyhow, he thought; but before doing so he decidedPE EN AN eT) i R 251

 

to talk it all over with Harper Steger. So several days after
he had closed his doors, he sent for Steger and told him all
about the transaction, except that he did not make it clear that
he had not intended to put the certificates in the sinking-fund
unless he survived quite comfortably.

Harper Steger was a tall, thin, graceful, rather elegant man,
of gentle voice and perfect manners, who walked always as
though he were a cat, and a dog were prowling somewhere
in the offing. He had a longish, thin face of a type that is
rather attractive to women. His eyes were blue, his hair
brown, with a suggestion of sandy red in it. He had a steady,
inscrutable gaze ‘which sometimes came to you over a thin,
delicate hand, which he laid meditatively over his mouth. He
was cruel to the limit of the word, not aggressively but_in-
differently; for he had no faith in anything. He was not poor.
He had not even been born poor. He was just innately subtle,
with the rather constructive thought, which was about the only
thing that compelled him to work, that he ought to be richer
than-he-was
avenue toward legal prosperity. Besides, he was a fascinating
customer. Of all his clients, Steger admired Cowperwood most.

“Let them proceed against you,” he said on this occasion, his
brilliant legal mind taking in all the phases of the situation at
once. “I don’t see that there is anything more here than a
technical charge. If it ever came to anything like that, which
I don’t think it will, the charge would be embezzlement or
perhaps larceny as bailee. In this instance, you were the bailee.
And the only way out of that would be to swear that you had
received the check with Stener’s knowledge and consent. ‘Then
it would only be a technical charge of irresponsibility on your
part, as I see it, and. I don’t believe any jury would convict you
on the evidence of how this relationship was conducted. Still,
it. might; you never can tell what a jury is going to do. All
this would have to come out at a trial, however. The whole
thing, it seems to me, would depend on which of you two—
yourself or Stener—the jury would be inclined to believe, and
on how anxious this city crowd is to find a scapegoat for Stener.
This coming election is the rub. If this panic had come at any
other time—”’

Cowperwood waved for silence. He knew all about that.

 

more conspicuous, Cowperwood was an excellent252 THE FINANCIER

 

“Tt all depends on what the politicians decide to do. I’m doubt-
ful. The situation is too complicated. It can’t be hushed up.”
They were in his private office at his house. “What will be
will be,” he added.

“What would that mean, Harper, legally, if I were tried on
a charge of larceny as bailee, as you put it, and convicted? How
many years in the penitentiary at the outside?”

Steger thought a minute, rubbing his chin with his hand.
“Let me see,” he said, “that is a serious question, isn’t it? The
law says one to five years at the outside; but the sentences
usually average from one to three years in embezzlement cases.
Of course, in this case—”

“T know all about that,” interrupted Cowperwood, irritably.
“My case isn’t any different from the others, and you know it.
Embezzlement is embezzlement if the politicians want to have
it so.” He fell to thinking, and Steger got up and strolled about
leisurely. He was thinking also.

“And would I have to go to jail at any time during the pro-
ceedings—before a final adjustment of the case by the higher
courts?” Cowperwood added, directly, grimly, after a time.

“Yes there is one point in all legal procedure of the kind,”
replied Steger, cautiously, now rubbing his ear and trying to put
the matter as delicately as possible. ‘You can avoid jail sen-
tences all through the earlier parts of a case like this; but if
you are once tried and convicted it’s pretty hard to do anything
as a matter of fact, it becomes absolutely necessary then to
go to jail for a few days, five or so, pending the motion for a
new trial and the obtaining of a certificate of reasonable doubt.
It usually takes that long.”

The young banker sat there staring out of the window, and
Steger observed, “It is a bit complicated, isn’t it?”

“Well, I should say so,’ returned Frank, and he added to
himself: “Jail! Five days in prison!” That would be a terrific
slap, all things considered. Five days in jail pending the obtain-
ing of a certificate of reasonable doubt, if one could be obtained !
He must avoid this! Jail! The penitentiary! His commercial
reputation would never survive that.CHAPTER XXXII

HE necessity of a final conference between Butler, Mol-

lenhauer, and Simpson was speedily reached, re this
situation was Reuily 2 yrowing more serious. Rumors were float-
ing about in Third Street that in addition”to having failed for
so large an amount as to have firtlice unsettled the already
panicky financial situation induced by the Chicago fire, Cowper-
wood and Stener, or Stener working with Cowperwood, or the
other way round, had involved the c
of five hundred thousand dollars. And the question was how
was.the matter to be kept quiet until after election, which—was
still three weeks away. Bankers and brokers were communicat-
ing odd rumors to each other about a check that had been taken
from the city treasury after Cowperwood knew he was to fail,
and without Stener’s consent. Also that there was danger that
it would come to the ears of that very uncomfortable political

ity treasury to the extent

organization known as the Citizens’ Municipal Reform Asso-
ciation, of which a well-known iron-manufacturer of great probity
and moral rectitude, one Skelton C. Wheat, was president.
Wheat had for years been following on the trail of the dominant
Republican administration in a vain attempt to bring it to a
sense of some of its political iniquities. He was a serious and
austere man—one of those solemn, self-righteous souls who se
life through a peculiar veil of duty, and who, undisturbed by
notable~animal_passions of any kind, go their way of upholding
the theory of the Ten Commandments over the order of things
as they are.

The committee in question had originally been organized to
protest against some abuses in the tax department ; but since then,
from election to election, it had been drifting from one subject
to another, finding an occasional evidence of its worthwhileness

S oO

in some newspaper comment and the frightened reformation of
some minor political official who ended, usually, by taking refuge
behind the skirts of some higher political power—in the last
reaches, Messrs. Butler, Mollenhauer, and Simpson. Just nowRE ct i

     
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

THE FINANCIER

‘t was without important fuel or ammunition; and this assign-
ment of Cowperwood, with its attendant crime, so far as the
city treasury was concerned, threatened, as some politicians and
bankers saw it, to give it just the club it was looking for.

However, the decisive conference took place between Cowper-
wood and the reigning political powers some five days after Cow-
perwood’s failure, at the home of Senator Simpson, which was
located in Rittenhouse Square—a region central for the older
order of wealth in Philadelphia. Simpson was a man_of no
little refinement artistically, of Quaker extraction, and of great
wealth-breeding judgment which he used largely to satisfy his
craving for political predominance. He was most liberal where
money would bring him a powerful or necessary political ad-
herent. He fairly showered offices—commissionerships, trustee-
ships, judgeships, political nominations, and executive positions
generally—on those who did his bidding faithfully and without
question. Compared with Butler and Mollenhauer he was more
powerful than either, for he represented the State and the na-
tion. When the political authorities who were trying to swing
a national election were anxious to discover what the State of
Pennsylvania would do, so far as the Republican party was
concerned, it was to Senator Simpson that they appealed. In
the literal sense of the word, he knew. The Senator had long
since graduated from State to national politics, and was an
interesting figure in the United States Senate at Washington,
where his voice in all the conservative and moneyed councils of
the nation was of great weight.

The house that he occupied, of Venetian design, and four
stories in height, bore many architectural marks of distinction,
such as the floriated window, the door with the semi-pointed arch,
and medallions of colored marble set in the walls. The Senator
was a great admirer of Venice. He had been there often, as he
had to Athens and Rome, and had brought back many_artistic
objects representative of the civilizations and refinements of older
days. He was fond, for one thing, of the stern, sculptured heads
of the Roman emperors, and the fragments of gods and god-
desses which are the best testimony of the artistic aspirations of
Greece. In the entresol of this house was one of his finest treas-
ures—a carved and floriated base bearing a tapering monolith
some four feet high, crowned by the head of a peculiarly goatishTHE FINANCIER 255

Pan, by the side of which were the problematic remains of a
lovely nude nymph—just the little feet broken off at the ankles.
The base on which the feet of the nymph and the monolith stood
was ornamented with carved ox-skulls intertwined with roses.
In his reception hall were replicas of Caligula, Nero, and other
Roman emperors; and on his stair-walls reliefs of dancing nymphs
in procession, and priests bearing offerings of sheep and swine
to the sacrificial altars. There was a clock in some corner of
the house which chimed the quarter, the half, the three-quarters,
and the hour in strange, euphonious, and_pathetic notes. On the
walls of the rooms were tapestries of Flemish origin, and in the
reception-hall, the library, the living-room, and the drawing-
room, richly carved furniture after the standards of the Italian
Renaissance. ‘The Senator’s taste in the matter of paintings was
inadequate,-and~he mistrusted it; but such as he had were of
distinguished origin and authentic. He cared more for his curio-
cases filled with smaller imported bronzes, Venetian glass, and
Chinese jade. He was not a collector of these in any notable
sense—merely..a lover of a few choice examples. Handsome
tiger and leopard skin rugs, the fur of a musk-ox for his divan,
and tanned and brown-stained goat and kid skins for his tables,
gave a sense of elegance and reserved profusion. In addition the
Senator had a dining-room done after the Jacobean idea of
artistic excellence, and a wine-cellar which the best of the local
yintners looked after with extreme care. He was a man who
foved to entertain lavishly; and when his residence was thrown
open for a dinner, a reception, or a ball, the best of local society
was.to be found there.

The conference was in the Senator’s library, and he received
his colleagues with the genial air of one who has much to gain
and little to lose. There were whiskies, wines, cigars on the
table, and while Mollenhauer and Simpson exchanged the com-
monplaces of .the day awaiting the arrival of Butler, they
lighted cigars and kept their inmost thoughts to themselves,

It so happened that upon the previous afternoon Butler had
learned from Mr. David Pettie, the district attorney, of the
sixty-thousand-dollar-check transaction. At the same time the
matter had been brought to Mollenhauer’s attention by Stener
himself. It was Mollenhauer, not Butler who saw that by
taking advantage of Cowperwood’s situation, he might save the256 DHE FINANCIER

   

local party from blame, and at the same time most likely fleece
Cowperwood out™~of his street-railway shares without letting
Butler or Simpson know anything about it. The thing to do
was to terrorize him with a private-threat of prosecution.

Butler was not long in arriving, and apologized for the delay.
Concealing his recent grief behind as jaunty an air as possible,
he began with:

“Tt’s a lively life I’m leadin’, what with every bank in the
city wantin’ to know how their loans are goin’ to be taken care
of.” He took a cigar and struck a match.

“Tt does look a little threatening,’ said Senator Simpson, smil-
ing. “Sit down. I have just been talking with Avery Stone, of
Jay Cooke & Company, and he tells me that the talk in Third
Street about Stener’s connection with this Cowperwood failure
is growing very strong, and that the newspapers are bound-to
take up the matter shortly, unless something is done about it.
I am-sure that the news will also reach Mr. Wheat, of the
Citizens’ Reform Association, very shortly. We ought to de-
cide now, gentlemen, what we propose to do. One thing, I
am sure,;-is.to.eliminate Stener from the ticket as quietly as
possible, This really looks to me as if it might become a very
serious issue, and we ought to be doing what we can now to
offset its effect later.”

Mollenhauer pulled a long breath through his cigar, and
blew it out in a rolling steel-blue cloud. He studied the tapestry
on the opposite wall but said nothing.

“There is one thing sure,” continued Senator Simpson, after
a time, seeing that no one else spoke, “‘and that is, if we do not
begin a prosecution on our own account within a reasonable time,
some one else is apt to; and that would put rather a bad face
on the matter. My own opinion would be that we wait until it
is very plain that prosecution is going to be undertaken by some
one else—possibly the Municipal Reform Association—but that
we stand ready to step in and act in such a way as to make it look
as though we had been planning to do it all the time. The
thing to do is to gain time; and so I would suggest that it be
made as difficult as possible to get at the treasurer’s books. An
investigation there, if it begins at all—as I think is very likely—
should be very slow in producing the facts.”

The Senator was not at all for mincing words with his im-RHE FINANCIER 257

portant confreres, when it came to vital issues. He preferred,
in his grandiloquent way, to call a spade a spade.

“Now that sounds like very good sense to me,” said Butler,
sinking a little lower in his chair for comfort’s sake, and con-
cealing his true mood in regard to all this. ‘The boys could
easily make that investigation last three weeks, I should think.
They’re slow enough with everything else, if me memory doesn’t
fail me.” At the same time he was_cogitating as to how to
inject the personality of Cowperwood and his speedy prosecu-
tion without appearing to be neglecting the general welfare of
the local party too much.

“Yes, that isn’t a bad idea,” said Mollenhauer, solemnly,
blowing a ring of smoke, and thinking how to keep Cowper-
wood’s especial offense from coming up at this conference and
until after he had seen him.

“We ought to map out our program very carefully,” continued
Senator Simpson, “so that if we are compelled to act we can do
so very quickly. I believe myself that this thing is certain to
come to an issue within a week, if not sooner, and we have no
time to lose. If my advice were followed now, I should have
the mayor write the treasurer a letter asking for information,
and the treasurer write the mayor his answer, and also have the
mayor, with the authority of the common council, suspend the
treasurer for the time being—lI think we have the authority to
do that—or, at least, take over his principal duties but without
for the time being, anyhow, making any of these transactions
public—until we have to, of course. We ought to be ready
with these letters to show to the newspapers at once, in case
this action is forced upon us.”

“I could have those letters prepared, if you gentlemen have
no objection,” put in Mollenhauer, quietly, but quickly.

“Well, that strikes me as sinsible,”’ said Butler, easily. “It’s
about the only thing we can do under the circumstances, unless
we could find some one else to blame it on, and I have a sug-
gestion to make in that direction. Maybe we’re not as helpless

”

’

as we might be, all things considered

There was a slight gleam of triumph in his eye as he said this,
at the same time that there was a slight shadow of disap-
pointment in Mollenhauer’s. So Butler knew, and probably
Simpson, too.THE FINANCIER

 

“Tust what do you mean?” asked the Senator, looking at
Butler interestedly. He knew nothing of the sixty-thousand-
dollar check transaction. He had not followed the local treas-
ury dealings very closely, nor had he talked to either of his
confréres since the original conference between them. “There
haven’t been any outside parties mixed up with this, have there?”
His own shrewd, political mind was working.

“No-o. I wouldn’t call him an outside party, exactly, Sen-
ator,’ went on Butler suavely. “It’s Cowperwood himself I’m
thinkin’ of. There’s somethin’ that has come up since I saw
you gentlemen last that makes me think that perhaps that young
man isn’t as innocent as he might be. It looks to me as though
he was the ringleader in this business, as though he had been
leadin’ Stener on against his will. I’ve been lookin’ into the
matter on me own account, and as far as I can make out this
man Stener isn’t as much to blame as I thought. From all I
can learn, Cowperwood’s been threatenin’ Stener with one thing
and another if he didn’t give him more money, and only the
other day he got a big sum on false pretinses, which might
make him equally guilty with Stener. There’s sixty-thousand
dollars of city loan certificates that has been paid for that aren’t
in the sinking-fund. And since the reputation of the party's
in danger this fall, I don’t see that we need to have any par-
ticular consideration for him.’ He paused, strong in the con-
viction that he had sent a most dangerous arrow flying in the
direction of Cowperwood, as indeed he had. Yet at this mo-
ment, both the Senator and Mollenhauer were not a little sur-
prised, seeing at their last meeting he had appeared rather
friendly to the young banker, and this recent discovery seemed
scarcely any occasion for a vicious attitude on his part. Mollen-
hauer in particular was surprised, for he had been looking on

3utler’s friendship for Cowperwood as a possible stumbling
block.

“Um-m, you don’t tell me!” observed Senator Simpson,
thoughtfully, stroking his mouth with his pale hand.

“Yes, I can confirm that,” said Mollenhauer, quietly, seeing
his own little private plan of browbeating Cowperwood out of
his street-railway shares going glimmering. “I had a talk with
Stener the other day about this very matter, and he told me that
Cowperwood had been trying to force him to give him threeTHE FINANCIER 259

hundred thousand dollars more, and that when he refused Cow-
perwood managed to get sixty thousand dollars further without
his knowledge or consent.”

“How could he do that?” asked Senator Simpson, incredu-
lously. Mollenhauer explained the transaction.

“Oh,” said the Senator, when Mollenhauer had finished, ‘‘that
indicates a rather sharp person, doesn’t it? And the certificates
are not in the sinking-fund, eh?”

*“They’re not,” chimed_in Butler, with considerable enthusi-
asm.

“Well, I must say,” said Simpson;-rather-relteved-in- his man-
ner, “this looks like a rather good thing than not to me. A
scapegoat possibly. We need something like this. I see no
reason under the circumstances for_trying to protect Mr. Cow-
perwood. We might-as well try to make a point ofthat, if
we have to. ‘The newspapers might just as well talk loud
about_that as anything else. They are bound to talk; and if
we give them the right angle, I think that the election might
well come and go before the matter could be reasonably cleared
up,-even-though Mr. Wheat does interfere..I. will be glad to
undertake to see what can be done with the papers.”

“Well, that bein’ the case,” said Butler, “I don’t see that
there’s so much more we can do now; but I do think it will be
a mistake if Cowperwood isn’t punished with the other one.
He’s equally guilty with Stener, if not more so, and I for one
want to see him get what he deserves. He belongs in the peni-
tentiary, and that’s where he’ll go if I have my say.”

Both Mollenhauer and Simpson turned a reserved and in-
quiring eye on their usually genial associate. What could be
the reason for his sudden determination to have Cowperwood
punished? Cowperwood, as Mollenhauer and Simpson saw it,
and as Butler would ordinarily have seen it, was well within his
human, if not his strictly legal rights. "They did not blame him
half as much for trying to do what he had done as they blamed
Stener for letting him do it. But, since Butler felt as he did,
and there was an actual technical crime here, they were perfectly
willing that the party should have the advantage of it, even if
Cowperwood went to the penitentiary.

“You-may-be-right,”?-said Senator Simpson, cautiously. “You
might have those letters prepared, Henry; and if we have toTHE FINANCIER

 

bring any action at all against anybody before election, it would,
perhaps, be advisable to bring it against Cowperwood. Include
Stener-if~you_haye-to-but_not_unless_you.have_to. I leave it
to you two, as I am compelled to start for Pittsburg next Fri-
day; but I know you will not overlook any point.”

The Senator arose.-His time was always valuable. Butler
was highly gratified by what he~had accomplished. ~He had
succeeded in putting the triumvirate on record against Cow-
perwood as the first victim, in case-of any public disturbance or
demonstration against the party. All that was now necessary
was for that disturbance to manifest itself; and, from what he
could see of local conditions, it was not far off. ‘There was
now the matter of Cowperwood’s disgruntled creditors to look
into; and if by buying in these he should succeed in preventing
the financier from resuming business, he would have him in a
very precarious condition indeed. It was a sad day for Cowper-
wood, Butler thought—the day he had first tried to lead Aileen
and the time was not far off when he could prove it to

 

astray
him.CHAPTER XXXIII

N the meanwhile Cowperwood, from what he could see and

hear, was becoming more and more certain that the poli-
ticlans would try to make a scapegoat of him, and that shortly.
For one thing, Stires had called only a few days after he closed
his doors and imparted a significant bit of information. Albert
was still connected with the city treasury, as was Stener, and
engaged with Sengstack and another personal appointee of
Mollenhauer’s in going over the treasurer’s books and explain-
ing their financial significance. Stires had come to Cowperwood
primarily to get additional advice in regard to the sixty-thou-
sand-dollar check and his personal connection with it. Stener,
it seemed, was now threatening to have his chief clerk prose-
cuted, saying that-he-was-~responsible for the loss.of-the-moneéy
and that his bondsmen could be held responsible. Cowperwood
had merely laughed and assured Stires that there was nothing
to this.

“Albert,” he had said, smilingly, “I tell you positively, there’s
nothing in it. You’re not responsible for delivering that check
to me. I’ll tell you what you do, now. Go and consult my
lawyer—Steger. It won’t cost you a cent, and he'll tell you
exactly what to do. Now go on back and don’t worry any more
about it. I am sorry this move of mine has caused you so much
trouble, but it’s a hundred to one you couldn’t have kept your
place with a new city treasurer, anyhow, and if I see any place
where you can possibly fit in later, I'll let you know.”

Another thing that made Cowperwood pause and consider at
this time was a letter from Aileen, detailing a conversation which
had taken place at the Butler dinner table one evening when
Butler, the elder, was not at home. She related how her
brother Owen in effect had stated that they—the politicians—
her father, Mollenhauer and Simpson, were going to “get him
yet” (meaning Cowperwood), for some criminal financial
manipulation of something—she could not explain what—a
check or something. Aileen was frantic with .worry.--Could
they mean the penitentiary, she asked in her letter? Her dear
261THE FINANCIER

lover! Her beloved Frank! Could anything like~this. really
happen to him?

His brow clouded, and he set his teeth with rage when he
read_her letter. He would have to do something about this—
see Mollenhauer or Simpson, or both, and make~some offer to
the city. He could not promise them money for the present—
only notes—but they might take them. Surely they could not
be intending to make a scapegoat of him over such a trivial and
uncertain matter as this check-transaction! When there was the
five hundred thousand advanced by Stener, to say nothing of all
the past shady transactions of former city treasurers! How
rotten! How political, but how real and.dangerous.

But Simpson was out of the city for a period of ten days,
and Mollenhauer, having in mind the suggestion made by Butler
in regard to utilizing-Cowperwood’s_ misdeed_for the_benefit
of the party, had already moved as they had planned. The let-
ters were ready and waiting. Indeed, since the conference,
the smaller politicians, taking their cue from the overlords, had
been industriously spreading the story of the sixty-thousand-dollar
check, and insisting that the burden of guilt for the treasury
defalcation, if any, lay on the banker. The moment Mollen-
hauer laid eyes on Cowperwood he realized, however, that he
had a powerful personality to deal with. Cowperwood gave_no
evidence-of fright..-He-merely.stated, in his bland way, that he
had been in the habit of borrowing money from the city treasury
at a low rate of interest, and that this panic had involved him
so that he could not possibly return it at present.

“T have heard rumors, Mr. Mollenhauer,” he said, “to the
effect that some charge is to be brought against me as a partner
with Mr. Stener in this matter; but I.am hoping that the city
will not do that, and I thought I might enlist your influence to
prevent it. My affairs are not in a bad way at all, if I had a
little time to arrange matters. I am making all of my creditors
an offer of fifty cents on the dollar now, and giving notes at
one, two, and three years; but in this matter of the city treasury
loans, if I could come to terms, I would be glad to make ita
hundred cents—only I would want a little more time. Stocks
are bound to recover, as you know, and, barring-my losses at
this time, I will be all right. I realize that the matter has gone
pretty far already. “he newspapers are likely to start talkingTHE PINAN CTE R: 263

 

at any time, unless they are stopped by those who can control
them.”
“But if I could be kept out of the general proceedings as much

(He looked at Mollenhauer in a complimentary way.)

as possible;-my_standing would _not.be injured, and I would
haye a better chance of getting on my feet. It would be better
for the city,-for then_I could certainly pay it-what I owe it.”
He-smiled his most winsome and engaging smile. And Mollen-
hauer_seeing-him—for—the first_time, was not unimpressed. In-
fleed he looked at this young financial David with an interested
eye. If he could have seen a way to accept this proposition of
Cowperwood’s, so that the money offered would have been
eventually payable to him, and if Cowperwood had had any
reasonable prospect of getting on his feet soon, he would have
considered caréfully what he had to say. For then Cowper-
wood could have assigned his recovered property to him. As it
was, there~was~small-—likelihood of this situation ever being
straightened out. The Citizens’ Municipal Reform Association,
from all he could hear, was already on the move—investigating,
or about to, and once they had set their hands to this, would
unquestionably follow it closely to the end.

“The trouble with this situation, Mr. Cowperwood,” he said,
affably, “is that it has gone so far that it is practically out of my
hands. I really have very little to do with it. I don’t suppose,
though, really, it is this matter of the five-hundred-thousand-
dollar loan that is worrying you so much, as it is this other matter
of the sixty-thousand-dollar check you received the other day.
Mr. Stener insists that you-secured that illegally,-and-he is very
mueh wrought-up about it.The mayor and the other city
officials know of it now, and they.may force some action. I
don’t know.”

Mollenhauer was obviously not frank in his attitude—a little
bit evasive in his sly reference to his official tool, the mayor; and
Cowperwood saw it. It irritated him greatly, but he was tactful
enough to be quite suave and respectful.

“I did get a check for sixty thousand’ dollars, that’s true,” he
replied, with apparent frankness, “the day before I assigned. It
was for certificates I had purchased, however, on Mr. Stener’s
order, and was due me. I needed the money, and asked for it.
I don’t-see that-there-is-anything illegal in that.”

“Not if the transaction was completed in all its details,” re-264 THE FINANCIER

plied Mollenhauer, blandly. “As I understand it, the certificates
were bought for the sinking-fund, and they are not there. How
do you explain that?”

‘An oversight, merely,” replied Cowperwood, innocently, and
quite as blandly as Mollenhauer. ‘They would have been there
if I had not been compelled to assign so unexpectedly. It was not
possible for me to attend to everything in person. It has not
been our custom to deposit them at once. Mr. Stener will tell
you that, if you ask him.”

“You don’t say,” replied Mollenhauer. “He did not give me
that impression. However, they are not there, and I believe that
that makes some difference legally. I have no interest in the
matter one way or the other, more than that of any other good
Republican. I don’t see exactly what I can do for you. What
did you think I could do?”

“T don’t believe you can do anything for me, Mr. Mollen-

hauer,” replied Cowperwood, a little tartly, “unless you are
willing to deal quite frankly with me. I am not a beginner in
politics in Philadelphia. [know something about-the-powers4n
command. I thought that-you-could stop any plan to-prosecute
me in this matter, and give me time to get on my_feet again, +
am not any more criminally responsible for that sixty thousand
dollars than I am for the five hundred thousand dollars that I
had as loan before it—not as much so. I did not create this
panic. I did not set Chicago on fire. Mr. Stener and his friends
have been reaping some profit out of dealing with me. I cer-
tainly was entitled to make some effort to save myself after all
these years of service, and I can’t underst: ind why I should not
receive some courtesy at the hands of the present city adminis-
tration, after I have been so useful to it. I certainly have kept
city loan at par; and as for Mr. Stener’s money he has never
wanted for his interest on that, and more than ae interest.”

“Quite so,” replied Mollenhauer, looking Cowperwood in the
eye steadily and estimating the force and accuracy of the man at
their real value. “I understand exactly how it has all come
about, Mr. Cowperwood. No doubt Mr. Stener owes you a
debt of gratitude, as does the remainder of the city administra-
tion. I’m not saying what the city administration ought_or
ought not do. All I know is that you find yourself wittingly or
unwittingly in a dangerous situation, and that public sentimentre ETN AN Gl FR 265

in some quarters is already very strong against you. I personally
have no-feeling one way or the other, and if it were not for
the situation itself, which looks to be out of hand, would not be
opposed to assisting you in any reasonable way. But how? The
Republican party is in a very bad position, so far as this election
is concerned. In a way, however innocently, you have helped
to put it there, Mr. Cowperwood. Mr. Butler, for some reason
to which I am not a party, seems deeply and personally in-
censed. And Mr. Butler is a great power here—” (Cowper-
wood began to wonder whether by any chance Butler had indi-
cated the nature of his social _offense-against himself, but he could
not bring himself to believe that. It was not probable.) “TI
sympathize with you greatly, Mr. Cowperwood, but what I sug-
gest is that you first see Mr. Butler and Mr. Simpson. If they
agree to any program of aid, I will not be opposed to joining.
But apart from that I do not know exactly what I can do. I
am only one of those who have a slight say in the affairs of
Philadelphia.”

At this point, Mollenhauer rather expected Cowperwood to
make an offer of his own holdings, but he did not. Instead he
said, “I’m very much obliged to you, Mr. Mollenhauer, for the
courtesy of this interview. I believe you would help me if you
could. I shall just have to fight it out the best way I can.
Good day.”

And he bowed himself out. He saw clearly how hopeless was
his-quest. :

In the meanwhile, finding that the rumors were growing in
volume and that no one appeared to be willing to take steps to
straighten the matter out, Mr. Skelton C. Wheat, President of
the Citizens’ Municipal Reform Association, was, at last and
that by no means against his will, compelled to call together the
committee of ten estimable Philadelphians of which he was chair-
man, in a local committee-hall on Market Street, and lay the
matter of the Cowperwood failure before it.

“Tt strikes me, gentlemen,’ he announced, “that this is an
occasion when this organization can render a signal service to the
city and the people of Philadelphia, and prove the significance
and the merit of the title originally selected for it, by making
such a thoroughgoing investigation as will bring to light all the
facts in this case, and then by standing vigorously behind themTHE FINANCIER

insist that such nefarious practices as we are informed were
indulged in in this case shall cease. I know it may prove to
be a difficult task. The Republican party and its local and State
interests are certain to be against us. Its leaders are unques-
tionably most anxious to avoid comment and to have their ticket
go through undisturbed, and they will not contemplate with any
equanimity our opening activity in this matter; but if we-per-
severe, great good will-surely come of it. There is too much
dishonesty in public life as it is. There is a standard of right
in these matters which cannot permanently be ignored, and
which must eventually be fulfilled. I leave this matter to your
courteous consideration.”

Mr. Wheat sat down, and the body before him immediately
took the matter which he proposed under advisement. It was
decided to appoint a subcommittee “‘to investigate’ (to quote the
statement eventually given to the public) “the peculiar rumors
now affecting one of the most important and distinguished offices
of our municipal government,” and to report at the next meet-
ing, which was set for the following evening at nine o'clock.
The meeting adjourned, and the following night at nine reas-
sembled, four individuals of very shrewd financial judgment
having meantime been about the task assigned them. They drew
up a very elaborate statement, not wholly in accordance with the
facts, but as nearly so as could be ascertained in so short a space
of time.

“Tt appears [read the report, after a preamble which explained why
the committee had been appointed] that it has been the custom of city
treasurers for years, when loans have been authorized by councils, to
place them in the hands of some favorite broker for sale, the broker
accounting to the treasurer for the moneys received by such sales at
short periods, generally the first of each month. In the present case
Frank A. Cowperwood has been acting as such broker for the city
treasurer. But even this vicious and unbusiness-like system appears not
to have been adhered to in the case of Mr. Cowperwood. The accident
of the Chicago fire, the consequent depression of stock values, and the
subsequent failure of Mr. Frank A. Cowperwood have so involved mat-
ters temporarily that the committee has not been able to ascertain with
accuracy that regular accounts have been rendered; but from the manner
in which Mr. Cowperwood has had possession of bonds (city loan)
for hypothecation, etc., it would appear that he has been held to
no responsibility in these matters, and that there have always been under
his control several hundred thousand dollars of cash or securities belongingTHE PLNAN CL ER

   

267

to the city, which he has manipulated for various purposes; but the de-
tails of the results of these transactions are not easily available.

“Some of the operations consisted of hypothecation of large amounts
of these loans before the certificates were issued, the lender seeing that
the order for the hypothecated securities was duly made to him on the
books of the treasurer. Such methods appear to have been occurring
for a long time, and it being incredible that the city treasurer could be
unaware of the nature of the business, there is indication of a complicity
between him and Mr. Cowperwood to benefit by the use of the city
credit, in violation of the law.

“Furthermore, at the very time these hypothecations were being made,
and the city paying interest upon such loans, the money representing
them was in the hands of the treasurer’s broker and bearing no interest
to the city. The payment of municipal warrants was postponed, and
they were being purchased at a discount in large amounts by Mr.
Cowperwood with the very money that should have been in the city
treasury. The bona fide holders of the orders for certificates of loans
are now unable to obtain them, and thus the city’s credit is injured to
a greater extent than the present defalcation, which amounts to over
five hundred thousand dollars. An accountant is now at work on the
treasurer's books, and a few days should make clear the whole modus
operandi. It is hoped that the publicity thus obtained will break up
such vicious practices.”

There was appended_to this report a quotation from the law
governing the abuse of a public trust; and the committee went
on to say that, unless some taxpayer chose to initiate proceedings
for the prosecution of those concerned, the committee itself would
be called upon to do so, although such action hardly came within
the object for which it was formed.

This report was immediately given to the papers. “Though
some sort of a public announcement had been anticipated by Cow-
perwood and the politicians, this..was, nevertheless,..a.severe
blow. Stener was beside*himself with=fear. He broke into a
cold sweat when he saw the announcement which was con-
servatively headed, “Meeting of the Municipal Reform As-
sociation.” All of the papers were so closely identified with
the political and financial-powers“of-the~city that_they did not
dare to come out openly and say what they thought. The chief
facts had already been in the hands of the various editors and
publishers for a week and more, but word had gone around
from Mollenhauer, Simpson, and Butler to use the soft pedal
for the present. It was not good for Philadelphia, for local
commerce, etc., to make a row. ‘The fair name of the city
would be smirched. It was the old story.268 THE FINANCIER

At once the question was raised as to who was really guilty,
the city treasurer or the broker, or both. How much money had
actually been lost? Where had it gone? Who was Frank
Algernon Cowperwood, anyway? Why was he not arrested ?
How did he come to be identified so closely with the financial
administration of the city? And though the day of what later
was termed “yellow journalism” had_not arrived, and the local
papers were not given to such vital personal comment as fol-
lowed later, it was not possible, even bound as they were, hand
and foot, by the local political and social magnates, to avoid
comment of some sort. Editorials had to be-written. Some
solemn, conservative references to the shame and disgrace which
one single individual could bring to a great city and a noble
political party had to be ventured upon.

That desperate scheme to cast the blame on Cowperwood
temporarily, which had been concocted by Mollenhauer, Butler,
and Simpson, to get the odium of the crime outside the party
lines for the time being, was now lugged forth and put in
It was interesting and-strange to note how quickly
the newspapers, and even the Citizens’ Municipal Reform As-
sociation, adopted the argument that Cowperwood was largely,
Stener had loaned him the money, it is
ris hands for sale, it is true, but

gain the impression that Cow-

operation.

if not solely, to blame.
true—had put bond issues in I
somehow every one seemed to
iad desperately misused the treasurer. The fact that
ty-thousand-dollar check for certificates which
at, though until they

perwood |
he had taken a six
were not in the sinking-fund was hinted
could actually confirm this for themselves both the newspapers

and the committee were too fearful of the State libel laws to

say So.

In due time there were brought forth several noble municipal
letters, purporting to be a stern call on the part of the mayor,
Mr. Jacob Borchardt, on Mr. George W. Stener for an im-
mediate explanation of his conduct, and the latter’s reply, which
were at once given to the newspapers and the Citizens’ Municipal
Reform Association. These letters were enough to show, so the
politicians figured, that the Republican party was anxious to
purge itself of any miscreant within its ranks, and they also
helped to pass the time until after election.EE en INAN CAR 269

OFFICE OF THE Mayor OF THE City OF PHILADELPHIA

GeEorcE W. STENER, Esq, October 18, 1871.
City Treasurer.

Dear Sir —Information has been given me that certificates of city loan
to a large’/amount, issued by you for sale on account of the city, and, I
presume, after the usual requisition from the mayor of the city, have
passed out of your custody, and that the proceeds of the sale of said
certificates have not been paid into the city treasury.

I have also been informed that a large amount of the city’s money
has been permitted to pass into the hands of some one or more brokers
or bankers doing business on Third Street, and that said brokers or bankers
have since met with financial difficulties, whereby, and by reason of the
above generally, the interests of the city are likely to be very seriously
affected.

I have therefore to request that you will promptly advise me of
the truth or falsity of these statements, so that such duties as devolve
upon me as the chief magistrate of the city, in view of such facts, if
they exist, may be intelligently discharged.

Yours respectfully,
JACOB BorCHARDT,
Mayor of Philadelphia.

OFFICE OF THE TREASURER OF THE CITY OF PHILADELPHIA

Hon. Jacop Borcwarpt. October 19, 1871.
Dear Sir,—I have to acknowledge the receipt of your communication
of the 21st instant, and to express my regret that I cannot at this time
give you the information you ask. There is undoubtedly an embarrass-
ment in the city treasury, owing to the delinquency of the broker who for
several years past has negotiated the city loans, and I have been, since the
discovery of this fact, and still am occupied in endeavoring to avert or
lessen the loss with which the city is threatened.
I am, very respectfully,

 

GrorGE W. STENER.

OFFICE OF THE Mayor oF THE City OF PHILADELPHIA
October 21, 1871.
Grorce W. STEnER, Esq.,
City Treasurer.

Dear Srr—Under the existing circumstances you will consider this as a
notice of withdrawal and revocation of any requisition or authority by me
for the sale of loan, so far as the same has not been fulfilled. Applica-
tions for loans, authorized and not issued, may for the present be made
at this office.

Very respectfully,
Jacosp BorcHARDT,
Mayor of Philadelphia.THE FINANCIER

 

And did Mr. Jacob Borchardt write the letters to which his
name was attached? He did not. Mr. Abner Sengstack wrote
them in Mr. Mollenhauer’s office, and Mr. Mollenhauer’s com-
ment when he saw them was that he thought they would do—
that they were very good, in fact. And did Mr. George W.
Stener, city treasurer of Philadelphia, write that very politic
reply? He did not. Mr. Stener was in a state of complete
collapse, even crying at one time at-home in his bathtub. Mr.
Abner-Senestack wrote that also, and had Mr. Stener sign it.
And Mr. Mollenhauer’s comment on that, before it was sent,
was that he thought it was “all right.” It was a time when
all the little rats and mice were scurrying to cover because of
the presence of a great, fiery-eyed public cat somewhere in the
dark, and only the older and wiser rats were able to act.

Indeed, at this very time and for some days past now, Messrs.
Mollenhauer, Butler and Simpson were, and had been, consid-
ering with Mr. Pettie, the district attorney, just what could
be done about Cowperwood, if anything, and in order to further
emphasize the blame in that direction, and just what defense,
if any, could be made for Stener. Butler, of course, was strong
for Cowperwood’s prosecution. Pettie did not see that any
defense could be made for Stener, since various records of
street-car stocks purchased for him were spread upon Cowper-
wood’s books: but for Cowperwood.—“Let me see,” he said.
They were speculating, first of all, as to whether it might not
be good policy to arrest Cowperwood, and if necessary try him,
since his mere arrest would seem to the general public, at least,
positive proof of his greater guilt, to say nothing of the virtu-
ous indignation of the administration, and in consequence might
tend to divert attention from the evil nature of the party until
after election.

So finally, on the afternoon of October 26, 1871, Edward
Strobik, president of the common council of Philadelphia, ap-
peared before the mayor, as finally ordered by Mollenhauer,
and charged by affidavit that Frank A. Cowperwood, as broker,
employed by the treasurer to sell the bonds of the city, had
committed embezzlement and larceny as bailee. It did not mat-
ter that he charged George W. Stener with embezzlement at
the same time. Cowperwood was the scapegoat they were after.CHAPTER XXXIV

HE contrasting pictures presented by Cowperwood and
Stener at this time are well worth a moment’s consid-
eration. Stener’s face was grayish-white, his lips blue. Cow-
perwood, despite various solemn thoughts concerning a possible
period of incarceration which this hue and cry now suggested,
and what that meant to his parents, his wife and children, his
business associates, and his friends, was as calm and collected as
one might assume his great mental resources would permit him to
_be. During all this whirl of disaster he had_never once lost his
head™or—his_courage-——-hat~thing conscience, which obsesses
and rides some people to destruction, did not trouble him at
all. He had no consciousness of what is currently known as
sin. ‘There were just two faces to the shield of life from the
point of view of his peculiar mind—strength and weakness.
Right and wrong? He did not know about those. They were
bound up in metaphysical abstrusities about which he did not
care to bother. Good and evil? ‘Those were toys of clerics,
by which they made money. And as for social favor or social
ostracism which, on occasion, so quickly followed upon the heels
of disaster of any kind, well, what was social ostracism? Had
either he or his parents been of the best society as yet? And
since not, and despite this present mix-up, might not the future
hold social restoration and position for him? It might. Moral-
ity and immorality? He meyer considered them.....But strength
and weakness—oh, yes! If you had strength you could protect
yourself always and be something. If you were weak—pass
quickly to the rear and get out of the range of the guns. He
was strong, and he knew it, and somehow he always believed
in his star. Something—he could not say what—it was the
only metaphysics he bothered about—was doing something for
him. It had always helped him. It made things come out
right at times. It put excellent opportunities in his way. Why
had he been given so fine a mind? Why always favored finan-
cially, personally? He had not deserved it—earned it. Ac-
295272 THE FINANCIER

 

cident, perhaps, but somehow the thought that he would always
be protected—these intuitions, the “hunches” to act which he
frequently had—could not be so easily explained. Life was a
dark, insoluble mystery, but whatever it was, strength and
weakness were its two constituents. Strength would win—
weakness lose. He must rely on swiftness of thought, accuracy,

his judgment, and on nothing else. He was really a brilliant

moving about briskly in a

 

picture of courage and energy
jaunty, dapper way, his mustaches curled, his clothes pressed,
his nails manicured, his face clean-shaven and tinted with health.
In the meantime, Cowperwood had gone personally to Skelton
C. Wheat and tried to explain his side of the situation, alleging
that he had done no differently from many others before him,
but Wheat was dubious. He did not see how it was that the
sixty thousand dollars’ worth of certificates were not in the
sinking-fund. Cowperwood’s explanation of custom did not
avail. Nevertheless, Mr. Wheat saw that others in politics had
been profiting quite as much as Cowperwood in other ways and
he advised—Cowperwood-to..turn_state’s evidence.« This, how-
ever, he promptly refused to do—he was no “‘squealer,” and
indicated as much to Mr. Wheat, who only smiled wryly.
Butler, Sr., was delighted (concerned though he was about
party success at the polls), for now he had-this-villain-in the toils
and he would have a-fine-time-getting out of this. The incoming
district attorney to succeed David Pettie if the Republican Party
won would be, as was now planned, an appointee of Butler’s—a
young Irishman who had done considerable legal work for him—
one Dennis Shannon. ‘The other two party leaders had already
promised Butler that Shannon was a smart, athletic, good-looking
fellow, all of five feet ten inches in height, sandy-haired, pink-
cheeked, blue-eyed, considerable of an orator and a fine legal
fighter. He was very proud to be in the old man’s favor—to be
promised a place on the ticket by him—and would, he said, if
elected, do his bidding to the best of his knowledge and ability.
There was only one fly in the ointment, so far as some of the
politicians were concerned, and that was that if Cowperwood
were convicted, Stener must needs be also. There was no escape
in so far as any one could see for the city treasurer. If Cowper-
wood was guilty of securing by trickery sixty thousand dollars’
worth of the city money, Stener was guilty of securing five hun-THE FINANCIER 273

dred thousand dollars. The prison term for this was five years.
He might plead not guilty, and by submitting as evidence that
what he did was due to custom save himself from the odious ne-
cessity of pleading guilty; but he would be convicted neverthe-
less. No jury could get by the fact in regard to him. In-spite
of public opinion, when it came to a trial there might be con-
siderable doubt in Cowperwood’s case. "There was none in
Stener’s.

The~practical manner in which the situation was furthered,
after~Cowperwood—and—Stener—wereformally charged may be
quickly noted. Steger, Cowperwood’s lawyer, learned privately
beforehand that Cowperwood was to be prosecuted. He arranged
at once to have his client appear before any warrant could be
served, and to forestall the newspaper palaver which would
follow it if he had to be searched for.

The mayor issued a warrant for Cowperwood’s arrest, and,
In accordance with Steger’s plan, Cowperwood immediately
appeared before Borchardt in company with his lawyer and gave
bail in twenty thousand dollars (W. C. Davison, president of
the Girard National Bank, being his surety), for his appearance
at the central police station on the following Saturday for a
hearing. Marcus Oldslaw, a lawyer, had been employed by
Strobik as president of the common council, to represent him in
prosecuting the case for the city. ‘The mayor looked at Cowper-
wood curiously, for he, being comparatively new to the political
world of Philadelphia, was not so familiar with him as others
were; and Cowperwood returned the look pleasantly enough.

“This-is-a-great-dumb show, Mr. Mayor,” he observed once
to Borchardt, quietly, and the latter replied, with a smile and
a kindly eye, that as far as he was concerned, it was a form of
procedure which was absolutely unavoidable at this time.

“You know how it is, Mr. Cowperwood,” he observed.

The latter smiled. “I do, indeed,” he said.

Later there followed several more or less perfunctory appear-
ances in a local police court, known as the Central Court, where
when arraigned he pleaded not guilty, and finally his appear-
ance before the November grand jury, where, owing to the
complicated nature of the charge drawn up against him by
Pettie, he thought it wise to appear. He was properly in-
dicted by the latter body (Shannon, the newly elected district274 THE FINANCIER

 

attorney, making a demonstration in force), and his trial ordered
for December 5th before a certain Judge Payderson in Part I
of Quarter Sessions, which was the local branch of the State
courts dealing with crimes of this character. His indictment
did not occur, however, before the coming and going of the
much-mooted fall election, which resulted, thanks to the clever
political manipulations of Mollenhauer and Simpson (ballot-
box stuffing and personal violence at the polls not barred), in
another victory, by, however, a greatly reduced majority. ‘The
Citizens’ Municipal Reform Association, in spite of a resound-
ing defeat at the polls, which could not have happened except
by fraud, continued to fire courageously away at those whom it
considered to be the chief malefactors.

Aileen Butler, during all this time, was following the trend
of Cowperwood’s outward vicissitudes as heralded by the news-
papers and the local gossip with as much interest and bias and
enthusiasm for him as her powerful physical and affectional
nature would permit. She was-no~great reasoner where~affec-
tion entered-in,.but-shrewd-enough. without it; and, although
she saw him often and he told her much—as much as his natural
caution would permit—she yet gathered from the newspapers
and private conversation, at her own family’s table and elsewhere,
that, as bad as they said he was, he was not as bad as he might
be. One item only, clipped from the Philadelphia Public Ledger
soon after Cowperwood had been publicly accused of embezzle-
ment, comforted and consoled her. She cut it out and carried
it in her bosom; for, somehow, it seemed to show that her adored
Frank was far more sinned against than sinning. It was a part
of one of those very numerous pronunciamientos or reports
issued by the Citizens’ Municipal Reform Association, and it ran:

“The aspects of the case are graver than have yet been allowed to reach
the public. Five hundred thousand dollars of the deficiency arises not
from city bonds sold and not accounted for, but from loans made by the
treasurer to his broker. ‘The committee is also informed, on what it
believes to be good authority, that the loans sold by the broker were
accounted for in the monthly settlements at the lowest prices current
during the month, and that the difference between this rate and that
actually realized was divided between the treasurer and the broker, thus
making it to the interest of both parties to ‘bear’ the market at some
time during the month, so as to obtain a low quotation for settlement.

Nevertheless, the committee can only regard the prosecution instituted
against the broker, Mr. Cowperwood, as an effort to divert publicTHE FINANCIER 275

attention from more guilty parties while those concerned may be able
to ‘fix’ matters to suit themselves.”

“There,” thought Aileen, when she read it, “there you have
it.” These politicians—her father among them as she gathered
after his conversation with her—were trying to put the blame of
their own evil deeds on her Frank. He was not nearly as bad
as he was painted. ‘The report said so. She gloated over the
words “‘an effort to divert public attention from more guilty par-
ties.” “That was just what her Frank had been telling her in
those happy, private hours when they had been together recently
in one place and another, particularly the new rendezvous in
South Sixth Street which he had established, since the old one
had to be abandoned. He had stroked her rich hair, caressed
her body, and.told her it was all a prearranged political scheme
to east-the blame as muchas possible on him and make it as
light_as_possible for-Stener and the party-generally. He would
come out of it all right; he said, but he cautioned her not to
talk. He did not deny his long and profitable relations with
Stener. He told her exactly how it was. She understood, or
thought she did. Anyhow, her Frank was telling her, and that
was enough.

As for the two Cowperwood households, so recently and pre-
tentiously joined in success, now so gloomily tied in failure, the
life was going out of them. Frank Algernon was that life. He
was the courage and force of his father, the spirit and opportunity
of his brothers, the hope of his children, the estate of his wife,
the dignity and significance of the Cowperwood name. All that
meant opportunity, force, emolument, dignity, and happiness to
those connected with him, he was. And his marvelous sun was
waning apparently to a black eclipse.

Since the fatal morning, for instance, when Lillian Cowper-
wood had received that utterly destructive note, like a cannon-
ball ripping through her domestic affairs, she had been walking
like one in a trance. Each day now for weeks she had been
going about her duties placidly enough to all outward seeming,
but inwardly she was running with a troubled tide of thought.
She was so utterly unhappy. Her fortieth year had come for
her at a time when life ought naturally to stand fixed and firm
on a solid base, and here she was about to be torn bodily from
the domestic soil in which she was growing and blooming, andTHE FINANCIER

 

276

thrown cut indifferently to wither in the blistering noonday
sun of circumstance.

As for Cowperwood, Senior, his situation at his bank and
elsewhere was rapidly nearing a climax. As has been said, he
had had tremendous faith in his son; but he could not help seeing
that an error had been committed, as he thought, and that Frank
was suffering greatly for it now. He considered, of course, that
Frank had been entitled to try to save himself as he had; but
he so regretted that his son should have put his foot into the
trap of any situation which could stir up discussion of the sort
that was now being aroused. Frank was wonderfully brilliant.
He need never have taken up with the city treasurer or the
politicians to have succeeded marvelously. Local street-railways
and speculative politicians were his undoing. The old man
walked the floor all of the days, realizing that his sun was
setting, that with Frank’s failure he failed, and that this dis-
grace—these public charges—meant his own undoing. His hair
had grown very gray in but a few weeks, his step slow, his face
pallid, his eyes sunken. His rather showy side-whiskers seemed
now like flags or ornaments of a better day that was gone. His
only consolation through it all was that Frank had actually got
out of his relationship with the Third National Bank without
owing it a single dollar. Still as he knew the directors of that in-
stitution could not possibly tolerate the presence of a man
whose son had helped loot the city treasury, and whose name
was now in the public prints in this connection. Besides, Cow-
perwood, Sr., was too old. He ought to retire.

The crisis for him therefore came on the day when Frank
was arrested on the embezzlement charge. The old man,
through Frank, who had it from Steger, knew it was coming,
still had the courage to go to the bank but it was like struggling
under the weight of a heavy stone to do it. But before going,
and after a sleepless night, he wrote his resignation to Frewen
Kasson, the chairman of the board of directors, in order that he
should be prepared to hand it to him, at once. Kasson, a stocky,
well-built, magnetic man of fifty, breathed an inward sigh of
relief at the sight of it.

“T know it’s hard, Mr. Cowperwood,” he said, sympathetically.
‘“We—and I can speak for the other members of the board—we
feel keenly the unfortunate nature of your position. We knowTHE FINANCE R 277

exactly how it is that your son has become involved in this
matter. He is not the only banker who has been involved in the
city’s affairs. By no means. It is an old system. We appreciate,
all of us, keenly, the services you have rendered this institution
during the past thirty-five years. If there were any possible
way in which we could help to tide you over the difficulties at
this time, we would be glad to do so, but as a banker yourself
you must realize just how impossible that would be. Every-
thing is in a turmoil. If things were settled—if we knew how
soon this would blow over—’ He paused, for he felt that he
could not go on and say that he or the bank was sorry to be
forced to lose Mr. Cowperwood in this way at present. Mr.
Cowperwood himself would have to speak.

During all this Cowperwood, Sr., had been doing his best to
pull himself together in order to be able to speak at all. He
had gotten out a large white linen handkerchief and blown his
nose, and he had straightened himself in his chair, and laid
his hands rather peacefully on his desk. Still he was intensely
wrought up.

“T can’t stand this!” he suddenly exclaimed. “I wish you
would leave me alone now.”

Kasson, very carefully dressed and manicured, arose and
walked out of the room for a few moments. He appreciated
keenly the intensity of the strain he had just witnessed. ‘The
moment the door was closed Cowperwood put his head in his
hands and shook convulsively. “I never thought I’d come to
this,” he muttered. “I never thought it.”’ Then he wiped away
his salty hot tears, and went to the window to look out and to
think of what else to do from now on.

)CHAPTER XXXV

 

S time went on Butler grew more and more puzzled and
restive as.to his duty in regard--to-his.daughter...He_ was
sure by her furtive manner and her apparent desire to avoid
him, that she was still in touch with Cowperwood in some
way, and that this would bring about a social disaster of some
kind... He thought once of going to Mrs. Cowperwood and
having her bring pressure to bear on her husband, but after-
wards he decided that that would not do. He was not really
positive as yet that Aileen was secretly meeting Cowper-
wood, and, besides, Mrs. Cowperwood might not know of her
husband’s duplicity. He thought also of going to Cowperwood
personally and threatening him, but that would be a severe meas-
ure, and again, as in the other case, he lacked proof. He hesi-
tated to appeal to a detective agency, and he did not care to
take the other members of the family into his confidence. He
did go out and scan the neighborhood of 931 North Tenth, Street
once, looking at the house; but that helped him little. The
place was for rent, Cowperwood having already abandoned his
connection with it.

Finally he hit upon the plan of having Aileen invited to go
somewhere some distance off—Boston or New Orleans, where a
sister of his wife lived. It was a delicate matter to engineer,
and in such matters he was not exactly the soul of tact; but he
undertook it. He wrote personally to his wife’s sister at New
Orleans, and asked her if she would, without indicating in
any way that she had heard from him, write his wife and ask
if she would not permit Aileen to come and visit her, writing
Aileen an invitation at the same time; but he tore the letter
up. A little later he learned accidentally that Mrs. Mollenhauer
and her three daughters, Caroline, Felicia and Alta, were go-
ing to Europe early in December to visit Paris, the Riviera,
and Rome; and he decided to ask Mollenhauer to persuade
his wife to invite Norah and Aileen, or Aileen only, to go along,
giving as an excuse that his own wife would not leave him, and
that the girls ought to go. It would be a fine way of disposing
278THE FINANCIER 279

of Aileen for the present. The party was to be gone six months.
Mollenhauer was glad to do so, of course. The two families
were fairly intimate. Mrs..Mollenhauer was willing—delighted
from_a_politic point of view—and the invitation was extended.
Norah was overjoyed. She wanted to see something of Europe,
and had always been hoping for some such opportunity. Aileen
was pleased from the point of view that Mrs. Mollenhauer
should invite her. Years before she would have accepted in a
flash. But now she felt that it only came as a puzzling inter-
ruption, one more of the minor difficulties that were tending to
interrupt her relations with Cowperwood. She immediately
threw cold water on the proposition, which was made one eve-
ning at dinner by Mrs. Butler, who did not know of her hus-
band’s share in the matter, but had received a call that afternoon
from Mrs. Mollenhauer, when the invitation had been extended.

“She’s very anxious to have you two come along, if your
father don’t mind,” volunteered the mother, “and I should
think ye’d have a fine time. ‘They’re going to Paris and the
Riveera.”

“Oh, fine!” exclaimed Norah. “I’ve always wanted to go
to Paris. Haven’t you, Ai? Oh, wouldn’t that be fine?”

“T don’t know that I want to go,” replied Aileen. She did
not care to compromise herself by showing any interest at the
start. “It’s coming on winter, and I haven’t any clothes. I’d
rather wait and go some other time.”

“Oh, Aileen Butler!” exclaimed Norah. ‘‘How you talk!
I’ve heard you say a dozen times you’d like to go abroad some
winter. Now when the chance comes—besides you can get your
clothes made over there.”

“Couldn’t you get somethin’ over there?” inquired Mrs. But-
ler. ‘Besides, you’ve got two or three weeks here yet.”

“They wouldn’t want a man around as a sort of a guide and
adviser, would they, mother?” put in Callum.

“T might offer my services in that capacity myself,” observed
Owen, reservedly.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” returned Mrs. Butler, smiling, and
at the same time chewing a lusty mouthful. “You'll have to
ast ’em, my sons.”

Aileen still persisted. She did not want to go. It was too
sudden. It was this. It was that. Just then old Butler came280 THE FINANCIER

*n and took his seat at the head of the table. Knowing all
about it, he was most anxious to appear not to.

“You wouldn’t object, Edward, would you?” queried his
wife, explaining the proposition in general.

“Object!” he echoed, with a well simulated but rough at-
tempt at gayety. “A fine thing I’d be doing for meself—
objectin’. I’dbe glad if I could get shut of the whole pack of ye
for a time.”

“What talk ye have!” said his wife. “A fine mess you’d make
of it livin’ alone.”

“Id not be alone, belave me,” replied Butler. ‘“There’s many
a place I’d be welcome in this town—no thanks to ye.”

“And there’s many a place ye wouldn’t have been if it hadn’t
been for me. I’m tellin’ ye that,” retorted Mrs. Butler, genially.

“And that’s not stretchin’ the troot much, aither,” he answered,
fondly.

Aileen was adamant. No amount of argument both on the
part of Norah and her mother had any effect whatever. But-
ler witnessed the failure of his plan with considerable dissatis-
faction, but he was not through. When he was finally con-
vinced that there was no hope of persuading her to accept the
Mollenhauer proposition, he decided, after a while, to employ
a detective.

At that time, the reputation of William A. Pinkerton, of
detective fame, and of his agency was great. The man had come
up from poverty through a series of vicissitudes to a high standing
in his peculiar and, to many, distasteful profession; but to any
one in need of such in themselves calamitous services, his very
famous and decidedly patriotic connection with the Civil War
and Abraham Lincoln was a recommendation. He, or rather
his service, had guarded the latter all during his stormy in-
cumbency at the executive mansion. ‘There were offices for
the management of the company’s business in Philadelphia, Wash-
ington, and New York, to say nothing of other places. Butler
was familiar with the Philadelphia sign, but did not care to go
to the office there. He decided, once his mind was made up on
this score, that he would go over to New York, where he was
told the principal offices were.

He made the simple excuse one day of business, which was
common enough in his case, and journeyed to New Y ork—nearlyTHe EN AN GER 281

five hours away as the trains ran then—arriving at two o’clock.
At the offices on lower Broadway, he asked to see the manager,
whom he found to be a large, gross-featured, heavy-bodied man
of fifty, gray-eyed, gray-haired, puffily outlined as to countenance,
but keen and shrewd, and with short, fat-fingered hands, which
drummed idly on his desk as he talked. He was dressed in a
suit of dark-brown wool cloth, which struck Butler as peculiarly
showy, and wore a large horseshoe diamond pin. ‘The old man
himself invariably wore conservative gray.

“How do you do?” said Butler, when a boy ushered him
into the presence of this worthy, whose name was Martinson
—Gilbert Martinson, of American and Irish extraction. ‘The
latter nodded and looked at Butler, shrewdly, recognizing him
at-once_as.a-man of force and probably of position. He there-
fore rose and offered him a chair.

“Sit down,” he said, studying the old Irishman from under
thick, bushy eyebrows. ‘‘What can I do for you?”

“You’re the manager, are you?” asked Butler, solemnly, eyeing
the man with a shrewd, inquiring eye.

“Yes, sir,” replied Martinson, simply. ‘“That’s my position
here.”

“This Mr. Pinkerton that runs this agency—he wouldn’t be
about this place, now, would he?” asked Butler, carefully. “I’d
like to talk to him personally, if I might, meaning no offense
to you.”

“Mr. Pinkerton is in Chicago at present,” replied Mr. Mar-
tinson. “I don’t expect him back for a week or ten days. You
can talk to me, though, with the same confidence that you could
to him. I’m the responsible head here. However, you’re the
best judge of that.”

Butler debated with himself in silence for a few moments, esti-
mating the man before him. “Are you a family man yourself?”
he asked, oddly.

“Yes, sir, ’m married,” replied Martinson, solemnly. “I have
a wife and two children.”

Martinson, from long experience conceived that this must be
a matter of family misconduct—a son, daughter, wife. Such
cases were not infrequent.

“T thought I would like to talk to Mr. Pinkerton himself,
but if you’re the responsible head—” Butler paused.Ph EF PNAN Cink

  

282

“T am,” replied Martinson. ‘“‘You can talk to me with the
same freedom that you could to Mr. Pinkerton. Won't you
come into my private office? We can talk more at ease in
there.”

He led the way into an adjoining room which had two windows
looking down into Broadway; an oblong table, heavy, brown,
smoothly polished ; four leather-backed chairs; and some pictures
of the Civil War battles in which the North had been victorious.
Butler followed doubtfully. He hated very much to take any
one into his confidence in regard to Aileen. He was not sure
that he would, even now. He wanted to “look these fellys
over,” as he said in his mind. He would decide then what he
wanted to do. He went to one of the windows and looked down
into the street, where there was a perfect swirl of omnibuses
and vehicles of all sorts). Mr. Martinson quietly closed the
door.

‘Now then, if there’s anything I can do for you, Mr.
Martinson paused. He thought by this little trick to elicit
Butler’s real name—it often “worked”—but in this instance the
name was not forthcoming. Butler was too shrewd.

“T’m not so sure that I want to go into this,” said the old
man, solemnly. “Certainly not if there’s any risk of the thing
not being handled in the right way. There’s somethin’ I want
to find out about—somethin’ that I ought to know; but it’s a
very private matter with me, and—” He paused to think and
conjecture,. looking at Mr. Martinson the while. The latter
understood his peculiar state of mind. He had seen many such
cases.

“Let me say right here, to begin with, Mr.

“Scanlon,” interpolated Butler, easily; “that’s as good a name
as any if you want to use one. I’m keepin’ me own to meself
for the present.”

“Scanlon,” continued Martinson, easily. “I really don’t care
whether it’s your right name or not. I was just going to say
that it might not be necessary to have your right name under
any circumstances—it all depends upon what you want to know.
But, so far as your private affairs are concerned, they are as
safe with us, as if you had never told them to any one.
Our business is built upon confidence, and we never betray
it. We wouldn’t dare. We have men and women who have

”

 

 

?EEE NAN Cite 283

been in our employ for over thirty years, and we never re-
tire any one except for cause, and we don’t pick people who
are likely to need to be retired for cause. Mr. Pinkerton is a
good judge of men. ‘There are others here who consider that
they are. We handle over ten thousand separate cases in all
parts of the United States every year. We work on a case only
so long as we are wanted. We try to find out only such things
as Our customers want. We do not pry unnecessarily into any-
body’s affairs. If we decide that we cannot find out what you
want to know, we are the first to say so. Many cases are re-
jected right here in this office before we ever begin. Yours
might be such a one. We don’t want cases merely for the sake
of having them, and we are frank to say so. Some matters that
involve public policy, or some form of small persecution, we
don’t touch at all—we won’t be a party to them. You can see
how that is. You look to me to be a man of the world. I hope
I am one. Does it strike you that an organization like ours
would be likely to betray any one’s confidence?” He paused and
looked at Butler for confirmation of what he had just said.

“It wouldn’t seem likely,” said the latter; “that’s the truth.
It’s not aisy to bring your private affairs into the light of day,
though,” added the old man, sadly.

They both rested.

“Well,” said Butler, finally, “you look to me to be all right,
and I’d like some advice. Mind ye, I’m willing to pay for it
well enough; and it isn’t anything that’ll be very hard to find
out. I want to know whether a certain man where I live is goin’
with a certain woman, and where. You could find that out aisy
enough, I belave—couldn’t you?”

“Nothing easier,” replied Martinson. ‘We are doing it all
the time. Let me see if I can help you just a moment, Mr.
Scanlon, in order to make it easier for you. It is very plain to
me that you don’t care to tell any more than you can help, and
we don’t care to have you tell any more than we absolutely
need. We will have to have the name of the city, of course,
and the name of either the man or the woman; but not neces-
sarily both of them, unless you want to help us in that way.
Sometimes if you give us the name of one party—say the man,
for illustration—and the description of the woman—an accu-
rate one—or a photograph, we can tell you after a little whileTHE FINANCIER

exactly what you want to know. Of course, it’s always better
if we have full information. You suit yourself about that. Tell
me as much or as little as you please, and I’ll guarantee that we
will do our best to serve you, and that you will be satisfied after-
ward.”

He smiled genially.

“Well, that bein’ the case,” said Butler, finally taking the
leap, with many mental reservations, however, “T’ll be plain with
you. My name’s not Scanlon. It’s Butler. I live in Phila-
delphy. ‘There’s a man there, a banker by the name of Cow-
perwood—Frank A. Cowperwood—”’

“Wait a moment,” said Martinson, drawing an ample pad out
of his pocket and producing a lead-pencil; “I want to get that.
How do you spell it?”

Butler told him.

“Yes; now go on.”

“He has a place in Third Street—Frank A. Cowperwood—
any one can show you where it is. He’s just failed there
recently.”

“Oh, that’s the man,” interpolated Martinson. “I’ve heard
of him. He’s mixed up in some city embezzlement case over
there. I suppose the reason you didn’t go to our Philadelphia
office is because you didn’t want our local men over there to
know anything about it. Isn’t that it?”

“That’s the man, and that’s the reason,” said Butler. “I
don’t care to have anything of this known in Philadelphy. That’s
why I’m here. This man has a house on Girard Avenue—
Nineteen-thirty-seven. You can find that out, too, when you
get over there.”

‘Yes’ agreed Mr. Martinson.

“Well, it’s him that I want to know about—him—and a cer-
tain woman, or girl, rather.” “The old man paused and winced
at this necessity of introducing Aileen into the case. He could
scarcely think of it—he was so fond of her. He had been_se-
proud of Aileen. A dark, smoldering rage burned in his heart
against Cowperwood.

“A relative of yours—possibly, I suppose,” remarked Martin-
son, tactfully. “You needn’t tell me any more—just give me a
description if you wish. We may be able to work from that.”
He saw quite clearly what a fine old citizen in his way he wasTHE EENANCIER

   

285

dealing with here, and also that the man was greatly troubled.
Butler’s heavy, meditative face showed it. “You can be quite
frank with me, Mr. Butler,” he added; ‘‘I think I understand.
We only want such information as we must have to help you,
nothing more.”

“Yes,” said the old man, dourly. ‘She is a relative. She’s
me daughter, in fact. You look to me like a sinsible, honest
man. I’m her father, and I wouldn’t do anything for the world
to harm her. It’s tryin’ to save her I am. It’s him I want.”
He suddenly closed one big fist forcefully.

Martinson, who had two daughters of his own, observed the
suggestive movement.

“T understand how. you feel, Mr. Butler,” he observed. “I
am a father myself. We'll do all we can for you. If you can
give me an accurate description of her, or let one of my men
see her at your house or office, accidentally, of course, I think
we can tell you in no time at all if they are meeting with any
regularity. That’s all you want to know, is it—just that?”

““That’s all,” said Butler, solemnly.

“Well, that oughtn’t to take any time at all, Mr. Butler—
three or four days possibly, if we have any luck—a week, ten
days, two weeks. It depends on how long you want us to shadow
him in case there is no evidence the first few days.”

“T want to know, however long it takes,” replied Butler, bit-
terly. “I want to know, if it takes a month or two months or
three to find out. I want to know.” ‘The old man got up as
he said this, very positive, very rugged. ‘‘And don’t send me
men that haven’t sinse—lots of it, plase. I want men that are
fathers, if you’ve got ’em—and that have sinse enough to hold
their tongues—not b’ys.”

“T understand, Mr. Butler,’ Martinson replied. “Depend on
it, you'll have the best we have, and you can trust them.
They'll be discreet. You can depend on that. The way [ll do
will be to assign just one man to the case at first, some one
you can see for yourself whether you like or not. I’ll not tell him
anything. You can talk to him. If you like him, tell him, and
he’ll do the rest. Then, if he needs any more help, he can get
it. What is your address?”

Butler gave it to him.
“And there'll be no talk about this?”LAE KINANCIER

 

“None whatever—I assure you.”

“And when’ll he be comin’ along?”

“To-morrow, if you wish. I have a man I could send
to-night. He isn’t here now or I'd have him talk with you.
I'll talk to him, though, and make everything clear. You needn’t
worry about anything. Your daughter’s reputation will be safe
in his hands.”

“Thank you kindly,” commented Butler, softening the least
bit in a gingerly way. “I’m much obliged to you. I'll take it
as a great favor, and pay you well.”

“Never mind about that, Mr. Butler,” replied Martinson.
“You’re welcome to anything this concern can do for you at its
ordinary rates.”

He showed Butler to the door, and the old man went out.
He was feeling very depressed over this—very shabby. To think
he should have to put detectives on the track of his Aileen, his
daughter!CHAPTER XXXVI

HE very next day there called at Butler’s office a long,

preternaturally solemn man of noticeable height and angu-
larity, dark-haired, dark-eyed, sallow, with a face that was long
and leathery, and particularly hawk-like, who talked with But-
ler for over an hour and then departed. That evening he came
to the Butler house around dinner-time, and, being shown into
Butler’s room, was given a look at Aileen by a ruse. Butler
sent for her, standing in the doorway just far enough to one
side to yield a good view of her. The detective stood behind one
of the heavy curtains which had already been put up for the
winter, pretending to look out into the street.

“Did any one drive Sissy this mornin’?” asked Butler of
Aileen, inquiring after a favorite family horse. Butler’s plan,
in case the detective was seen, was to give the impression that he
was a horseman who had come either to buy or to sell. His name
was Jonas Alderson, and he looked sufficiently like a horse-
trader to be one.

“T don’t think so, father,” replied Aileen. “I didn’t. I'l
find out.”

“Never mind. What I want to know is did you intend using
her to-morrow?”

* No, not if you want her. Jerry suits me just as well.”

“Very well, then. Leave her in the stable.” Butler quietly
closed the door. Aileen concluded at once that it was a horse
conference. She knew he would not dispose of any horse in
which she was interested without first consulting her, and so
she thought no more about it.

After she was gone Alderson stepped out and declared that
he was satisfied. ‘That’s all I need to know,” he said. “Tl
let you know in a few days if I find out anything.”

He departed, and within thirty-six hours the house and office
of Cowperwood, the house of Butler, the office of Harper Steger,
Cowperwood’s lawyer, and Cowperwood and Aileen separately
and personally were under complete surveillance. It took six
men to do it at first, and eventually a seventh, when the second

287288 THE FINANCIER

meeting-place, which was located in South Sixth Street, was
discovered. All the detectives were from New York. In 2
week all was known to Alderson. It had been agreed between
him and Butler that if Aileen and Cowperwood were discovered
to have any particular rendezvous Butler was to be notified some
time when she was there, so that he might go immediately and
confront her in person, if he wished. He did not intend to kill
Cowperwood—and_ Alderson would have seen to it.that_he
did not in his presence at least, but he would give him a good
tongue-lashing, fell him to the floor, in all likelihood, and march
Aileen away. ‘There would be no more lying on her part as to
whether she was or was not going with Cowperwood. She
would not be able to say after that what she would or would not
do. Butler would lay down the law to her. She would reform,
or he would send her to a reformatory. Think of her influence
on her sister, or on any good girl—knowing what she knew, or
doing what she«was doing! She would go to Europe after this,
or any place he-chose to send her.

In working out his plan of action it was necessary for Butler
to take Alderson into his confidence and the detective made
plain his determination to safeguard Cowperwood’s person.

“We couldn’t allow you to sttike any blows or do any vio-
lence,” Alderson told Butler, when they first talked about it.
“Tt’s against the rules. You can go in there on a search-warrant,
if we have to have one. I can get that for you without anybody’s
knowing anything about your connection with the case. We can
say it’s for a girl from New York. But you'll have to go in in
the presence of my men. They won’t permit any trouble. You
can get your daughter all right—we’ll bring her away, and him,
too, if you say so; but you'll have to make some charge against
him, if we do. Then there’s the danger of the neighbors seeing.
You can’t always guarantee you won’t collect a crowd that way.”
Butler had many misgivings about the matter. It was fraught
with great danger of publicity. Still he wanted to know. He
wanted to terrify Aileen if he could—to reform her drastically.

Within a week Alderson learned that Aileen and Cowperwood
were visiting an apparently private residence, which was any-
thing but that. The house on South Sixth Street was one of
assignation purely; but in its way it was superior to the average
establishment of its kind—of red brick, white-stone trimmings,THE RENAN Cy ER 289

 

four stories high, and all the rooms, some eighteen in number,
furnished in a showy but cleanly way. Its patronage was highly
exclusive, only those being admitted who were known to the
mistress, having been introduced by others. This guaranteed
that privacy which the illicit affairs of this world so greatly
require. The mere phrase, “I have an appointment,” was suff-
cient, where either of the parties was known, to cause them to
be shown to a private suite. Cowperwood had known of the place
from previous experiences, and when it became necessary to
abandon the North Tenth Street house, he had directed Aileen
to meet him here.

The matter of entering a place of this kind and trying to find
any one was, as Alderson informed Butler on hearing of its
character, exceedingly difficult. It involved the right of search,
which was difficult to get. “To enter by sheer force was easy
enough in most instances where the business conducted was in
contradistinction to the moral sentiment of the community; but
sometimes one encountered violent opposition from the tenants
themselves. It might be so in this case. “The only sure way of
avoiding such opposition would be to take the woman who ran
the place into one’s confidence, and by paying her sufficiently in-
sure silence. ‘‘But I do not advise that in this instance,” Alder-
son had told Butler, ‘for I believe this woman is particularly
friendly to your man. It might be better, in spite of the risk,
to take it by surprise.’ To do that, he explained, it would be
necessary to have at least three men in addition to the leader—
perhaps four, who, once one man had been able to make his
entrance into the hallway, on the door being opened in response
to a ring, would appear quickly and enter with and sustain him.
Quickness of search was the next thing—the prompt opening
of all doors. The servants, if any, would have to be overpowered
and silenced in some way. Money sometimes did this; force ac-
complished it at other times. Then one of the detectives simu-
lating a servant could tap gently at the different doors—Butler
and the others standing by—and in case a face appeared identify
it or not, as the case might be. If the door was not opened and
the room was not empty, it could eventually be forced. ‘The
house was one of a solid block, so that there was no chance of
escape save by the front and rear doors, which were to be safe-
guarded. It was a daringly conceived scheme. In spite of allTHE FINANCIER

 

this, secrecy.in the matter of removing Aileen was to be preserved.

When Butler heard of this he was nervous about the whole
terrible procedure. He thought once that without going to the
house he would merely talk to his daughter declaring that he
knew and that she could not possibly deny it. He would then
give her her choice between going to Europe or going to a re-
formatory. But a sense of the raw brutality of Aileen’s disposi-
tion, and something essentially coarse in himself, made him even-
tually adopt the other method. He ordered Alderson to perfect
his plan, and once he found Aileen or Cowperwood entering the
house to inform him quickly. He would then drive there, and
with the assistance of these men confront her.

It was a foolish scheme, a brutalizing thing to do, both from
the point of view of affection and any corrective theory he might
have had. No good ever springs from violence. But Butler
did not see that. He wanted to frighten Aileen, to bring her
by shock to a realization of the enormity of the offense she
was committing. He waited fully a week after his word had been
given; and then, one afternoon, when his nerves were worn
almost thin from fretting, the climax came. Cowperwood had
already been indicted, and was now awaiting trial. Aileen had
been bringing him news, from time to time, of just how she
thought her father was feeling toward him. She did not get
this evidence direct from Butler, of course—he was too secre-
tive, in so far as she was concerned, to let her know how relent-
lessly he was engineering Cowperwood’s final downfall—but
from odd bits confided to Owen, who confided them to Cal-
lum, who in turn, innocently enough, confided them to Aileen.
For one thing, she had learned in this way of the new district
attorney elect—his probable attitude—for he was a constant
caller at the Butler house or office. Owen had told Callum
that he thought Shannon was going to do his best to send
Cowperwood “up”—that the old man thought he deserved it.

In the next place she had learned that her father did not want
Cowperwood to resume business—did not feel he deserved to
be allowed to. “It would be a God’s blessing if the community
were shut of him,” he had said to Owen one morning, apropos
of a notice in the papers of Cowperwood’s legal struggles;
and Owen had asked Callum why he thought the old man was
so bitter. "The two sons could not understand it. CowperwoodTE EE NAN Cl ER 291

heard all this from her, and more—bits about Judge Payderson,
the judge who was to try him, who was a friend of Butler’s—
also about the fact that Stener might be sent up for the full term
of his crime, but that he would be pardoned soon afterward.

Apparently Cowperwood was not very much frightened. He
told ~her_that—he had powerful financial friends who™~ would
appeal to the governor to pardon him in case he was convicted ;
and, anyhow, that he did not think that the evidence was strong
enough to convict him. He was merely a political scapegoat
through public clamor and her father’s influence; since the latter’s
receipt_of the letter about them he had been the victim of
Butler’s. enmity, and nothing more. “If it weren’t for your
father, honey,’’ he declared, “I could have this indictment
quashed in no time. Neither Mollenhauer nor Simpson has
anything against me personally, I am sure. They want me to
get out of the street-railway business here in Philadelphia, and, of
course, they wanted to make things look better for Stener at first;
but depend upon it, if your father hadn’t been against me they
wouldn’t have gone to any such length in making me the victim.
Your father has this fellow Shannon and these minor politicians
just where he wants them, too. That’s where the trouble lies.
‘They have to go on.”

“Oh, I know,” replied Aileen. ‘It’s me, just me, that’s all.
If it weren’t for me and what he suspects he’d help you in a
minute. Sometimes, you know, I think I’ve been very bad for
you. I don’t know what I ought to do. If I thought it would
help you any I’d not see you any more for a while, though I
don’t see what good that would do now. Oh, I love you, love
you, Frank! I would do anything for you. I don’t care what
people think or say. I love you.”

“Oh, you just think you do,” he replied, jestingly. “You'll
get over it. “There are others.”

“Others!” echoed Aileen, resentfully and contemptuously.
“After you there aren’t any others. I just want one man, my
Frank. If you ever desert me, Ill go to hell. You'll see.”

“Don’t talk like that, Aileen,” he replied, almost irritated.
“T don’t like to hear you. You wouldn’t do anything of the
sort. I love you. You know I’m not going to desert you. It
would pay you to desert me just now.”

“Oh, how you talk!” she exclaimed. “Desert you! It’s likely,2 Ee. ELINA N Cie

 

isn’t it? But if ever you desert me, I’ll do just what I say. I
swear it.”

“Don’t talk like that. Don’t talk nonsense.’

“TI swear it. I swear by my love. I swear by your success—
my own happiness. I'll do just what I say. I'll go to hell.”

Cowperwood got up. He was a little afraid now of this
deep-seated passion he had aroused. It was dangerous. He
could not tell where it would lead.

It was a cheerless afternoon in November, when Alderson,
duly informed of the presence of Aileen and Cowperwood in the
South Sixth Street house by the detective on guard drove rapidly
up to Butler’s office and invited him to come with him. Yet
even now Butler could scarcely.-believe-that-he-was-to--find_his
daughter there. The shame of it. The horror. What would
he say to her? How reproach her? What would-he—do_to
Cowperwood? His large hands shook as he thought. “They
drove rapidly to within a few doors of the place, where a second
detective on guard across the street approached. Butler and
Alderson descended from the vehicle, and together they ap-
proached the door. It was now almost four-thirty in the after-
noon. In a room within the house, Cowperwood, his coat and
vest off, was listening to Aileen’s account of her troubles.

The room in which they were sitting at the time was typical
of the rather commonplace idea of luxury which then prevailed.
Most of the “sets” of furniture put on the market for general
sale by the furniture companies were, when they approached in
any way the correct idea of luxury, imitations of one of the
Louis periods. The curtains were always heavy, frequently
brocaded, and not infrequently red. The carpets were richly
flowered in high colors with a thick, velvet nap. The fur-
niture, of whatever wood it might be made, was almost in-
variably heavy, floriated, and cumbersome. This room con-
tained a heavily constructed bed of walnut, with washstand,
bureau, and wardrobe to match. A large, square mirror in a
gold frame was hung over the washstand. Some poor engravings
of landscapes and several nude figures were hung in gold frames
on the wall. The gilt-framed chairs were upholstered in pink-
and-white-flowered brocade, with polished brass tacks. The
carpet was of thick Brussels, pale-cream and pink in hue, with

,ine Fen AN CLE R 293

large blue jardiniéres containing flowers woven in as ornaments.
The general effect was light, rich, and a little stuffy.

“You know I get desperately frightened, sometimes,” said
Aileen. “Father might be watching us, you know. I’ve often
wondered what I’d do if he caught us. I couldn’t lie out of this,
could [?”

“You certainly couldn’t,” said Cowperwood, who-never.failed
to respond to the incitement of her-charms. She had such lovely
smooth arms, a full, luxuriously tapering throat and neck; her
golden-red hair floated like an aureole about her head, and her
large eyes sparkled. The wondrous vigor of a full womanhood
was hers—errant, ill-balanced, romantic, but exquisite, “but you
might as well not cross that bridge until you come to it,” he con-
tinued. “I myself have been thinking that we had better not
go on with this for the present. That letter ought to have been
enough to stop us for the time.”

He came over to where she stood by the dressing-table, adjust-
ing her hair.

“You’re such a pretty minx,” he said. He slipped his arm
about her and kissed her pretty mouth. “Nothing sweeter than
you this side of Paradise,” he whispered in her ear.

While this was enacting, Butler and the extra detective had
stepped out of sight, to one side of the front door of the house,
while Alderson, taking the lead, rang the bell. A negro servant
appeared.

“Is Mrs. Davis in?” he asked, genially, using the name of
the woman in control. “I’d like to see her.”

“Just come in,” said the maid, unsuspectingly, and indicated
a reception-room on the right. Alderson took off his soft, wide-
brimmed hat and entered. When the maid went up-stairs he
immediately returned to the door and let in Butler and two
detectives. The four stepped into the reception-room unseen.
In a few moments the “madam,” as the current word character-
ized this type of woman, appeared. She was tall, fair, rugged,
and not at all unpleasant to look upon. She had light-blue eyes
and a genial smile. Long contact with the police and the
brutalities of sex in her early life had made her vary, a little
afraid of how the world would use her. This particular method
of making a living being illicit, and she having no other prac-
tical knowledge at her command, she was as anxious to get alongTHE FINANCIER

 

peacefully with the police and the public generally as any
struggling tradesman in any walk of life might have been. She
had on a loose, blue-flowered peignoir, or dressing-gown, open
at the front, tied with blue ribbons and showing a little of her
expensive underwear beneath. A large opal ring graced her left
middle finger, and turquoises of vivid blue were pendent from
her ears. She wore yellow silk slippers with bronze buckles;
and altogether her appearance was not out of keeping with the
character of the reception-room itself, which was a composite of
gold-flowered wall-paper, blue and cream-colored Brussels carpet,
heavily gold-framed engravings of reclining nudes, and a gilt-
framed pier-glass, which rose from the floor to the ceiling.
Needless to say, Butler was shocked to the soul of him by this
suggestive atmosphere which was supposed to include his daughter
in its destructive reaches.

Alderson motioned one of his detectives to get behind the
woman—between her and the door—which he did.

“Sorry to trouble you, Mrs. Davis,’ he said, “but we are
looking for a couple who are in your house here. Were after
a runaway girl. We don’t want to make any disturbance—
merely to get her and take her away.”” Mrs. Davis paled and
opened her mouth. ‘Now don’t make any noise or try to scream,
or we'll have to stop you. My men are all around the house.
Nobody can get out. Do you know anybody by the name of
Cowperwood ?”

Mrs. Davis, fortunately from one point of view, was not of
a patticularly nervous nor yet contentious type. She was more
or less philosophic. She was not in touch with the police here
in Philadelphia, hence subject to exposure. What good would
it do to cry out? she thought. The place was surrounded.
There was no one in the house at the time to save Cowperwood
and Aileen. She did not know Cowperwood by his name, nor
Aileen by hers. They were a Mr. and Mrs. Montague to her,

“T don’t know anybody by that name,” she replied, nervously.

“Isn’t there a girl here with red hair?” asked one of Alder-
son’s assistants. ‘‘And a man with a gray suit and a light-brown
mustache? They came in here half an hour ago. You remem-
ber them, don’t you?”

‘“‘There’s just one couple in the house, but I’m not sure whether
they’re the ones you want. I’ll ask them to come down if youTHE FINANCIER 295

wish. Oh, I wish you wouldn’t make any disturbance. ‘This
is terrible.”

“We'll not make any disturbance,” replied Alderson, “if you
lon’t. Just you be quiet. We merely want to see the girl and
cake her away. Now, you stay where you are. What room
are they in?”

“Tn the second one in the rear up-stairs. Won’t you let me
zo, though? It will be so much better. I'll just tap and ask
them to come out.”

“No. Weill tend to that. You stay where you are. You're
not going to get into any trouble. You just stay where you are,”
insisted Alderson.

He motioned to Butler, who, however, now that he had em-
barked on his grim task, was thinking that he had made a mis-
take. What good would it do him to force his way in and make
her come out, unless he intended to kill Cowperwood? If she
were made to come down here, that would be enough. She
would then know that he knew all... He did not care to quarrel
with Cowperwood, in any public way, he now decided. He was
afraid to. He was afraid of himself.

“Tet her go,’ he said grimly, doggedly referring to Mrs.
Davis. “But watch her. Tell the girl to come down-stairs
to me.”

Mrs. Davis, realizing on the moment that this was some fam-
ily tragedy, and hoping in an agonized way that she could slip
out of it peacefully, started upstairs at once with Alderson and
his assistants who were close at his heels. Reaching the door
of the room occupied by Cowperwood and Aileen, she tapped
lightly. At the time Aileen and Cowperwood were sitting
in a big arm-chair. At the first knock Aileen blanched and
leaped to her feet. Usually not nervous, to-day, for some reason,
she anticipated trouble. Cowperwood’s eyes instantly hardened.

“Don’t be nervous,” he said, “no doubt it’s only the servant.
Wl go.”

He started, but Aileen interfered. ‘‘Wait,” she said. Some-
what reassured, she went to the closet, and taking down a
dressing-gown, slipped it on. Meanwhile the tap came again.
Then she went to the door and opened it the least bit.

“Mrs. Montague,” exclaimed Mrs. Davis, in an obviously296 THE FINANCIER

nervous, forced voice, ‘‘there’s a gentleman downstairs who wishes
to see you.”

“A gentleman to see me!” exclaimed Aileen, astonished and
paling. “Are you sure?”

“Yes; he says he wants to see you. ‘There are several other
men with him. I think it’s some one who belongs to you, maybe.”

Aileen realized on the instant, as did Cowperwood, what had
in all likelihood happened. Butler or Mrs. Cowperwood had
trailed them—in all probability her father. He-wondered now
what he should do to protect her, not himself. He was in no way
deeply concerned for himself, even here. Where any woman was
concerned he was too chivalrous to permit fear. It was not
at all improbable that Butler might want to kill him; but that
did not disturb him. He really did not pay any attention to
that thought, and he was not armed.

“T’ll dress and go down,” he said, when he saw Aileen’s pale
face. “You stay here. And don’t you worry in any way for
Ill get you out of this—now, don’t worry. ‘This is my affair.
I got you in it and I'll get you out of it.”” He went for his hat
and coat and added, as he did so, “You go ahead and dress;
but let me go first.”

Aileen, the moment the door closed, had begun to put on her
clothes swiftly and nervously. Her mind was working like a
rapidly moving machine. She was wondering whether this
really could be her father. Perhaps it was not. Might there be
some other Mrs. Montague—a real one? Supposing it was her
father—he had been so nice to her in not telling the family, in
keeping her secret thus far. He loved her—she knew that. It
makes all the difference in the world in a child’s attitude on an
occasion like this whether she has been loved and petted and
spoiled, or the reverse. Aileen had been loved and petted and
spoiled. She could not think of her father doing anything terrible
physically to her or to any one else. But it was so hard to con-
front him—to look into his eyes. When she had attained a proper
memory of him, her fluttering wits told her what to do.

“No, Frank,” she whispered, excitedly; “‘if it’s father, you’d
better let me go. I know how to talk to him. He won’t say
anything to me. You stay here. I’m not afraid—really, I’m
not. If I want you, I’ll call you.”©fHE FINAN CIBER 297

He had come over and taken her pretty chin in his hands, and
was looking solemnly into her eyes.

“You mustn’t be afraid,” he said. “I'll go down. If it’s your
father, you can go away with him. I don’t think he’ll do any-
thing either to you or to me. If it is he, write me something at
the office. I'll be there. If I can help you in any way, I will.
We can fix up something. There’s no use trying to explain
this. Say nothing at all.”

He had on his coat and overcoat, and was standing with his
hat in his hand. Aileen was nearly dressed, struggling with the
row of red currant-colored buttons which fastened her dress in
the back. Cowperwood helped her. When she was ready—hat,
gloves, and all—he said:

“Now let me go first. I want to see.”

“No; please, Frank,” she begged, courageously. “Let me, I
know it’s father. Who else could it be?” She wondered at the
moment whether her father had brought her two brothers but
would not now believe it. He would not do that, she knew.
“You can come if I call.” She went on. ‘“Nothing’s going to
happen, though. I understand him. He won’t do anything to
me. If you go it will only make him angry. Let me go. You
stand in the door here. If I don’t call, it’s all right. Will you?”

She put her two pretty hands on his shoulders, and he weighed
the matter very carefully. ‘Very well,” he said, “only I'll go
to the foot of the stairs with you.”

‘They went to the door and he opened it. Outside were Alder-
son with two other detectives and Mrs. Davis, standing perhaps
five feet away.

“Well,” said Cowperwood, commandingly, looking at Al-
derson.

‘“There’s a gentleman down-stairs wishes to see the lady,” said
Alderson. ‘It’s her father, I think,’’ he added quietly.

Cowperwood made way for Aileen, who swept by, furious at
the presence of men and this exposure. Her courage-had-entirely
returned. She was angry now to think her father would make
a public spectacle-of her. Cowperwood started to follow.

“I’d advise you not to go down there right away,” cautioned
Alderson, sagely. ‘“That’s her father. Butler’s her name, isn’t
it? He don’t want you so much as he wants her.”THE FINANCIER

 

Cowperwood nevertheless walked slowly toward the head of
the stairs, listening.

“What made you come here, father?” he heard Aileen ask.

Butler’s reply he could not hear, but he was now at ease for
he knew how much Butler loved his daughter.

Confronted by her father, Aileen was now attempting to
stare defiantly, to look reproachful, but Butler’s deep gray eyes
beneath their shaggy brows revealed such a weight of weariness
and despair as even she, in her anger and defiance, could not
openly flaunt. It was all too sad.

“T never expected to find you in a place like this, daughter,”
he said. “I should have thought you would have thought better
of yourself.” His voice choked and he stopped.

“T know who you’re here with,” he continued, shaking his head
sadly. “The dog! I'll get him yet. I’ve had men watchin’
you all the time. Oh, the shame of this day! The shame of this
day! You'll be comin’ home with me now.”

“That’s just it, father,’ began Aileen. ‘“You’ve had men
watching me. I should have thought—’: She stopped, because
he put up his hand in a strange, agonized, and yet dominating
way.

“None of that! none of that!’ he said, glowering under his
strange, sad, gray brows. “I can’t stand it! Don’t tempt me!
We're not out of this place yet. He’s not! You'll come home
with me now.”

Aileen understood. It was Cowperwood he was referring to.
That frightened her.

“Y’m ready,” she replied, nervously.

The old man led the way broken-heartedly. He felt he would
never live to forget the agony of this hour.CHAPTER XXXVII

N spite of Butler’s rage and his determination to do many

things to the financier, if he could, he was so wrought up and
shocked by the attitude of Aileen that he could scarcely believe
he was the same man he had been twenty-four hours before.
She was so nonchalant, so defiant. He had expected to see
her wilt completely when confronted with her guilt. Instead,
he found, to his despair, after they were once safely out of the
house, that he had aroused a fighting quality in the girl which
was not incomparable to his own. She had some of his own and
Gwen’s grit. She sat beside him in the little runabout—not his
own—in which he was driving her home, her face coloring and
blanching by turns, as different waves of thought swept over her,
determined to stand her~-ground-—new-—that_her father had so
plainly—trapped her, to declare. for Cowperwood and—her_love
and her position in general....What did she care,.she asked herself,
what her father thought now? She was in this thing. She
loved Cowperwood; she was permanently disgraced in her
father’s eyes. What difference could it all make now? He
had fallen so low in his parental feeling as to spy on her and
expose her before other men—strangers, detectives, Cowper-
wood. What real affection could she have for him after this?
He had made a mistake, according to her. He had done a
foolish and a contemptible thing, which was not warranted how-
ever bad her actions might have been. What could he hope
to accomplish by rushing in on her in this way and ripping
the veil from her very soul before these other men—these crude
detectives? Oh, the agony of that walk from the bedroom to
the reception-room! She would never forgive her father for this
—never, never, never! He had now killed her love for him—
that was what she felt. It was to be a battle royal between
them from now on. As they rode—in complete silence for a
while—her hands clasped and unclasped defiantly, her nails
cutting her palms, and her mouth hardened.

It is an open question whether raw opposition ever accomplishes
299300 THE FINANCIER

 

anything of value in this world. It seems so inherent in this
mortal scheme of things that it appears to have a vast validity.
It is more than likely that we owe this spectacle called life to it,
and that this can be demonstrated scientifically; but when that
is said and done, what is the value? What is the value of the
spectacle? And what the value of a scene such as this enacted
between Aileen and her father?

The old man saw nothing for it, as they rode on, save a grim
contest between them which could end in what? What could
he do with her? ‘They were riding away fresh from this awful
catastrophe, and she was not saying a word! She had even asked
him why he had come there! How was he to subdue her, when
the very act of trapping her had failed to do so? His ruse, while
so. successful materially, had failed so utterly spiritually” “They
reached the house, and Aileen got-out. The old man, too non-
plussed to wish to go further at this time, drove back to his
office. He then went out and walked—a peculiar thing for him
to do; he had done nothing like that in years and years—walking
to think. Coming to an open Catholic church, he went in and
prayed for enlightenment, the growing dusk of the interior, the
single everlasting lamp before the repository of the chalice, and
the high, white altar set with candles soothing his troubled

 

feelings.

He came out of the church after a time and returned home.
Aileen did not appear at dinner, and he could not eat. He went
into his private room and shut the door—thinking, thinking,
thinking. The dreadful spectacle of Aileen in a house of ill
repute burned in his brain. To think that Cowperwood should
have taken her to such a place—his. Aileen, his and-his -wife’s-pet.
In spite of his prayers, his uncertainty, her opposition, the
puzzling nature of the situation, she must be got out of this.
She must go away for a while, give the man up, and then the
law should run its course with him. In all likelihood Cowper-
wood would go to the penitentiary—if ever a man richly deserved
to go, it was he. Butler would see that no stone was left
unturned. He would make it a personal issue, if necessary.
All he had to do was to let it be known in judicial circles that
he wanted it so. He could not suborn a jury, that would be
criminal; but he could see that the case was properly and

forcefully presented; and if Cowperwood were convicted,THE FINANCIER 301

Heaven help him. The appeal of his financial friends would
not save him. ‘The judges of the lower and superior courts
knew on which side their bread was buttered. They would
strain a point in favor of the highest political opinion of the
day, and he certainly could influence that.

Aileen meanwhile was contemplating the peculiar nature of
her situation. In spite of their silence on the way home, she
knew that a conversation was coming with her father. It had
to be. He would want her to go somewhere. Most likely he
would revive the European trip in some form—she now sus-
pected the invitation of Mrs. Mollenhauer as a trick; and she
had to decide whether she would go. Would she leave Cowper-
wood just when he was about to be tried? She was determined
she would not. She wanted to see what was going to happen
to him. She would leave home first—run to some relative,
some friend, some stranger, if necessary, and ask to be taken in.
She had some money—a little. Her father had always been
very liberal with her. She could take a few clothes and dis-
appear. They would be glad enough to send for her after
she had been gone awhile. Her mother would be frantic;
Norah and Callum and Owen would be beside themselves with
wonder and worry; her father—she could see him. Maybe that
would bring him to his senses. In spite of all her emotional
vagaries, she was the pride and interest of this home, and she
knew it.

It was in this direction that her mind was running when
her father, a few days after the dreadful exposure-in the Sixth
Street house, sent for her to come to him in his room. He had
come home from his office very early in the afternoon, hoping
to find Aileen there, in order that he might have a private in-
terview with her, and by good luck found her in. She had had
no desire to go out into the world these last few days—she was
too expectant of trouble to come. She had just written Cowper-
wood asking for a rendezvous out on the Wissahickon the fol-
lowing afternoon, in spite of the detectives. She must see him.
Her father, she said, had done nothing; but she was sure he
would attempt to do something. She wanted to talk to Cowper-
wood about that.

“I’ve been thinkin’ about ye, Aileen, and what ought to be
done in this case,” began her father, without preliminaries of anyTHE FINANCIER

 

kind once they were in his “‘ofice room” in the house together.
“You’re on the road to ruin if any one ever was. I tremble
when I think of your immortal soul. I want to do somethin’
for ye, my child, before it’s too late. I’ve been reproachin’ myself
for the last month and more, thinkin’, perhaps, it was somethin’
I had done, or maybe had failed to do, aither me or your mother,
that has brought ye to the place where ye are to-day. Needless
to say, it’s on me conscience, me child. It’s a heartbroken
man you’re lookin’ at this day. I'll never be able to hold me
head up again. Oh, the shame—the shame! That I should have
lived to see it!”

“But father,” protested Aileen, who was a little distraught
at the thought of having to listen to a long preachment which
would relate to her duty to God and the Church and her family
and her mother and him. She realized that all these were
important in their way; but Cowperwood and his point of view
had given her another outlook on life. They had discussed this
matter of families—parents, children, husbands, wives, brothers,
sisters—from almost every point of view. Cowperwood’s Jaissez-
faire attitude had permeated and colored her mind completely.
She saw things through his cold, direct “I satisfy myself’’ atti-
tude. He was sorry for all the little differences of personality
that sprang up between people, causing quarrels, bickerings, op-
positions, and separation; but they could not be helped. People
outgrew each other. ‘Their points of view altered at varying
tatios—hence changes. Morals—those who had them had them;
those who hadn’t, hadn’t. “There was no explaining. As for
him, he saw nothing wrong in the sex relationship. Between
those who were mutually compatible it was innocent and de-
licious. Aileen in his arms, unmarvied, but loved by him, and
he by her, was as good and pure as any living woman—a great
deal purer than most. One found oneself in a given social order,
theory, or scheme of things. For purposes of social success, in
order not to offend, to smooth one’s path, make things easy, avoid
useless criticism, and the like, it was necessary to create an out-
ward seeming—ostensibly conform. Beyond that it was not
necessary to do anything. Never fail, never get caught. If
you did, fight your way out silently and say nothinz. ‘That
was what he was doing in connection with his present financial
troubles; that was what he had been ready to do the otherCHE EENAN ClrER 303

day when they were caught. It was something of all this that
was coloring Aileen’s mood as she listened at present.

“But father,” she protested, “I love Mr. Cowperwood. It’s
almost the same as if I were married to him. He will marry
me some day when he gets a divorce from Mrs. Cowperwood.
You don’t understand how it is. He’s very fond of me, and
I love him. He~needs me.”

Butler lookedat her with strange, non-understanding eyes.
“Divorce, did you say,” he began, thinking of the Catholic
Church and its dogma in regard to that. ‘He'll divorce his
own wife and children—and for you, will he? He needs you,
does he?” he added, sarcastically. ‘‘What about his wife and
children? I don’t suppose they need him, do they? What talk
have ye?”

Aileen flung her head back defiantly. ‘It’s true, neverthe-
less,” she reiterated. “You just don’t understand.”

Butler could scarcely believe his ears. He had never heard
such talk before in his life from any one. It amazed and shocked
him. He was quite aware of all the subtleties of politics and
business, but these of romance were too much for him. He
knew nothing about them. To think a daughter of his should
be talking like this, and she a Catholic! He could not under-
stand where she got such notions unless it was from the Machia-
vellian, corrupting brain of Cowperwood himself.

“How long have ye had these notions, my child?” he suddenly
asked, calmly and soberly.. “Where did ye get them? Ye cer-
tainly never heard anything like that in this house, I warrant.
Ye talk as though ye had gone out of yer mind.”

“Oh, don’t talk nonsense, father,” flared Aileen, angrily, think-
ing how hopeless it was to talk to her father about such things
anyhow. “I’m not a child any more. I’m twenty-four years
of age. You just don’t understand. Mr. Cowperwood doesn’t
like his wife. He’s going to get a divorce when he can, and
will marry me. I love him, and he loves me, and that’s all
there is to it.”

“Is it, though?” asked Butler,-grimly~determined by hook or
by crook, to bring this girl to her senses. ‘‘Ye'll be takin’ no
thought of his wife-and-children then? The fact that he’s goin’
to jail, besides, is nawthin’ to ye, I suppose. Ye'd love him just
as much in convict stripes, I suppose—more, maybe.” (The oldTHE FINANCIER

man was at his best, humanly speaking, when he was a little
sarcastic.) ‘“Ye'll have him that way, likely, if at all.”

Aileen blazed at once to a furious heat. “Yes, I know,” she
sneered. ‘“That’s what you would like. I know what you've
been doing. Frank does, too. You’re trying to railroad him to
prison for something he didn’t do—and all on account of me.
Oh, I know. But you won’t hurt him. You can’t! He’s
bigger and finer than you think he is and you won’t hurt him in
the long run. He'll get out again. You want to punish him
on my account; but he doesn’t care. I'll marry him anyhow. I
love him, and I’ll wait for him and marry him; and you can do
what you please. So there!”

“Yell marry him, will you?” asked Butler, nonplussed and
further astounded. “So ye’ll wait for him and marry him?
Ye'll take him away from his wife and children, where, if he
were half a man, he’d be stayin’ this minute instead of galli-
vantin’ around with you. And marry him? Ye’d disgrace your
father and yer mother and yer family? Ye’ll stand here and
say this to me, I that have raised ye, cared for ye, and made
somethin’ of ye? Where would you be if it weren’t for me
and your poor, hard-workin’ mother, schemin’ and plannin’ for
you year in and year out? Ye’re smarter than I am, I suppose.
Ye know more about the world than I do, or any one else that
might want to say anythin’ to ye. I’ve raised ye to be a fine
lady, and this is what I get. Talk about me not bein’ able to
understand, and ye lovin’ a convict-to-be, a robber, an embez-
zler, a bankrupt, a lyin’, thavin’-—”’

“Father!” exclaimed Aileen, determinedly. “I'll not listen
to you talking that way. He’s not any of the things that you
say. I'll not stay here.” She moved toward the door; but
Butler jumped up now and stopped her. His face for the mo-
ment was flushed and swollen with anger.

“But I’m not through with him yet,” he went on, ignoring
her desire to leave, and addressing her direct—confident-new
that she was as capable as another of understanding him. “T’ll
get him as sure as I have a name. “‘There’s law in this land, and
T’ll have it on him. Ill show him whether he’ll come sneakin’
into dacent homes and robbin’ parents of their children.”

He paused after a time for want of breath and Aileen stared,
her face tense and white. Her father could be so ridiculous.

 

 

>THE RENAN Cl ER 305

He was, contrasted with Cowperwood and his views, so old-
fashioned. ‘To think he could be talking of some one coming
into their home and stealing her away from him, when she had
been so willing to go. What silliness! And yet, why argue?
What good could be accomplished, arguing with him here in
this way? And so for the moment, she said nothing more—
merely looked. But Butler was by no means done. His mood
was too stormy even though he was doing his best now to subdue
himself.

“Tt’s too bad, daughter,’ he resumed quietly, once he was
satisfied that she was going to have little, if anything, to say.
“I’m lettin’ my anger get the best of me. It wasn’t that I in-
tended talkin’ to ye about when I ast ye to come in. It’s some-
thin’ else I have on me mind. I was thinkin’, perhaps, ye’d like
to go to Europe for the time bein’ to study music. Ye’re not
quite yourself just at present. Ye’re needin’ a rest. It would
be good for ye to go away for a while. Ye could have a nice
time over there. Norah could go along with ye, if you would,
and Sister Constantia that taught you. Ye wouldn’t object to
havin’ her, I suppose?”

At the mention of this idea of a trip to Europe again, with
Sister Constantia and music thrown in to give it a slightly new
form, Aileen bridled, and yet half-smiled to herself now. It
was -so~ridiculous—so tactless, really,.for her father to bring
up this now, and especially after denouncing Cowperwood and
her, and threatening all the things he had. Had he no diplomacy
at all where she was concerned? It was really too funny! But
she restrained herself here again, because she felt as well as saw,
that argument of this kind was all futile now.

“I wish you wouldn’t talk about that, father,’ she began,
having softened under his explanation. “I don’t want to go to
Europe now. I don’t want to leave Philadelphia. I know you
want me to go; but I don’t want to think of going now. I
ean't.’’

Butler’s brow darkened again. What was the use of all this
opposition on her part? Did she really imagine that she was
going to master him—her father, and in connection with such
an issue as this? How impossible! But tempering his voice
as much as possible, he went on, quite softly, in fact. “But it
would be so fine for ye, Aileen. Ye surely can’t expect to stayPHE FINAN CTER

here after—” He paused, for he was going to say “what has
happened.” He knew she-was-very-sensitive.on that-point. His
own conduct in hunting her down had been such a breach of
fatherly courtesy that he knew she felt resentful, and in a way
properly so. Still, what could be greater than her own crime?
“After,” he concluded, “ye have made such a mistake ye surely
wouldn’t want to stay here. Ye won’t be wantin’ to keep up
that—committin’ a mortal sin. It’s against the laws of God
and man.”

He did so hope the thought of sin would come to Aileen—
the enormity of her crime from a spiritual point of view—but
Aileen did not see it at all.

“You don’t understand me, father,” she exclaimed, hopelessly,
toward the end. ‘You can’t. I have one idea, and you have
another. But I don’t seem to be able to make you understand
now. The fact is, if you want to know it, I don’t believe in the
Catholic Church any more, so there.”

The moment Aileen had said this she wished she had not. It
was a slip of the tongue. Butler’s face took on an inexpressibly
sad, despairing look.

“Ye don’t believe in the Church?” he asked.

“No, not exactly—not like you do.”

He shook his head.

“The harm that has come to yer soul!” he replied. “It’s
plain to me, daughter, that somethin’ terrible has happened to
ye. This man has ruined ye, body and soul. Somethin’ must
be done. I don’t want to. be-hard-on”ye, but ye must leave
Philadelphy. Ye can’t stay here. I can’t permit ye. Ye can go
to Europe, or ye can go to yer aunt’s in New Orleans; but ye
must go somewhere. I can’t have ye stayin’ here—it’s too dan-
gerous. It’s sure to be comin’ out. The papers’ll be havin’ it
next. Ye’re young yet. Yer life is before you. I tremble for
yer soul; but so long as ye’re young and alive ye may come to
yer senses. It’s me duty to be hard. It’s my obligation to you
and the Church. Ye must quit this life. Ye must lave this
man. Ye must never see him any more. I can’t permit ye. He’s
no good. He has no intintion of marrying ye, and it would be
a crime against God and man if he did. No, no! Never that!
The man’s a bankrupt, a scoundrel, a thafe. If ye had him,
ye’d soon be the unhappiest woman in the world. He wouldn’tTHE’ FINANCIER 307

be faithful to ye. No, he couldn’t. He’s not that kind.” He
paused, sick to the depths of his soul. “Ye must go away. I
say it once and for all’ I mane it kindly, but I want it. I have
yer best interests at heart. I love ye; but ye must. I’m sorry
to see ye go—I’d rather have ye here. No one will be sorrier;
but ye must. Ye must make it all seem natcheral and ordinary
to yer mother; but ye must go—d’ye hear? Ye must.”

He paused, looking sadly but firmly at Aileen under his shaggy
eyebrows. She knew he meant this. It was his most solemn, his
most religious expression. But she did not answer. She could
not. What was the use. Only she-was-not going. She knew
that—and so she stood there white and tense.

“Now get all the clothes ye want,’ went on Butler, by no
means grasping her true mood. “Fix yourself up in any way you
plase. Say where ye want to go, but get ready.”

“But I won’t, father,” finally replied Aileen, equally solemnly,
equally determinedly. ‘I won’t go! I won’t leave Philadelphia.”

“Ye don’t mane to say ye will deliberately disobey me when
I’m asking ye to do somethin’ that’s intended for yer own good,
will ye, daughter ?”

“Yes, I will,” replied Aileen, determinedly. “I won't go!
I’m sorry, but I won’t!”

“Ye really mane that, do ye?” asked Butler, sadly but grimly.

“Yes, I do,” replied Aileen, grimly, in return.

“Then I’ll have to see what I can do, daughter,” replied the
old man. “Ye’re still my daughter, whatever ye are, and I'll
not see ye come to wreck and ruin for want of doin’ what I
know to be my solemn duty. I'll give ye a few more days to
think this over, but go ye must. There’s an end of that. “There
are laws~in-this-land_still...There_are things that can be done
to those-who-won’t obey the law. I found ye this time—much
as it hurt me to do it. I'll find ye again if ye try to disobey
me. Ye must change yer ways. I can’t have ye goin’ on as
ye are. Ye understand now. It’s the last word. Give this
man_up, and ye can have anything ye choose. Ye’re my girl—
I’ll do everything I can in this world to make ye happy. Why,
why~shouldn’t I? What else have I to live for but me chil-
dren? It’s ye and the rest of them that I’ve been workin’ and
plannin’ for all these years. Come now, be a good girl. Ye
love your old father, don’t ye? Why, I rocked ye in my arms

,308 THE FINANCIER

 

as a baby, Aileen. I’ve watched over ye when ye were not bigger
than what would rest in me two fists here. I’ve been a good
father to ye—ye can’t deny that. Look at the other girls you've
seen. Have any of them had more nor what ye have had? Ye
won’t go against me in this. I’m sure ye won't. Ye CAnita 6
love me too much—surely ye do—don’t ye?” His voice weak-
ened. His eyes almost filled.

He paused and put a big, brown, horny hand on Aileen’s arm.
She had listened to his plea not unmoved—really more or less
softened—because of the hopelessness of it. She could not give
up Cowperwood. Her father just did not understand. He did
not know what love was. Unquestionably he had never loved
as she had.

She stood quite silent while Butler appealed to her.

“I'd like to, father,” she said at last and softly, tenderly.
“Really I would. I do love you. Yes, I do. I want to please
you; but I can’t in this—I can’t!. I love Frank Cowperwood.
You don’t understand—really you don’t!”

At the repetition of Cowperwood’s name Butler’s mouth
hardened. He could see that she was infatuated—that his
carefully calculated plea had failed. So he must think of some
other way.

“Very well, then,” he said, at last and sadly, oh, so sadly, as
Aileen turned away. ‘Have it yer own way, if ye will.. -Ye
must go, though, willy-nilly. It can’t be any other way. I
wish to God it could.”

Aileen went out, very solemn, and Butler went over to his
desk and sat down. ‘‘Such a situation!” he said to himself.
“Such a complication!”CHAPTER XXXVIII

HE situation which confronted Aileen was really a try-
ing one. A girl of less innate courage and determination
would have weakened and yielded. For in spite of her various
social connections and_acquaintances, the people to whom Aileen
could run in an emergency of the present kind were not numer-
ous. She could scarcely think of any one who would be likely
to take her in for any lengthy period, without question. ‘There
were a number of young women of her own age, married and
unmarried, who were very friendly to her, but there were few
with whom she was really intimate. The only person who stood
out in her mind, as having any real possibility of refuge for a
period, was a certain Mary Calligan, better known as “Mamie”
among her friends, who had attended school with Aileen in
former years and was now a teacher in one of the local schools.
The Calligan family consisted of Mrs. Katharine Calligan,
the mother, a dressmaker by profession and a widow—her hus-
band, a house-mover by trade, having been killed by a falling
wall some ten years before—and Mamie, her twenty-three-year-
old daughter. They lived in a small two-story brick house in
Cherry Street, near Fifteenth. Mrs. Calligan was not a very
good dressmaker, not good enough, at least, for the Butler family
to patronize in their present exalted state. Aileen went there
occasionally for gingham house-dresses, underwear, pretty
dressing-gowns, and alterations on some of her more important
clothing which was made by a very superior modiste in Chestnut
Street. She visited the house largely because she had gone to
school with Mamie at St. Agatha’s, when the outlook of the
Calligan family was much more promising. Mamie was earning
forty dollars a month as the teacher of a sixth-grade room in
one of the nearby public schools, and Mrs. Calligan averaged
on the whole about two dollars a day—sometimes not so much.
The house they occupied was their own, free and clear, and
the furniture which it contained suggested the size of their joint
income, which was somewhere near eighty dollars a month.
309310 THE FINANCIER

Mamie Calligan was not good-looking, not nearly as good-
looking as her mother had been before her. Mrs. Calligan was
still plump, bright, and cheerful at fifty, with a fund of good-
humor. Mamie was somewhat-duller mentally and emotionally.
She was serious-minded—made so, perhaps, as much by circum-
stances as by anything else, for she was not at all vivid, and
had little sex magnetism. Yet she was kindly, honest, earnest,
a good Catholic, and possessed of that strangely excessive in-
growing virtue which shuts so many people off from the world—
a sense of duty. To Mamie Calligan duty (a routine conformity
to such theories and precepts as she had heard and worked by since
her childhood) was the all-important thing, her principal source
of comfort and relief; her props in a queer and uncertain world
being her duty to her Church; her duty to her school; her duty
to her mother; her duty to her friends, etc. Her mother often
wished for Mamie’s sake that she was less dutiful and more
charming physically, so that the men would like her.

In spite of the fact that her mother was a dressmaker, Mamie’s
clothes never looked smart or attractive—she would have felt
out of keeping with herself if they had. Her shoes were rather
large, and ill-fitting; her skirt hung in lifeless lines from her
hips to her feet, of good material but seemingly bad design. At
that time the colored “jersey,”’ so-called, was just coming into
popular wear, and, being close-fitting, looked well on those of
good form. Alas for Mamie Calligan! ‘The mode of thetime
compelled her-tosvear.one;. but she had neither the arms nor
the chest development which made this garment admirable. Her
hat, by choice, was usually a pancake affair with a long, single
feather, which somehow never seemed to be in exactly the right
position, either to her hair or her face. At most times she looked
a little weary; but she was not physically weary so much as
she was bored. Her life held so little of real charm; and Aileen
Butler was unquestionably the most significant element of ro-
mance in it.

Mamie’s mother’s very pleasant social disposition, the fact
that they had a very cleanly, if poor little home, that she could
entertain them by playing on their piano, and that Mrs. Calligan
took an adoring interest in the work she did for her, made up
the sum and substance of the attraction of the Calligan home for
Aileen. She went there occasionally as a relief from otherTHE BINAN CTE R 311

things, and because Mamie Calligan had a compatible and very
understanding interest in literature. Curiously, the books Aileen
liked she liked—Jane Eyre, Kenelm Chillingly, Tricotrin, and
4 Bow of Orange Ribbon. Mamie occasionally recommended
to Aileen some latest effusion of this character; and Aileen, find-
ing her judgment good, was constrained to admire her.

In this crisis it was to the home of Calligans that Aileen
turned.in thought. If her father really was not nice to her,
und she had to leave home for a time, she~could go tothe
Calligans. “They would receive her..andsay_nothing. They
were not sufficiently well known to the other members of the
Butler family to have the latter suspect that she had gone there.
She might readily disappear into the privacy of Cherry Street
ind not be-seen-or heard of for weeks. It-is.an interesting fact
0 contemplate that the Calligans, like the various members of
he Butler family, never suspected Aileen of the least tendency
oward a wayward existence. Hence her flight from her own
amily, if it ever came, would be laid more to the door of a
emperamental pettishness than anything else.

On the other hand, in so far as the Butler family as a unit
was concerned, it needed Aileen more than she needed it. It
1eeded the light of her countenance to keep it appropriately
theerful, and if she went away there would be a distinct gulf
hat would not soon be overcome.

Butler, senior, for instance, had seen his little daughter grow
nto radiantly beautiful womanhood. He had seen her go to
chool and convent and learn to play the piano—to him a
yreat accomplishment. Also he had seen her manner change
ind become very showy and her knowledge of life broaden,
ipparently, and become to him, at least, impressive. Her smart,
logmatic views about most things were, to him, at least, well
worth listening to. She knew more about books and art than
Jwen or Callum, and her sense of social manners was perfect.
When she came to the table—breakfast, luncheon, or dinner—she
was to him always a charming object to see. He had produced
Aileen—he congratulated himself. He had furnished her the
rioney to be so fine. He would continue to do so. No second-
rate upstart of a man should be allowed to ruin her life.. He
sroposed to take care of her always—to leave her so much
noney in a legally involved way that a failure of a husband312 Hk EINAN Clik

could not possibly affect her. ‘“You’re the charming lady this
evenin’, I’m thinkin’,” was one of his pet remarks; and also,
“My, but we’re that fine!” At_table_almostinvariably~she
sat. beside him and looked out for -him...That was what he
wanted. He had put her there beside him at his meals years
before when she was a child.

Her mother, too, was inordinately fond of her, and Callum
and Owen appropriately brotherly. So Aileen had thus far at
least paid back with beauty and interest quite as much as she
received, and all the family felt it to be so. When she was
away for a day or two the house seemed glum—the meals less
appetizing. When she returned, all were happy and gay again.

Aileen understood this clearly enough in a way. Now, when
it came to thinking of leaving and shifting for herself, in order
to avoid a trip which she did not care to be forced into, her
courage was based largely on this keen sense of her own signifi-
cance to the family. She thought over what her father had said,
and decided she must act at once. She dressed for the street
the next morning, after her father had gone, and decided to step
in at the Calligans’ about noon, when Mamie would be at
home for luncheon. Then she would take up the matter casually.
If they had no objection, she would go there. She sometimes
wondered why Cowperwood did not suggest, in his great stress,
that they leave for some parts unknown; but she also felt that he
must know best what he could do. His increasing troubles
depressed. her.

Mrs. Calligan was alone when she arrived and was delighted
to see her. After exchanging the gossip of the day, and not
knowing quite how to proceed in connection with the errand
which had brought her, she went to the piano and played a
melancholy air.

“Sure, it’s lovely the way you play, Aileen,” observed Mrs.
Calligan who was unduly sentimental herself. “I love to hear
you. I wish you’d come oftener to see us. You're so rarely
here nowadays.”

“Oh, I’ve been so busy, Mrs. Calligan,” replied Aileen. “T’ve
had soemuch to do this fall, I just couldn’t. They wanted me
to go to Europe; but I didn’t care to. Oh, dear!” she sighed,
and in her playing swept off with a movement of sad, romanticTHE FINAN GIER 313

significance.. The door opened and Mamie came in. Her com-
monplace face brightened at the sight of Aileen.

“Well, Aileen Butler!” she exclaimed. ‘Where did you come
from? Where have you been keeping yourself so long?”

Aileen rose to exchange kisses. ‘Oh, I’ve been very busy,
Mamie. I’ve just been telling your mother. How are you,
anyway? How are you getting along in your work?”

Mamie recounted at once some school difficulties which were
puzzling her—the growing size of classes and the amount of
work expected. While Mrs. Calligan was setting the table
Mamie went to her room and Aileen followed her. As she
stood before her mirror arranging her hair Aileen looked at
ler meditatively.

“What’s the matter with you, Aileen, to-day?” Mamie asked.
“You look so—” She stopped to give her a second glance.

“How do I look?” asked Aileen.

“Well, as if you were uncertain or troubled about something.
[ never saw you look that way before. What’s the matter?”

“Oh, nothing,” replied Aileen. “I was just thinking.” She
vent to one of the windows which looked into the little yard,
neditating on whether she could endure living here for any
ength of time. ‘The house was so small, the furnishings so
yery simple.

“There_is-something the matter with you. to-day, Aileen,”
ybserved Mamie, coming over to her and looking in her face.
“You’re not like yourself at all.”

“T’ve got something on my mind,” replied Aileen—‘‘some-
hing that’s worrying me. I don’t know just what to do—
hat’s what’s the matter.”

“Well, whatever can it be?” commented Mamie. “I never
aw you act this way before. Can’t you tell me? What is it?”

“No, I don’t think I can—not now, anyhow.” Aileen paused.
‘Do you suppose your mother would object,” she asked, sud-
lenly, “if I came here and stayed a little while? I want to get
away from home for a time for a certain reason.”

“Why, Aileen Butler, how you talk!” exclaimed her friend.
“Object! You know she’d be delighted, and so would I. Oh,
lear—can you come? But what makes you want to leave
lome ?”

“That’s just what I can’t tell you—not now, anyhow. Not314 THE FINANCIER

you, so much, but your mother. You know, I’m afraid of what
she’d think,” replied Aileen. “But, -you-mustn’t ask me-yet, “any-
how. .I want-to think. Oh, dear! But I want to come, if
you'll let me. Will you speak to your mother, or shall I?”

“Why, I will,” said Mamie, struck with wonder at this
remarkable development; “but it’s silly to dovit. I know what
she'll say before I tell her, and so do you. You can just bring
your things and come. That’s all. She’d never say anything
or.ask anything,either, and you know that—if—you.didn’t
want her to.” Mamie wasall agog-and aglow at the idea.
She wanted the companionship of Aileen so much.

Ajleen looked at her solemnly, and understood well enough
why she was so enthusiastic—both she and her mother. Both
wanted her presence to brighten their world. “But neither
of you must tell anybody that I’m here, do you hear? I don’t
want any one to know—particularly no one of my family. I’ve
a reason, and a good one, but I can’t tell you what it is—not
now, anyhow. You'll promise not to tell any one.”

“Oh, of course,” replied Mamie eagerly. ‘But you're not
going to run away for good, are you, Aileen?” she concluded
curiously and gravely.

“Oh, I don’t know; I don’t know what I'll do yet. I only
know that I want to get away for a while, just now—that’s
all.’ She paused, while Mamie stood before her, agape.

“Well, of all things,” replied her friend. ‘‘Wonders never!
cease, do they, Aileen? But it will beso lovelyto—have_you
here. Mama will be so pleased- Of course, we won't tell
anybody if you don’t want us to. Hardly any one ever comes
here; and if they do, you needn’t see them. You could have
this big room next to me. Oh, wouldn’t that be nice? I'm
perfectly delighted.” The young school-teacher’s spirits rose t¢
a decided height. ‘Come on, why not tell mama right now ?”

Aileen hesitated because even now she was not positive whethex
she should do this, but finally they went down the stairs to

gether, Aileen lingering behind a little as they neared the bot-
tom. Mamie burst in upon her mother with: “Oh, mama, isn’t
it lovely? Aileen’s coming to stay with us for a while. She
doesn’t want any one to know, and she’s coming right away.
Mrs. Calligan, who was holding a sugar-bowl in her hand,
ey her with a surprised but smiling face. She

turned to survTHE BINAN CTE RK 315

was immediately curious as to why Aileen should want to come—
why leave home. On the other hand, her feeling for Aileen
was so deep that she was greatly and joyously intrigued by the
idea. And why not? Was not the celebrated Edward Butler’s
daughter a woman grown, capable of regulating her own affairs,
and welcome, of course, as the honored member of so important
a family. It was very flattering to the Calligans to think that
she would want to come under any circumstances.

“T don’t see how your parents can let you go, Aileen; but
you're certainly welcome here as long as you want to stay, and
that’s forever, if you want to.” And Mrs. Calligan beamed on
her welcomingly. The_idea of Aileen.Butler asking to be per-
mitted to come here! And the hearty; comprehending manner
in which she said this, and Mamie’s enthusiasm, caused Aileen
to breathe a sigh of relief. The matter of the expense of her
presence to the Calligans came into her mind.

“T want to pay you, of course,” she said to Mrs. Calligan,
“Sf I come.”

“The very idea, Aileen Butler!” exclaimed Mamie. “You'll
do nothing of the sort. You'll come here and live with me as
my guest.”

“No, I won’t! If I can’t pay I won’t come,” replied Aileen.
“You'll have to let me do that.” She-knew—that.the Calligans
could not-afford to keep her.

“Well, we’ll not talk about that now, anyhow,” replied Mrs.
Calligan. ‘You can-come~when you like.and-stay~as-long as
you like. Reach me some clean napkins, Mamie.”

Aileen remained for luncheon, and left soon afterward to
keep her suggested appointment with Cowperwood, feeling satis-
fied that her main problem had been solved...Now.-her.way
was clear. She could-come here if she wanted to. It was simply
a matter of collecting a few necessary things or coming without
bringing anything. Perhaps Frank would have something to
suggest.

In the meantime Cowperwood made no effort to communicate
with Aileen since the unfortunate discovery of their meeting
place, but had awaited a letter from her, which was not long in
coming. And, as usual, it was a long, optimistic, affectionate, and
defiant screed-in which she related all that had occurred to her

)316 THE FINANCIER

and her present plan of leaving home. ‘This last puzzled and
troubled him not a little.

Ajleen in the bosom of her family, smart and well-cared for,
was one thing. Aileen out in the world dependent on him was
another. He had never imagined that she would be compelled
to leave before he was prepared to take her; and if she did now,
it might stir up complications which would be anything but
pleasant to contemplate. Still he was fond of her, very, and
would do anything to make her happy. He could support
her in a very respectable way even now, if he did not eventually
go to prison, and even there he might manage to make some
shift for her. It would be so much better, though, if he could
persuade her to remain at home until he knew exactly what his
fate was to be. He never doubted but that some day, what-
ever happened, within a reasonable length of time, he would be
tid of all these complications and well-to-do again, in which
case, if he could get a divorce, he wanted to marry Aileen. If
not, he would take her with him anyhow, and from this point
of view it might be just as well as if she broke away from her
family now. But from the point of view of present complica-
tions—the search Butler would make—it might be dangerous.
He might even publicly charge him with abduction. He there-
fore decided to persuade Aileen to stay at home, drop meetings
and communications for the time being, and even go abroad. He
would be all right until she came back and so would she—
common sense ought to rule in this case.

With all this in mind he set out to keep the appointment she
suggested in her letter, nevertheless feeling it a little dangerous
to do so.

“Are you sure,” he asked, after he had listened to her de-
scription of the Calligan homestead, “that you would like it
there? It sounds rather poor to me.”

“Yes, but I like them so much,” replied Aileen.

“And you're sure they won’t tell on you a

“Oh, no; never, never!”

“Very well,” he concluded. “You know what you’re doing.
I don’t want to advise you against your will. If I were you,
though, I’d take your father’s advice and go away for a while. ,
He'll get over this then, and [’ll still be here. I can write you
occasionally, and you can write me.”THE? PINAN CTE R 317

The moment Cowperwood said this Aileen’s brow clouded.
Her love for him was so great that there was something like a
knife thrust in the merest hint at an extended separation. Her
Frank here and in trouble—on trial maybe—and she away!
Never! What could he mean by suggesting such a thing?
Could it be that he didn’t care for her as much as she did for him?
Did he really love her? she asked herself. Was he going to
desert her just when she was going to do the thing which would
bring them nearer together? Her eyes clouded, for she was
terribly hurt.

“Why, how you talk!” she exclaimed. “You know I won’t
leave Philadelphia now. You certainly don’t expect me to leave
you.”

Cowperwood saw it all very clearly. He was too shrewd not
to. He was immensely fond of her. Good heaven, he thought,
he would not hurt her feelings for the world!

“Honey,” he said, quickly, when he saw her eyes, “you don’t
understand. I want you to do what you want to do. You’ve
planned this out in order to be with me; so now you do it.
Don’t think any more about me or anything I’ve said. I was
merely thinking that it might make matters worse for both of
us; but I don’t believe it will. You think your father loves
you so much that after you’re gone he'll change his mind. Very
good; go. But we must be very careful, sweet—you and I—
really we must. This thing is getting serious. If you should
go and your father should charge me with abduction—take the
public into his confidence and tell all about this, it would be
serious for both of us—as much for you as for me, for I’d be
convicted sure then, just on that account, if nothing else. And
then what? You’d better not try to see me often for the pres-
ent—not any oftener than we can possibly help. If we had
used common sense and stopped when your father got that letter,
this wouldn’t have happened. But now that it has happened,
we must be as wise as we can, don’t you see? So, think it over,
and do what you think best and then write me and whatever
you do will be all right with me—do you hear?” He drew her
to him and kissed her. ‘You haven’t any money, have you?”
he concluded wisely.

Aileen, deeply moved by all he had just said, was none the
less convinced once she had meditated on it a moment, that her318 PEE PINANCIER

 

course was best. Her father loved her too much. He would not
do anything to hurt her publicly and so he would not attack
Cowperwood through her openly. More than likely, as she now
explained to Frank, he would plead with her to come back.
And he, listening, was compelled to yield. Why argue? She
would not leave him anyhow.

He went down in his pocket for the first time since he had
known Aileen.and=produced~a-layerof-bills. ‘‘Here’s two hun-
dred dollars, sweet,” he said, “until I see or hear from you.
I’ll see that you have whatever you need; and now don’t think
that I don’t love you. You know I do. I’m crazy about you.”

Aileen protested that she did not need so much—that she did
not really need any—she had some at home; but he put that
aside. He knew that she must have money.

“Don’t talk, honey,” he said; “I.-know..what-you-need.” She
had been so used to receiving money from her father and mother
in comfortable amounts from time to time that she thought
nothing of it. Frank loved her.so. much that it made everything
right between. them...She softened..in- her mood™and they dis-
cussed the matter of letters, reaching the conclusion that a
private messenger would be safest. When finally they parted.
Aileen,.from being sunk in the depths by his uncertain_ attitude,
was now once-more on the heights, She decided that he did
love her,.and went away smiling: She had herFrank.to_fall
back on—she would teach her father...Cowperwood shook his
head, following her with his eyes. She represented an additional
burden, but give her up, he certainly could not. Tear the veil
from this illusion of affection and make her feel so wretched
when he cared for her so much? No. There was really
nothing for him to do but what he had done. After all, he
reflected, it might not work out so badly. Any detective work
that Butler might choose to do would prove that she had not
run to him. If at any moment it became necessary to bring
common sense into play to save the situation from a deadly
climax, he could have the Butlers secretly informed as to
Aileen’s whereabouts. That would show he had little to do
with it, and they could try to persuade Aileen to come home
again. Good might result—one could not tell. He would deal
with the evils as they arose. He drove quickly back to his
office, and Aileen returned to her home determined to put herHe HENAN Gib R 319

plan into action. Her father had given her some little time
in which to decide—possibly he would give her longer—but she
would not wait. Having always had her wish granted in every-
thing, she could not understand why she was not to have her
way-this.time. It was about five o’clock now. She would wait
until all the members of the family were comfortably seated at
the dinner-table, which would be about seven o’clock, and then
slip out.

On arriving home, however, she was greeted by an unexpected
reason._for suspending action. “This was the presence of a cer-
tain Mr. and Mrs. Steinmetz—the former a well-known engi-
neer who drew the plans for many of the works which Butler
undertook. It was the day before Thanksgiving, and they were
eager to have Aileen and Norah accompany them for a fort-
night’s stay at their new home in West Chester—a structure
concerning the charm of which Aileen had heard much. They
were exceedingly agreeable people—comparatively young and
surrounded by a coterie of interesting friends. Aileen_decided
to delay _her-flight-and_go.. Her father was-most-cordial. ‘The
presence..and invitation of the Steinmetzes..was—as-much of a
‘relief to him as. it was to Aileen.. West Chester being forty
miles from Philadelphia, it was unlikely that Aileen would
attempt to meet Cowperwood while there.

She wrote Cowperwood of the changed condition and de-
parted, and he breathed a sigh of relief, fancying at the time that
this storm had permanently blown over.CHAPTER XXXIX

N the meanwhile the day of Cowperwood’s trial was drawing

near. He was under the impression that an attempt was
going to be made to convict him whether the facts warranted
it or not. He did not see any way out of his dilemma, how-

ever, unless it was to abandon everything and leave Phila-

delphia for good, which was impossible. The only way to
guard his future and retain his financial friends was to stand
trial as quickly as possible, and trust them to assist him to his
feet in the future in case he failed. He discussed the possibilities
of an unfair trial with Steger, who did not seem to think that
there was so much to that. In the first place, a jury could not
easily be suborned by any one. In the next place, most.judges,
were honest, in-spite- oftheir. political cleavage, and would go
no further than party bias would lead them in their rulings
and opinions, which was, in. the main, not so far. The par-
ticular judge who was to sit in this case, one Wilbur Payder-
son, of the Court of Quarter Sessions, was a strict party nomi-
nee, and as such beholden to Mollenhauer, Simpson, and Butler ;
but, in so far as Steger had ever heard, he was an honest man.

‘What I can’t understand,” said Steger, “is why these fel-
lows should be so anxious to punish you, unless it is for the
effect on the State at large. The election’s over. I understand
there’s a movement on now to get Stener out in case he is con-
victed, which he will be. They have to try him. He won’t go
up for more than a year, or two or three, and if he does he'll
be pardoned out in half the time or less. It would be the same
in your case, if you were convicted. They couldn’t keep you
in and let him out. But it will never get that far—take my
word for it. We'll win before a jury, or we'll reverse the
judgment of conviction before the State Supreme Court, cer-
tain. Those five judges up there are not going to sustain any
such poppycock idea as this.”

Steger actually believed what he said, and Cowperwood was
pleased. Thus far the young lawyer had done excellently well
‘a all of his cases. Still, he did not like the idea of being

320THE FINANCIER 321

hunted down by Butler. It was a serious matter, and one of
which Steger was totally unaware. Cowperwood could never
quite forget that in listening to his lawyer’s optimistic assur-
ances.

” The actual beginning of the trial found almost all of the in-
habitants.of this city of six hundred thousand “‘keyed up.’ None
of the women of Cowperwood’s family were coming into court.
He had insisted that there should be no family demonstration
for the newspapers to comment upon. His father was coming,
for he might be needed as a witness. Aileen had written him
the afternoon before saying she had returned from West Chester
and wishing him luck. She was so anxious to know what was
to become of him that she could not stay away any longer and
had returned—not to go to the courtroom, for he did not want
her to do that, but to be as near as possible when-his—fate_was
decided, adversely or otherwise. She wanted to run and con-
gratulate him if he won, or to console with him if he lost. She
felt that her return would be likely to precipitate a collision
with her father, but she could not help that.

The position of Mrs. Cowperwood was most anomalous. She
had to go through the formality of seeming affectionate and
tender, even when she knew that Frank did not want her to be.
He felt instinctively now that she knew of Aileen. He was
merely awaiting the proper hour in which to spread the whole
matter-before-her. She put her arms around him at the door
on thefateful morning; in the somewhat formal manner into
which they had dropped these later years, and for a moment,
even though she was keenly aware of his difficulties, she could
not kiss him. He did not want to kiss her, but he did not show
it. She did kiss him, though, and added: “Oh, I do hope things
come out-all right.”

“You needn’t worry about that, I-think, Lillian,” he replied,
buoyantly. “I'll be all right.”

He ran down the steps and walked out on Girard Avenue to
his former car line, where he boarded a car. He was thinking of
Aileen and how keenly she was feeling for him, and what a
mockery his married life now was, and whether he would face
a sensible jury, and so on and so forth. If he didn’t—if he
didn’t—this day was crucial!

He stepped off the car at Third and Market and hurried toTHE FINANCIER

his office. Steger was already there. “Well, Harper,” observed
Cowperwood, courageously, ‘‘to-day’s the day.”

The Court of Quarter Sessions, Part I, where this trial was
to take place, was held in famous Independence Hall, at Sixth
and Chestnut Streets, which was at this time, as it had been
for all of a century before, the center of local executive and
judicial life. It was a low two-story building of red brick, with
a white wooden central tower of old Dutch and English deriva-
tion, compounded of the square, the circle, and the octagon. The
total structure consisted of a central portion and two T-shaped
wings lying to the right and left, whose small, oval-topped old-
fashioned windows and doors were set with those many-paned
sashes so much admired by those who love what is known as
Colonial architecture. Here, and in an addition known as State
House Row (since torn down), which extended from the rear
of the building toward Walnut Street, were located the offices
of the mayor, the chief of police, the city treasurer, the chambers
of council, and all the other important and executive offices of
the city, together with the four branches of Quarter Sessions,
which sat to hear the growing docket of criminal cases. The
mammoth city hall which was subsequently completed at Broad
and Market Streets was then building.

An attempt had been made to improve the reasonably large
courtrooms by putting in them raised platforms of dark walnut
surmounted by large, dark walnut desks, behind which the
judges sat; but the attempt was not very successful. “The desks,
jury-boxes, and railings generally were made too large, and so
the general effect was one of disproportion. A cream-colored
wall had been thought the appropriate thing to go with black
walnut furniture, but time and dust had made the combination
dreary. There were no pictures or ornaments of any kind, save
the stalky, over-elaborated gas-brackets which stood on his honor’s
desk, and the single swinging chandelier suspended from the
center of the ceiling. Fat bailiffs and court officers, concerned
only in holding their workless jobs, did not add anything to the
spirit of the scene. “Two of them in the particular court in which
this trial was held contended hourly as to which should hand the
judge a glass of water. One preceded His Honor like a fat,
stuffy, dusty majordomo to and from his dressing-room. His
business was to call loudly, when the latter entered, ‘““His honorTHE FINANCIER 323

he Court, hats off. Everybody please rise,’ while a second
yailiff, standing at the left of His Honor when he was seated,
ind between the jury-box and the witness-chair, recited in an
ibsolutely unintelligible way that beautiful and dignified state-
nent of collective Society’s obligation to the*constituent units,
which begins, “Hear ye! hear ye! hear ye!’ and ends, “All
hose of you having just cause for complaint draw near and
re shall be-heard.” However, you would have-thought it was of
10 import here. Custom and indifference had allowed it to-sink
o a mumble. A third bailiff guarded the door of the jury-room;
ind in addition to these there were present a court clerk—
mall, pale, candle-waxy, with colorless milk-and-water eyes, and
hin, pork-fat-colored hair and beard, who looked for all the
vorld like an Americanized and decidedly decrepit Chinese man-
larin—and a court stenographer.

Judge Wilbur Payderson, a lean herring of a man, who had
at in this case originally as the examining judge when Cowper-
vood had been indicted by the grand jury, and who had bound
lim over for trial at this term, was a peculiarly interesting type
wf judge, as judges go. He was so meager and thin-blooded
hat he was arresting for those qualities alone. ‘Technically,
1¢ was learned in the law; actually, so far as life was con
erned, absolutely unconscious of that subtle chemistry of things!
hat transcends all written law and makes for the spirit andj
yeyond that, the inutility of all law, as all wise judges know.
You could have looked at his lean, pedantic body, his frizzled
zray hair, his fishy, blue-gray eyes, without any depth of specu-
ation in them, and his nicely modeled but unimportant face,
ind told him that he was without_imagination; but he would
10t_have believed you—would“have~fined—you_for contempt of
-ourt.. By the careful garnering of all his little opportunities,
the furbishing up of every meager advantage; by listening slav-
shly to the voice of party, and following as nearly as he could
the _behests of intrenched property, he had reached. his. present
state. It was not very far along, at that. His salary was
only six thousand dollars a year. His little fame did not
extend beyond the meager realm of local lawyers and judges.
But the sight of his name quoted daily as being about his duties,
or rendering such and such a decision, was a great satisfaction to
him. He thought it made him a significant figure in the world.Die ELNAN Clb

“Behold I am not as other men,” he often thought, and this
comforted him. He was very much flattered when a prominent
case came to his calendar; and as he sat enthroned before the
various litigants and lawyers he felt, as a rule, very significant
indeed. Now and then some subtlety of life would confuse his
really limited intellect; but in all such cases there was the letter
of the law. He could hunt in the reports to find out what
really thinking men had decided. Besides, lawyers everywhere
are so subtle. They put the rules of law, favorable or un-
favorable, under.the-judge’s-thumb and nose. “Your honor, in
the thirty-second volume of the Revised Reports of Massa-
chusetts, page so and so, line so and so, in Arundel versus
Bannerman, you will find, etc.” How often have you heard that
in a court of law? ‘The reasoning that. is left-to.do_in..most
cases is not much. And the sanctity of the law is raised like a
great banner by which the pride of the incumbent is strength-
ened.

Payderson, as Steger had indicated, could scarcely be pointed
to as an unjust judge. He was a party judge—Republican in
principle, or rather belief, beholden to the dominant party coun-
cils for his personal continuance in office, and as such willing
and anxious to do whatever he considered that he reasonably
could do to further the party welfare and the private interests
ef his masters. Most people never trouble to look into the
mechanics of the thing they call their conscience too closely.
Where they do, too often they lack the skill to disentangle the
tangled threads of ethics and morals. Whatever the opinion of
the time is, whatever the weight of great interests dictates, that
they conscientiously believe. Some one has since invented the
phrase ‘“‘a corporation-minded judge.” There are many such.

Payderson was one. He fairly revered property and power.
To him Butler and Mollenhauer and Simpson were great men
—reasonably sure to be right always because they were so power-
ful. This matter of Cowperwood’s and Stener’s defalcation
he had long heard of. He knew by associating with one political
light and another just what the situation was. The party, as
the-leaders saw it, had been put in a very bad position by Cow
perwood’s subtlety. He had=led-Stener_astray—more than ar
ordinary city treasurer should have been led astray—and, al.
tk-ugh Stener was primarily guilty as the original mover inHE WLUNANE TER: 325

he scheme, Cowperwood was more so for having led him imagi-
atively to such disastrous lengths. Besides, the party needed
scapegoat—that was enough for Payderson, in the first place.
)t course, after the election had been won, and it appeared that
he party had not suffered so much, he did not understand
uite why it was that Cowperwood was still so carefully included
1 the proceedings; but he had faith to believe that the leaders
ad some just greunds~for~not letting him-—off.- From one
ource and another he learned that Butler had some private
trudge against Cowperwood. What it was no one seemed to
now exactly. The general impression was that Cowperwood
ad led Butler into’ some unwholesome financial transactions,
\nyhow, it was generally understood that for the good of the
arty, and in order to teach a wholesome lesson to dangerous
ubordinates—it had been decided to allow these several indict-
nentsto_take their course. Cowperwood was to be punished
uite as severely as Stener for the moral effect on the com-
aunity. Stener was to be sentenced the maximum sentence for
is crime in order that the party and the courts should appear
roperly righteous. Beyond that he was to be left to the mercy
f the Governor, who could ease things up for him if he chose,
nd if the leaders wished. In—the silly mind of the general
ublic the various judges of Quarter Sessions, like girls incar-
erated in boarding-schools, were supposed in their serene aloof-
ess from life not to know what was going on in the sub-
erranean realm of politics; but they knew well enough, and,
nowing particularly well from whence came their continued
osition and authority, they were duly grateful.CHAPTER XL

 

HEN Cowperwood came into the crowded courtroom

with his father and Steger, quite fresh and jaunty (look-
ing the part of the shrewd financier, the man of affairs), every,
one stared. It .swas-really_too much to expect,.most_of them
thought, that a man like this would be convicted. He was, no
doubt, guilty; but, also, no doubt, he had ways and means of
evading.the law. His lawyer,.Harper._Steger, looked very
shrewd and canny to them. It was very cold, and both mew
wore long, dark, bluish-gray overcoats, cut in the latest mode.
Cowperwood was given to small boutonniéres in fair weather
but to-day he wore none. His tie, however, was of heavy,
impressive silk, of lavender hue, set with a large, clear, green
emerald. He wore only the thinnest of watch-chains, and no
other ornament of any kind. He always looked jaunty-and yer
reserved, good-natured, and yet capable and self-sufficient. Never
had he looked more so than he did to-day.

He at once took in the nature of the scene, which had a pe:
culiar interest for him. Before him was the as yet empty judge's
rostrum, and at its right the empty jury-box, between which
and to the judge’s left, as he sat facing the audience, stood the
witness-chair where he must presently sit and testify. Behind
it, already awaiting the arrival of the court, stood a fat bailiff,
ene John Sparkheaver, whose business it was to present the
aged, greasy Bible to be touched by the witnesses in making
oath, and to say, “Step this way,” when the testimony was over,
There were other bailiffs—one at the gate giving into the railed
space before the judge’s desk, where prisoners were arraigned
lawyers sat or pleaded, the defendant had a chair, and so on;
another in the aisle leading to the jury-room, and still another
guarding the door by which the public entered. Cowperwood
surveyed Stener, who was one of the witnesses, and who now,
in his helpless fright over his own fate, was without malice ta
ward any one. He had really never borne any. He wished if)
anything now. that he had followed Cowperwood’s_ advice, -seé-
326THE FINANCIER 327

ng where he now was, though he still had faith that Mollen-
nauer and the political powers represented by him would do
something for him with the Governor, once he was sentenced.
He was very pale and comparatively thin. Already he had lost
that ruddy bulk which had been added during the days of his
yrosperity. He wore a new gray suit and a brown tie, and was
slean-shaven. When his eye caught Cowperwood’s steady beam,
‘t faltered and drooped. He rubbed his ear foolishly. Cowper-
wood nodded.

“You know,” he said to Steger, “I feel sorry for George.
He’s such a fool. Still I did all I could.”

Cowperwood also watched Mrs. Stener out of the tail of his
eye—an undersized, peaked, and sallow little woman, whose
clothes fitted her abominably. It was just like Stener to marry
4 woman like that, he thought. ‘Fhe-serubby~matches of the
socially unelect or_unfitalways_interested, though theydid—not
always amuse,-him. Mrs. Stener had no affection for Cowper-
wood, of course, looking on him, as she did, as the unscrupulous
cause of her husband’s downfall. They were now quite poor
again, about to move from their big house into cheaper quar-
ters; and this was not pleasing for her to contemplate.

Judge Payderson came in after a time, accompanied by his
undersized but stout court attendant, who looked-more like—a
pouter-pigeon—than..a_human_being; and-as they came, Bailiff
Sparkheaver rapped on the judge’s desk, beside which he had
been slumbering, and mumbled, “Please rise!” The audience
arose, as is the rule of all courts. Judge Payderson stirred
among a number of briefs that were lying on his desk, and asked,
briskly, ‘““What’s the first case, Mr. Protus?”’ He was speak-
ing to his clerk.

During the long and tedious arrangement of the day’s docket
and while the various minor motions of lawyers were being
considered, this.courtroom scene still retained interest-for-Cow-
perwood;—He was so eager to win, so incensed _at-the-outcome-of
untoward-events which had~brought him here. He was always
intensely irritated, though he did not show it, by~the~ whole
process of footing delays and queries and~ quibbles, by which
legally the affairs of men were too often hampered. Law, if
you had asked him, and he had accurately expressed himself,
was a mist formed out of the moods and the mistakes of men,328 Cnt ELMAN Gib R

which befogged the sea of life and prevented plain sailing for the
little commercial and social barques of men; it was a miasma
of misinterpretation where the ills of life festered, and also a
place where the accidentally wounded were ground between the
upper and the nether millstones of force or chance; it was a
strange, weird, interesting, and yet futile battle of wits where
the ignorant and the incompetent and the shrewd and the angry
and the weak were made pawns and shuttlecocks for men—
lawyers, who were playing upon their moods, their vanities, their
desires, and their necessities. It was an unholy and unsatisfac-
tory disrupting and delaying spectacle, a painful commentary on
the frailties of life, and men, a trick, a snare, a pit and gin. In
the hands of the strong, like himself when he was at his best, the
law was a sword and a shield, a trap to place before the feet of the
unwary; a pit to dig in the path of those who might pursue. It
was anything you might choose to make of it—a door to illegal
opportunity; a cloud of dust to be cast in the eyes of those
who might choose, and rightfully, to see; a veil to be dropped
arbitrarily between truth and its execution, justice and its judg-
ment, crime and punishment. Lawyers in the main were in-
tellectual mercenaries to be bought and sold in any cause. It
amused him to hear the ethical and emotional platitudes of
lawyers, to see how readily they would lie, steal, prevaricate,
misrepresent in almost any cause and for any purpose. Great
lawyers were merely great unscrupulous subtleties, like himself,
sitting back in dark, close-woven lairs like spiders and awaiting
the approach of unwary human flies. Life was at best a dark,
inhuman, unkind, unsympathetic struggle built of cruelties and
the law, and its lawyers were the most despicable representatives
of the whole unsatisfactory mess. Still he used law as he
would use any other trap or weapon to rid him of a human ill;
and as for lawyers, he picked them up as he would any club or
knife wherewith to defend himself. He had no particular re-
spect for any of them—not even Harper Steger, though he liked
him. ‘They were tools to be used—knives, keys, clubs, anything
you will; but nothing more. When they were through they
were paid and dropped—put aside and forgotten. As for judges, |
they were merely incompetent lawyers, as a rule, who were *
shelved by some fortunate turn of chance, and who would not,
in all likelihood, be as efficient as the lawyers who pleaded be-THE) FINAN ClER 329

fore them if they were put in the same position. He had no
respect for judges—he knew too much about them. He knew
how often they were sycophants, political climbers, political
hacks, tools, time-servers, judicial door-mats lying before the
financially and politically great and powerful who used them
as such. Judges were fools, as were most other people in this
dusty, shifty world. Pah! His inscrutable eyes took them all
in and gave no sign. His only safety lay, he thought, in the
magnificent subtlety of his own brain, and nowhere else. You
could not convince Cowperwood of any great or inherent vir-
tue in this mortal scheme of things. He knew too much; he
knew himself.

When the judge finally cleared away the various minor mo-
tions pending, he ordered his clerk to call the case of the City
of Philadelphia versus Frank A. Cowperwood, which was done
in a clear voice. Both Dennis Shannon, the new district attor-
ney, and Steger, were on their feet at once. Steger and Cowper-
wood, together with Shannon and Strobik, who had now come
in and was standing as the representative of the State of Pennsyl-
vania—the complainant—had seated themselves at the long table
inside the railing which inclosed the space before the judge’s
desk. Steger proposed to Judge Payderson, for effect’s sake
more than anything else, that this indictment be quashed, but
was overruled.

A jury to try the case was now quickly impaneled—twelve
men out of the usual list called to serve for the month—and
was then ready to be challenged by the opposing counsel. The
business of impaneling a jury was a rather simple thing so far
as this court was concerned. It consisted in the mandarin-
like clerk taking the names of all the jurors called to serve in
this court for the month—some fifty in all—and putting them,
each written on a separate slip of paper, in a whirling drum,
spinning it around a few times, and then lifting out the first
slip which his hand encountered, thus glorifying chauceand
settling on who should-be-jtiror No. 1. His hand reaching in
twelve times drew out the names of the twelve jurymen, who
as their names were called, were ordered to take their places
in the jury-box.

Cowperwood observed this proceeding with a great deal of
interest. What could be more important than the men whotit Ee lINAN Gri

 

were going to try him? ‘The process was too swift for accurate
judgment, but he received a faint impression of middle-class
men. One man in particular, however, an old man of sixty-five,
with iron-gray hair and beard, shaggy eyebrows, sallow com-
plexion, and stooped shoulders, struck him as having that kind-
ness~of~temperamentand_ breadth of experience which might
under certain circumstances.be argumentatively swayed in his
favor. Another, a small, sharp-nosed, sharp-chinned commercia!
man of some kind, he immediately disliked.

“T hope I don’t have to have that man on my jury,” he said
to Steger, quietly.

“You don’t,” replied Steger. “I'll challenge him. We have
the right to fifteen peremptory challenges on a case like this
and so has the prosecution.”

When the jury-box was finally full, the two lawyers waited
for the clerk to bring them the small board upon which slips
of paper bearing the names of the twelve jurors were fastened
in rows in order of their selection—jurors one, two, and three
being in the first row; four, five, and six in the second, and so
on. It being the prerogative of the attorney for the prosecution
to examine and challenge the jurors first, Shannon arose, and,
taking the board, began to question them as to their trades o1
professions, their knowledge of the case before the court, and
their possible prejudice for or against the prisoner.

It was the business of both Steger and Shannon to find men
who knew a little something of finance and could understand a
peculiar situation of this kind without any of them (looking at
it from Steger’s point of view) having any prejudice against a
man’s trying to assist himself by reasonable means to weather a
financial storm or (looking at it from Shannon’s point of view)
having any sympathy with such means, if they bore about them
the least suspicion of chicanery, jugglery, or dishonest manipula:
tion of any kind. As both Shannon and Steger in due course
observed for themselves in connection with this jury, it was com-
posed of that assorted social fry which the dragnets of the
courts, cast into the ocean of the city, bring to the surface for
purposes of this sort. It was made up in the main of managers,
agents, tradesmen, editors, engineers, architects, furriers, grocers,
traveling salesmen, authors, and every other kind of working
citizen whose experience had fitted him for service in proceedingsTHE FINANCIER 331

of this character. Rarely would you have found a man of great
distinction ; but very frequently a group of men who were pos-
sessed of no small modicum of that interesting quality known
as hard common sense.

Throughout all this Cowperwood sat quietly examining the
men. A young florist, with a pale face, a wide speculative fore-
head, and anemic hands, struck him as being sufficiently impres-
sionable to his personal charm to be worth while. He whispered
as much to Steger. ‘There was a shrewd Jew, a furrier, who
was challenged because he had read all of the news of the panic
and had lost two thousand dollars in street-railway stocks. There
was a stout wholesale grocer, with red cheeks, blue eyes, and
flaxen hair, who Cowperwood said he thought was stubborn.
He was eliminated. There was a thin, dapper manager of a
small retail clothing store, very anxious to be excused, who
declared, falsely, that he did not believe in swearing by the
Bible. Judge Payderson, eyeing him severely, let him go.
There were some ten more in all—men who knew of Cowper-
wood, men who admitted they were prejudiced, men who were
hidebound Republicans and resentful of this crime, men who
knew Stener—who were pleasantly eliminated.

By twelve o'clock, however, a jury reasonably satisfactory
to both sides had been chosen.CHAPTER XLII

T two o'clock sharp Dennis Shannon, as district attorney,
began his opening address. He stated in a very simple,
kindly way—for he had a most engaging manner—that the
indictment as here presented charged Mr. Frank A. Cowper-
wood, who was sitting at the table inside the jury-rail, first with
larceny, second with embezzlement, third with larceny as
bailee, and fourth with embezzlement of a certain sum of money
—a specific sum, to wit, sixty thousand dollars—on a check
given him (drawn to his order) October 9, 1871, which was
intended to reimburse him for a certain number of certificates of
city loan, which he as agent or bailee of the check was supposed
to have purchased for the city sinking-fund on the order of the
city treasurer (under some form of agreement which had been
in existence between them, and which had been in force for
some time)—said fund being intended to take up such certificates
as they might mature in the hands of holders and be presented
for payment—for which purpose, however, the check in question
had never been used.

“Now, gentlemen,” said Mr. Shannon, very quietly, “before
we go into this very simple question of whether Mr. Cowper-
wood did or did not on the date in question get from the city
treasurer sixty thousand dollars, for which he made no honest
return, let me explain to you just what the people mean when
they charge him first with larceny, second with embezzlement,
third with larceny as bailee, and fourth with embezzlement on
a check. Now, as you see, there are four counts here, as we
lawyers term them, and the reason there are four counts is as
follows: A man may be guilty of larceny and embezzlement
at the same time, or of larceny or embezzlement separately, and
without being guilty of the other, and the district attorney rep-
resenting the people might be uncertain, not that he was not
guilty of both, but that it might not be possible to present the
evidence under one count, so as to insure his adequate punish-
ment for a crime which in a way involved both. In such cases,
332TRE POONA Cl Ee: 333

gentlemen, it is customary to indict a man under separate counts,
as has been done in this case. Now, the four counts in this case,
in a way, overlap and confirm each other, and it will be your
duty, after we have explained their nature and character and
presented the evidence, to say whether the defendant is guilty
on one count or the other, or on two or three of the counts, or
on all four, just as you see fit and proper—or, to put it in a
better way, as the evidence warrants. Larceny, as you may
or may not know, is the act of:taking away the goods or
chattels of another without his knowledge or consent, and
embezzlement is the fraudulent appropriation to one’s own use
of what is intrusted to one’s care and management, especially
money. Larceny as bailee, on the other hand, is simply a
more definite form of larceny wherein one fixes the act of
carrying away the goods of another without his knowledge or
consent on the person to whom the goods were delivered in
trust—that is, the agent or bailee. Embezzlement on a check,
which constitutes the fourth charge, is simply a more definite
form of fixing charge number two in an exact way and signi-
fies appropriating the money on a check given for a certain
definite purpose. All of these charges, as you can see, gentlemen,
are in a way synonymous. ‘They overlap and overlay each
other. The people, through their representative, the district
attorney, contend that Mr. Cowperwood, the defendant here,
is guilty of all four charges. So now, gentlemen, we will
proceed to the history of this crime, which proves to me as an
individual that this_defendant.has.one of the most subtle and
dangerous minds-of»thecriminal financter--type,-and.-we--hope
by «witnesses to prove that-to»you,.also.”

Shannon, because the rules of evidence and court procedure
here admitted of no interruption of the prosecution in presenting
a case, then went on to describe from his own point of view how
Cowperwood had first met Stener; how he had wormed himself
into his confidence; how little financial knowledge Stener had,
and so forth; coming down finally to the day the check for sixty
thousand dollars was given Cowperwood; how Stener, as treas-
urer, claimed that he knew nothing of its delivery, which con-
stitued the base of the charge of larceny; how Cowperwood,
having it, misappropriated the certificates supposed to have been
purchased for the sinking-fund, if they were purchased at all—334 THE FINANCIER

all of which Shannon said constituted the crimes with which the
defendant was charged, and of which he was unquestionably
guilty.

“We have direct and positive evidence of all that we have thus
far contended, gentlemen,” Mr. Shannon concluded violently.
“This is not a matter of hearsay or theory, but_of fact. You
will be shown by direct testimony which cannot be shaken just
how it was done. If, after you have heard all this;-you still
think this man is innocent—that he did not commit the crimes
with which he is charged—it is your business to acquit him. On
the other hand, if you think the witnesses whom we shall put
on the stand are telling the truth, then it is your business to
convict him, to find a verdict for the people as against the
defendant. I thank you for your attention.”

The jurors stirred comfortably and took positions of ease, in
which they thought they were to rest for the time; but their
idle comfort was of short duration for Shannon now called
out the name of George W. Stener, who came hurrying forward
very pale, very flaccid, very tired-looking. His eyes, as he took
his seat in the witness-chair, laying his hand on the Bible and
swearing to tell the truth, roved in a restless, nervous manner.

His voice was a little weak as he started to give his testimony.
He told first how he had met Cowperwood in the early months
of 1866—he could not remember the exact day; it was during
his first term as city treasurers—he had been elected to the office
in the fall of 1864. He had been troubled about the condition
of city loan, which was below par, and which could not be
sold by the city legally at anything but par. Cowperwood
had been recommended to him by some one—Mr. Strobik, he
believed, though he couldn’t be sure. It was the custom of city
treasurers to employ brokers, or a broker, in a crisis of this
kind, and he was merely following what had been the custom.
He went on to describe, under steady promptings and questions
from the incisive mind of Shannon, just what the nature of
this first conversation was—he remembered it fairly well; how
Mr. Cowperwood had said he thought he could do what was
wanted; how he had gone away and drawn up a plan or
thought one out; and how he had returned and laid it before
Stener. Under Shannon’s_ skillful guidance Stener elucidated
just what this scheme was—which wasn’t exactly so flatter-THE FINANCIER

 

ing to the honesty of men in general as it was a testimonial to
eir subtlety and skill.

After much discussion of Stener’s and Cowperwood’s rela-
tions the story finally got down to the preceding October,
when by reason of companionship, long business understanding,
mutually prosperous relationship, etc., the place had been reached
where, it was explained, Cowperwood was not only handling
several millions of city loan annually, buying and selling for
the city and trading in it generally, but in the bargain had
secured some five hundred thousand dollars’ worth of city
money at an exceedingly low rate of interest, which was being
invested for himself and Stener in profitable street-car ven-
tures of one kind and another. Stener was not anxious to
be altogether clear on this point; but Shannon, seeing that he
was later to prosecute Stener himself for this very crime of
embezzlement, and that Steger would soon follow in cross-
examination, was not willing to let him be hazy. Shannon
wanted to fix Cowperwood in the minds of the jury as a clever,
tricky person,—and by degrees“he certainly managed to indicate
a very subtle-minded man. Occasionally, as one sharp™point
after another of Cowperwood’s skill was brought out and made
moderately clear, one juror or another turned to look at
Cowperwood. And he noting this and in order to impress them
all as favorably as possible merely gazed Stenerward with a
steady air of-intelligence_and_ comprehension.

The examination now came down to the matter of the
particular check for sixty thousand dollars which Albert Stires
had handed Cowperwood on the afternoon—late—of October
9, 1871. Shannon showed Stener the check itself. Had he ever
seen it? Yes. Where? In the office of District-Attorney
Pettie on October 20th, or thereabouts last. Was that the
first time he had seen it? Yes. Had he ever heard about it before
then? Yes. When? On October 1oth last. Would he kindly
tell the jury in his own way just how and under what circum-
stances he first heard of it then? Stener twisted uncomfortably
in his chair. It -was-a-Hard thing to do. It was not a pleasant
commentary on his own character~and~degree-of moral-stamina,
to say the least. However, he cleared his throat again and
began a description of that small but bitter section of his life’s
drama in which Cowperwood, finding himself in a tight placeTHE FINANCIER

 

and about to fail, had come to him at his office and demanded
that he loan him three hundred thousand dollars more in one
lump sum.

‘There was considerable bickering just at this point between
Steger and Shannon, for the former was very anxious to make
it appear that Stener was lying out of the whole cloth about
this. Steger got in his objection at this point, and created a
considerable diversion from the main theme, because Stener kept
saying he “thought” or he ‘“‘believed.”

“Object!” shouted Steger, repeatedly. ‘I move that that
be stricken from the record as incompetent, irrelevant, and
immaterial. The witness is not allowed to say what he thinks,
and the prosecution knows it very well.”

“Your honor,” insisted Shannon, “I am doing the best I can
to have the witness tell a plain, straightforward story, and I
think that it is obvious that he is doing so.”

“Object!” reiterated Steger, vociferously. ‘Your honor, I
insist that the district attorney has no right to prejudice the
minds of the jury by flattering estimates of the sincerity of the
witness. What he thinks of the witness and his sincerity is of
no importance in this case. I must ask that your honor caution
him plainly in this matter.”

“Objection sustained,” declared Judge Payderson, “the prose-
cution will please be more explicit”; and Shannon went on with
his case.

Stener’s testimony, in one respect, was most important, for
it made plain what Cowperwood did not want brought out—
namely, that he and Stener had had a dispute before this; that
Stener had distinctly told Cowperwood that he would not loan
him any more money; that Cowperwood had told Stener, on
the day before he secured this check, and again on that very
day, that he was in a very desperate situation financially, and
that if he were not assisted to the extent of three hundred thou-
sand dollars he would fail, and that then both he and Stener
would be ruined. On the morning of this day, according to
Stener, he had sent Cowperwood a letter ordering him to cease
purchasing city loan certificates for the sinking-fund. It was
after their conversation on the same afternoon that Cowperwood
surreptitiously secured the check for sixty thousand dollars from
Albert Stires without his (Stener’s) knowledge; and it was sub-cae BINAN Chir 337

sequent to this latter again that Stener, sending Albert to de-
mand the return of the check, was refused, though the next day
at five o’clock in the afternoon Cowperwood made an assignment.
And the certificates for which the check had been purloined
were not in the sinking-fund as they should have been. ‘This
was-dark testimony. for Cowperwood.

If any one imagines that all this was done without many
vehement objections and exceptions made and taken by Steger,
and subsequently when he was cross-examining Stener, by Shan-
non, he errs greatly. At times the chamber was coruscating
with these two gentlemen’s bitter wrangles, and his honor
was compelled to hammer his desk with his gavel, and to
threaten both with contempt of court, in order to bring them to
a sense of orcer. Indeed-swhile Payderson was highly incensed,
the jury was amused and.interested.

“You gentlemen will have to stop this, or I tell you now
that you will both be heavily fined. This is a court of law, not
a bar-room. Mr. Steger, I expect you to apologize-to-me*and
your colleague at once. Mr. Shannon, I must ask that you use
less aggressive methods. Your manner is offensive to me. It is
not-beeoming-to—a-court-of—law. I will not caution either of
you again.”

Both lawyers apologized as lawyers do on such occasions, but
it really made but little difference. Their individual attitudes
and moods continued about as before.

“What did he say to you,” asked Shannon of Stener, after
one of these troublesome interruptions, ‘fon that occasion,
October 9th last, when he came to you and demanded the loan
of an additional three hundred thousand dollars? Give his
words as near as you can remember—exactly, if possible.”

“Object!” interposed Steger, vigorously. ‘His exact words
are not recorded anywhere except in Mr. Stener’s memory, and
his memory of them cannot be admitted in this case. ‘The wit-
ness has testified to the general facts.”

Judge Payderson smiled grimly. ‘Objection overruled,” he
returned.

“Exception!” shouted Steger.

“He said, as near as I can remember,” replied Stener, drum-
ming on the arms of the witness-chair in a nervous way, “that
if I didn’t give him three hundred thousand dollars he wassiSEIe ED NVAGN Cage:

going to fail, and I would be poor and go to the penitentiary.”

“Object!” shouted Steger, leaping to his feet. ‘Your honor,
I object to the whole manner in which this examination is being
conducted by the prosecution. ‘The evidence which the district
attorney is here trying to extract from the uncertain memory of
the witness is in defiance of all law and precedent, and has no
definite bearing on the facts of the case, and could not disprove
or substantiate whether Mr. Cowperwood thought or did not
think that he was going to fail. Mr. Stener might give one
version of this conversation or any conversation that took place
at this time, and Mr. Cowperwood another. As a matter of
fact, their versions are different. I see no point in Mr. Shan-
non’s line of inquiry, unless it is to prejudice the jury’s minds
towards accepting certain allegations which the prosecution is
pleased to make and which it cannot possibly substantiate. I
think you ought to caution the witness to testify ‘only in regard
to things that he recalls exactly, not to what he thinks he remem-
bers; and for my part I think that all that has been testified to
in the last five minutes might be well stricken out.”

“Objection overruled,” replied Judge Payderson, rather in-
differently; and Steger who had been talking imerely to over-
come the weight of Stener’s testimony in the mids of the jury,
sat down.

Shannon once more approached Stener.

“Now, as near as you can remember, Mr. Stener, I wish you
would tell the jury what else it was that Mr. Cowperwood said
on that occasion. He certainly didn’t stop with the remark
that you would be ruined and go to the penitentiary. Wasn’t
there other language that was employed on that occasion?”

“He said, as far as I can remember,” replied Stener, ‘‘that
there were a lot of political schemers who were trying to frighten
me, that if I didn’t give him three hundred thousand dollars
we would both be ruined, and that I might as well be tried for
stealing a sheep as a lamb.”

“Ha!” yelled Shannon. ‘He said that, did he?”

“Yes, sir; he did,” said Stener.

“How did he say it, exactly? What were his exact words?”
Shannon demanded, emphatically, pointing a forceful forefinger
at Stener in order to key him up to a clear memory of what
had transpired.THE FINANCIER 339

“Well, as near as I can remember, he said just that,” replied
Stener, vaguely. “You might as well be tried for stealing a
sheep as a lamb.”

“Exactly!” exclaimed Shannon, whirling around ‘past the
jury to look at Cowperwood. “I thought so.”

“Pure pyrotechnics, your honor,” said Steger, rising to his
feet on the instant. ‘All intended to prejudice the minds of
the jury. Acting. I wish you would caution the counsel for
the prosecution to confine himself to the evidence in hand, and
not act for the benefit of his case.”

‘The spectators smiled; and Judge Payderson, noting it,
frowned severely. ‘Do you make that as an objection, Mr.
Steger?” he asked.

“T certainly do, your honor,” insisted Steger, resourcefully.

“Objection overruled. Neither counsel for the prosecution
nor for the defense is limited to a peculiar routine of expres-
sion.”

Steger himself was ready to smile, but he did not dare to.

Cowperwood fearing the force of such testimony and regretting
it, still looked at Stener, pityingly. ‘The feebleness of the man;
the weakness of the man; the pass to which his cowardice had
brought them both!

When Shannon was through bringing out this unsatisfactory
data, Steger took Stener in hand; but he could not make as
much out of him as he hoped. In so far as this particular situa-
tion was concerned, Stener was telling the exact truth; and it
is hard to weaken the effect of the exact truth by any subtlety of
interpretation, though it can, sometimes, be done. With pains-
taking care Steger went over all the ground of Stener’s long
relationship with Cowperwood, and tried to make it appear that
Cowperwood was invariably the disinterested agent—not the
ringleader in a subtle,-reallycriminal. adventure.--It-was hard
to.do, but he made a fine impression. Still the jury. listened
with skeptical minds. It might not be fair to punish Cowper-
wood for seizing with avidity upon a splendid chance to get rich
quick, they thought; but it certainly was not worth while to
throw a veil of innocence over such palpable human cupidity.
Finally, both lawyers were through with Stener for the time
being, anyhow, and then Albert Stires was called to the stand.
He was the same thin, pleasant, alert, rather agreeable soul340 ated EN AN Cul ak

that he had been in the heyday of his clerkly prosperity—a
little paler now, but not otherwise changed. His small property
had been saved for him by Cowperwood, who had advised
Steger to inform the Municipal Reform Association that Stires’
bondsmen were attempting to sequestrate it for their own
benefit, when actually it should go to the city if there were any
real claim against him—which there was not. ‘That watchful
organization had issued one of its numerous reports covering
this point, and Albert had had the pleasure of seeing Strobik
and the others withdraw in haste. Naturally he was grateful
to Cowperwood, even though once he had been compelled to
cry in vain in his presence. He-was anxious now to do anything
he could to help the banker, but his naturally truthful disposition
prevented him from telling anything except the plain facts,
which were partly beneficial and partly not.

Stires testified that he recalled Cowperwood’s saying that he
had purchased the certificates, that he was entitled to the money,
that Stener was unduly frightened, and that no harm would
come to him, Albert. He identified certain memoranda in the
city treasurer’s books, which were produced, as being accurate,
and others in Cowperwood’s books, which were also produced,
as being corroborative. His testimony as to Stener’s astonish-
ment on discovering that his chief clerk had given Cowperwood
a check was against the latter; but Cowperwood hoped to over-
come the effect of this by his own testimony later.

Up to now both Steger and Cowperwood felt that they were
doing fairly well, and that they need not be surprised if they
won their case.CHAPTER XEII

HE trial moved on. One witness for the prosecution
after another followed until the State had built up an
arraignment that satisfied Shannon that he had established Cow-
perwood’s guilt, whereupon he announced that he rested. Steger
at once arose and began a long argument for the dismissal of
the case on the ground that there was no evidence to show
this, that and the other, but Judge Payderson would have none
of it. He knew how important the matter was in the local
political world.

“I don’t think you had better go into all that now, Mr.
Steger,” he said, wearily, after allowing him to proceed a reason-
able distance. “I am familiar with the custom of the city, and
the indictment as here made does not concern the custom of the
city. Your argument is with the jury, not with me. I couldn’t
enter into that now. You may renew your motion at the close
of the defendants’ case. Motion denied.’

District-Attorney Shannon, who had been listening attentively,
sat down. Steger, seeing there was no chance to soften the
judge’s mind by any subtlety of argument, returned to Cowper-
wood, who smiled at the result.

“We'll just have to take our chances with the jury,” he an-
nounced.

“T was sure of it,”’ replied Cowperwood.

Steger then approached the jury, and, having outlined the case
briefly from his angle of observation, continued by telling them
what he was sure the evidence would show from his point of
view.

“As a matter of fact, gentlemen, there is no essential differ-
ence in the evidence which the prosecution can present and that
which we, the defense, can present. We are not going to dis-
pute that Mr. Cowperwood received a check from Mr. Stener
for sixty thousand dollars, or that he failed to put the certificate
of city loan which that sum of money represented, and to
which he was entitled in payment as agent, in the sinking-fund,
341342 THE FINANCIER

 

as the prosecution now claims he should have done; but we are
going to claim and prove also beyond the shadow of a reasonable
doubt that he had a right, as the agent of the city, doing busi-
ness with the city through its treasury department for four years,
to withhold, under an agreement which he had with the city
treasurer, all payments of money and all deposits of certificates
in the sinking-fund until the first day of each succeeding month
—the first month following any given transaction. As a matter
of fact we-can and will bring many traders and bankers who
have had dealings with the city treasury in the past in just this
way to prove this. The prosecution is going to ask you to
believe that Mr. Cowperwood knew at the time he received this
check that he was going to fail; that he did not buy the certifi-
cates, as he claimed, with the view of placing them in the sinking-
fund; and that, knowing he was going to fail, and that he could
not subsequently deposit them, he deliberately went to Mr.
Albert Stires, Mr. Stener’s secretary, told him that he had pur-
chased such certificates, and on the strength of a falsehood, im-
plied if not actually spoken, secured the check, and walked away.

“Now, gentlemen, I am not going to enter into a long-winded
discussion of these points at this time, since the testimony is
going to show very rapidly what the facts are. We have a
number of witnesses here, and we are all anxious to have them
heard. What I am going to ask you to remember is that there
is not one scintilla of testimony outside of that which may
possibly be given by Mr. George W. Stener, which will show
either that Mr. Cowperwood knew, at the time he called on the
city treasurer, that he was going to fail, or that he had not
purchased the certificates in question, or that he had not the
right to withhold them from the sinking-fund as long as he
pleased up to the first of the month, the time he invariably struck
a balance with the city. Mr. Stener, the ex-city treasurer, may
possibly testify one way. Mr. Cowperwood, on his own behalf,
will testify another. It will then be for you gentlemen to
decide between them, to decide which one you prefer to believe—
Mr. George W. Stener, the ex-city treasurer, the former com-
mercial associate of Mr. Cowperwood, who, after years and
years of profit, solely because of conditions of financial stress,
fire, and panic, preferred to turn on his one-time associate from
whose labors he had reaped so much profit, or Mr. Frank A.THE FINANCIER 343

Cowperwood, the well-known banker and financier, who did
his best to weather the storm alone, who fulfilled to the letter
every agreement he ever had with the city, who has even until
this hour been busy trying to remedy the unfair financial diffi-
culties forced upon him by fire and panic, and who only yester-
day made an offer to the city that, if he were allowed to con-
tinue in uninterrupted control of his affairs he would gladly
repay as quickly as possible every dollar of his indebtedness
(which is really not all his), including the five hundred thou-
sand dollars under discussion between him and Mr. Stener and
the city, and so prove by his works, not talk, that there was no
basis for this unfair suspicion of his motives. As you perhaps sur-
mise, the city has not chosen to accept his offer, and I shall
try and tell you why later, gentlemen. For the present we will
proceed with the testimony, and for the defense all I ask is
that you give very close attention to all that is testified to
here to-day. Listen very carefully to Mr. W. C. Davison
when he is put on the stand. Listen equally carefully to Mr.
Cowperwood when we call him to testify. Follow the other
testimony closely, and then you will be able to judge for your-
selves. See if you can distinguish a just motive for this prosecu-
tion.._I can’t. I amvery-much obliged to you for listening to
me, gentlemen, so attentively.”

He then put on Arthur Rivers, who had acted for Cowper-
wood on ’change as special agent during the panic, to testify to
the large quantities of city loan he had purchased to stay the

market; and then after him, Cowperwood’s brothers, Edward
and Teccoht who testified to instructions received from Rivers
as to buying and selling city loan on that occasion—principally
_ buying.

The next witness was President W. C. Davison of the Girard
National Bank. He was a large man physically, not so round
of body as full and broad. His shoulders and chest were ample.
He had a big blond head, with an ample breadth of forehead,
which was high and sane-looking. He had a thick, squat nose,
which, however, was forceful, and thin, firm, even lips. There
was the faintest touch of cynical humor in his hard blue eyes
at times; but mostly he was friendly, alert, placid-looking,
without seeming in the least sentimental or even kindly. His
business, as one could see plainly, was to insist on hard financialPoi

   

344 THE FINANCIER

    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

facts, and one could see also how he would naturally be drawn
to Frank Algernon Cowperwood without being mentally domi-
nated or upset by-him.. As he took the chair very quietly, and yet
one might say significantly, it was obvious that-he felt that-this
sort of legal-financial palaver was above the average man and
beneath the dignity of a true financier—in other words, a bother.
The drowsy Sparkheaver holding up a Bible beside him for him
to swear by might as well have been a block of wood. His oath
was a personal matter with him. It was good business to tell
the truth at times. His testimony was very direct and very
simple.

He had known Mr. Frank Algernon Cowperwood for nearly
ten years. He had done business with or through him nearly
all of that time. He knew nothing of his personal relations
with Mr. Stener, and did not know Mr. Stener personally.
As for the particular check of sixty thousand dollars—yes, he
had seen it before. It had come into the bank on October 1oth
along with other collateral to offset an overdraft on the part of
Cowperwood & Co. It was placed to the credit of Cowperwood
& Co. on the books of the bank, and the bank secured the cash
through the clearing-house. No money was drawn out of the
bank by Cowperwood & Co. after that to create an overdraft.
The bank’s account with Cowperwood was squared.

Nevertheless, Mr. Cowperwood might have drawn heavily,
and nothing would have been thought of it. Mr. Davison did
not know that Mr. Cowperwood was going to fail—did not
suppose that he could, so quickly. He had frequently overdrawn
his account with the bank; as a matter of fact, it was the
regular course of his business to overdraw it. It kept his
assets actively in use, which was the height of good business.
His overdrafts were protected by collateral, however, and it
was his custom to send bundles of collateral or checks, or both,
which were variously distributed to keep things straight. Mr.
Cowperwood’s account was the largest and most active in the:
bank, Mr. Davison kindly volunteered. When Mr. Cowper- |
wood had failed there had been over ninety thousand dollars’ |
worth of certificates of city loan in the bank’s possession which j
Mr. Cowperwood had sent there as collateral. Shannon, om:
cross-examination, tried to find out for the sake of the effect on
the jury, whether Mr. Davison was not for some ulterior motive’THE FINANCIER 345

aspecially favorable to Cowperwood. It was not possible for
him to do that. Steger followed, and did his best to render the
favorable points made by Mr. Davison in Cowperwood’s behalf
perfectly clear to the jury by having him repeat them. Shannon
»bjected, of course, but it was of no use. Steger managed to
make his point.

He now decided to have Cowperwood take the stand, and
at the mention of his name in this connection the whole court-
room bristled.

Cowperwood came forward briskly and quickly. He was so
calm, so jaunty, so defiant of life, and yet so courteous to it.
These lawyers, this jury, this straw-and-water judge, these
machinations of fate, did not basically disturb or humble or
weaken him. He saw through the mental equipment of the jury
at once.—_He wanted to assist his counsel in disturbing and con-
fusing Shannon, but his reason told him that only an indestructi-
ble fabric of fact or seeming would do it. He believed in the
financial rightness of the thing he had done. He was entitled
to do it. Life was war—particularly financial life; and strategy
was its keynote, its duty, its necessity. Why should he bother
about petty, picayune minds which could not understand this?
He went over his history for Steger and the jury, and put the
sanest, most comfortable light on it that he could. He had not
gone to Mr. Stener in the first place, he said—he had been
called. He had not urged Mr. Stener to anything. He had
merely shown him and his friends financial possibilities which
they were only too eager to seize upon. And they had seized
upon them. (It was not possible for Shannon to discover at
this period how subtly he had organized his street-car companies
so that he could have “shaken out’? Stener and his friends with-
out their being able to voice a single protest, so he talked of these
things as opportunities which he had made for Stener and
others. Shannon was not a financier, neither was Steger. They
had to believe in a way, though they doubted it, partly—par-
ticularly Shannon.) .He was not responsible for the custom
prevailing in the office of the city treasurer, he said. He was a
banker and broker.

The jury looked at him, and believed all except this matter of
the sixty-thousand-dollar check. When it came to that he ex-
plained it all plausibly enough. When he had gone to see Stener346 avnek, ETN AN Cllr

those several last days, he had not fancied that he was really:
going to fail. He had asked Stener for some money, it is true—
not so very much, all things considered—one hundred and fifty
thousand dollars; but, as Stener should have testified, he (Cow-
perwood) was not disturbed in his manner. Stener had merely
been one resource of his. He was satisfied at that time that
he had many others. He had not used the forceful language
or made the urgent appeal which Stener said he had, although
he had pointed out to Stener that it was a mistake to become
panic-striken, also to withhold further credit. It was true that
Stener was his easiest, his quickest resource, but not his only
one. He thought, as a matter of fact, that his credit would be
greatly extended by his principal money friends if necessary, and
that he would have ample time to patch up his affairs and keep
things going until the storm should blow over. He had told
Stener of his extended purchase of city loan to stay the market
on the first day of the panic, and of the fact that sixty thousand
dollars was due him. Stener had made no objection. It was just
possible that he was too mentally disturbed at the time to pay
close attention. After that, to his, Cowperwood’s, surprise, un-
expected pressure on great financial houses from unexpected direc-
tions had caused them to be not willingly but unfortunately
severe with him. ‘This pressure, coming collectively the next day,
had compelled him to close his doors, though he had not really
expected to up to the last moment. His call for the sixty-
thousand-dollar check at the time had been purely fortuitous.
He needed the money, of course, but it was due~him; and his
clerks were all very busy.. He merely asked for and took it
personally to save time. Stener knew if it had been refused him
he would have brought suit. The matter of depositing city
loan certificates in the sinking-fund, when purchased for the
city, was something to which he never gave any personal atten-
tion whatsoever. His bookkeeper, Mr. Stapley, attended to
all that. He did not know, as a matter of fact, that they had
not been deposited. (This was a barefaced lie. He did know.)
As for the check being turned over to the Girard National Bank,
that was fortuitous. It might just as well have been turned
over to some other bank if the conditions had been different.
Thus on and on he went, answering all of Steger’s and Shan-
non’s searching questions with the most engaging frankness, andtHE BRIAN CEE R 347

you could have sworn from the solemnity with which he took
it all—the serious business attention—that he was the soul of
so-called commercial honor. And to say truly, he did believe in
the justice as well as the necessity and the importance of all that
he had done and now described. He wanted the jury to see it
as he saw it—put itself in his place and sympathize with him.

He was through finally, and the effect on the jury of his
testimony and his personality was peculiar. Philip Moultrie,
juror. No. 1, decided that Cowperwood was lying. He could
not see how it was possible that he could not know the day
before that he was going to fail. He must have known, he
thought. Anyhow, the whole series of transactions between
him and Stener seemed deserving of some punishment, and all
during this testimony he was thinking how, when he got in the
jury-room, he would vote guilty. He even thought of some of
the arguments he would use to convince the others that Cow-
perwood was guilty. Juror No. 2, on the contrary, Simon
Glassberg, a clothier, thought he understood how it all came
about, and decided to vote for acquittal. He did not think Cow-
perwood was innocent, but he did not think he deserved to be
punished. Juror No. 3, Fletcher Norton, an arehitect, thought
Cowperwood was guilty, but at the same time that he was too
talented to be sent to prison. Juror No. 4, Charles Hillegan,
an Irishman, a contractor, and a somewhat religious-minded
person, thought Cowperwood was guilty and ought to be pun-
ished. Juror No. 5, Philip Lukash, a coal merchant, thought
he was guilty. Juror No. 6, Benjamin Fraser, a mining expert,
thought he was probably guilty, but he could not be sure. Un-
certain what he would do, juror No. 7, J. J. Bridges, a broker
in Third Street, small, practical, narrow, thought Cowperwood
was shrewd and guilty and deserved to be punished. He would
vote for his punishment. Juror No. 8, Guy E. Tripp, general
manager of a small steamboat company, was uncertain. Juror
No. 9, Joseph Tisdale, a retired glue manufacturer, thought
Cowperwood was probably guilty as charged, but to Tisdale
it -was no crime. Cowperwood was entitled to do-as he had
done-under the circumstances. Tisdale would vote for his
acquittal. Juror No. 10, Richard Marsh, a young florist,
was-for Cowperwood in a sentimental way. He had, as a
matter of fact, no real convictions. Juror No. 11, Richard348 THE FINANCIER

Webber, a grocer, small financially, but heavy physically, was
for Cowperwood’s conviction. He thought him guilty. Juror
No. 12, Washington B. Thomas, a wholesale flour merchant,
thought Cowperwood was guilty, but believed in a recom--
mendation to mercy after pronouncing him so. Men _ought_ta
be reformed, was his. slogan.

So they stood, and so Cowperwood left them, wondering
whether any of his testimony had had a favorable effect.CHAPTER XLIII

ae it is the privilege of the lawyer for the defense to
address the jury first, Steger bowed politely to his colleague
and came forward. Putting his hands on the jury-box rail,
he began in a very quiet, modest, but impressive way:

ient, Mr. Frank Algernon Cowperwood,
doing business in Third
epresented by the district

“Gentlemen of the jury, my cl
a well-known banker and financier of this city,
Street, is charged by the State of Pennsylvania, r
attorney of this district, with fraudulently transferring from the treasury
of the city of Philadelphia to his own purse the sum of sixty thousand
dollars, in the form of a check made out to his order, dated October 9,
1871, and by him received from one Albert Stires, the private secretary
and head bookkeeper of the treasurer of this city, at the time in ques-
tion. Now, gentlemen, what-are the facts in this connection? You have
heard the various witnesses and know the general outlines of the story.
Take the testimony of George W. Stener, to begin with. He tells you
that sometime back in the year 1866 he was greatly in need of some
one, some banker or broker, who would tell him how to bring city loan,
which was selling very low at the time, to par—who would not only tell
him this, but proceed to demonstrate that his knowledge was accurate
by doing it. Mr. Stener was an inexperienced man at the time in the
matter of finance. Mr. Cowperwood was an active young man with
an enviable record as a broker and a trader on change. He proceeded
to demonstrate to Mr. Stener not only in theory, but in fact, how this
thing of bringing city loan to par could be done. He made an arrange-
ment at that time with Mr. Stener, the details of which you have heard
from Mr. Stener himself, the result of which was that a large amount of
city loan was turned over to Mr. Cowperwood by Mr. Stener for sale,
and by adroit manipulation—methods of buying and selling which need
not be gone into here, but which are perfectly sane and legitimate in the
world in which Mr. Cowperwood operated, did bring that loan to par,
and kept it there year after year as you have all heard here testified to.

“Now what is the bone of contention here, gentlemen, the significant
fact which brings Mr. Stener into this court at this time charging his
old-time agent and broker with larceny and embezzlement, and alleging
that he has transferred to his own use without a shadow of return sixty
thousand dollars of the money which belongs to the city treasury ?
What is it? Is it that Mr. Cowperwood secretly, with great stealth, as
349350 THE FINANCIER

it were, at some time or other, unknown to Mr. Stener or to his assistants,
entered the office of the treasurer and forcibly, and with criminal intent
carried away sixty thousand dollars’ worth of the city’s money? Not
at all. The charge is, as you have heard the district attorney explain,
that Mr. Cowperwood came in broad daylight at between four and
five o’clock of the afternoon preceding the day of his assignment; was
closeted with Mr. Stener for a half or three-quarters of an hour; came
out; explained to Mr. Albert Stires that he had recently bought sixty
thousand dollars’ worth of city loan for the city sinking-fund, for which
he had not been paid; asked that the amount be credited on the city’s
books to him, and that he be given a check, which was his due, and
walked out. Anything very remarkable about that, gentlemen? Any:
thing very strange? Has it been testified here to-day that Mr. Cowper-
wood was not the agent of the city for the transaction of just such
business as he said on that occasion that he had transacted? Did any
one say here on the witness-stand that he had not bought city loan as
he said he had?

“Why is it then that Mr. Stener charges Mr. Cowperwood with lar-
cenously securing and feloniously disposing of a check for sixty thou-
sand dollars for certificates which he had a right to buy, and which
it has not been contested here that he did buy? The reason lies just
here—listen—just here. At the time my client asked for the check and
took it away with him and deposited it in his own bank to his own ac-
count, he failed, so the prosecution insists, to put the sixty thousand
dollars’ worth of certificates for which he had received the check, in the
sinking-fund; and having failed to do that, and being compelled by the
pressure of financial events the same day to suspend payment generally
he thereby, according to the prosecution and the anxious leaders of the
Republican party in the city, became an embezzler, a thief, a this or that
—anything you please so long as you find a substitute for George W.
Stener and the indifferent leaders of the Republican party in the eyes of
the people.”

And here Mr. Steger proceeded boldly and defiantly to outline
the entire political situation as it had manifested itself in con-
nection with the Chicago fire, the subsequent panic and its
political consequences, and to picture Cowperwood as the un-
justly maligned agent, who before the fire was valuable and
honorablé-énough to suit any of .the political leaders of Phila-
delphia, but afterward, and when political defeat threatened, was
picked upon as the most available scapegoat anywhere within
reach.

And it took him a half hour to do that. And afterward—but
only after he had pointed to Stener as the true henchman and
stalking horse, who had, in turn, been used by political forces
above him to accomplish certain financial results, which theyhe EE NAIN CER 351

were not willing to have ascribed to themselves, he continued
with :

“But now, in the light of all this, only see how ridiculous all this is!

How silly! Frank A. Cowperwood had always been the agent of the city in
these matters for years and years. He worked under certain rules.which he
and_Mr.-Stener had agreed upon in the first place, and which obviously
catrie~from-others, who were above Mr. Stener, since they were hold-
over. customs and _rules.from administrations,.which had been long
before-Mr. Stener-ever appeared on the scene as city treasurer. One of
them was that he could carry all transactions over until the first of the
month following before he struck a balance. That is, he need not pay any
money over for anything to the city treasurer, need not send him any
checks or deposit any money or certificates in the sinking-fund until the
first of the month because—now listen to this carefully, gentlemen; it is
important—because his transactions in connection with city loan and
everything else that he dealt in for the city treasurer were so numerous,
so swift, so uncalculated beforehand, that he had to have a loose, easy
system of this kind in order to do his work properly—to do business at
all. Otherwise he could not very well have worked to the best advantage
for Mr. Stener, or for any one else. It would have meant too much
bookkeeping for him—too much for the city treasurer. Mr. Stener has
testified to that in the early part of his story. Albert Stires has indicated
that that was his understanding of it. Well, then what? Why, just
this. Would any jury suppose, would any sane business man believe that
if such were the case Mr. Cowperwood would be running personally with
all these items of deposit, to the different banks or the sinking-fund or
the city treasurer’s office, or would be saying to his head bookkeeper,
‘Here, Stapley, here is a check for sixty thousand dollars. See that the
certificates of loan which this represents are put in the sinking-fund
to-day’? And why not? What a ridiculous supposition—any other
supposition is! As a matter of course and as had always been the case,
Mr. Cowperwood had a system. When the time came, this check and
these certificates would be automatically taken care of. He handed his
bookkeeper the check and forgot all about it. Would you imagine a
banker-with-a-vast business of this kind doing anything else?”

Mr. Steger paused for breath and inquiry, and then, having
satisfied himself that his point had been sufficiently made, he

continued:

“Of course the answer is that he knew he was going to fail. Well;
Mr. Cowperwood’s reply is that he didn’t know anything of the sort.
He has personally testified here that it was only at the last moment
before it-actually~happened that he either thought~or knew of ‘such an
occurrence. Why, then, this alleged refusal to let him have the check
to which he was legally entitled? I think I know. I think I can give
a reason if you will hear me out.”352 THE FINANCIER

Steger shifted his position and came at the jury from another
intellectual angle:

“Tt was simply because Mr. George W. Stener at that time, owing
to a recent notable fire and a panic, imagined for some reason—perhaps
because Mr. Cowperwood cautioned him not to become frightened over
local developments generally—that Mr. Cowperwood was going to close
his doors; and having considerable money on deposit with him at a low
rate of interest, Mr. Stener decided that Mr. Cowperwood must not
have any more money—not even the money that was actually due him
for services rendered, and that had nothing whatsoever to do with the
money loaned him by Mr. Stener at two and one-half per cent. Now
isn’t that a ridiculous situation? But it was because Mr. George W-
Stener was filled with his own fears, based on a fire and a panic which had
absolutely nothing to do with Mr. Cowperwood’s solvency in the beginning
that he decided not to let Frank A. Cowperwood have the money that was
actually due him, because he, Stener, was criminally using the city’s money
to further his own private interests (through Mr. Cowperwood as a
broker), and in danger of being exposed-and possibly punished: Now
where, I ask you, does the good sense of that decision come in? Is it ap-
parent to you, gentlemen? Was Mr. Cowperwood still an agent for the
city at the time he bought the loan certificates as here testified? He cer-
tainly was. If so, was he entitled to that money? Who is going to stand
up here and deny it? Where is the-question then, as to his right or his
honesty in this matter?...How does it come in here at all?-—T can tell
you. It sprang solely from one source and from nowhere else, and that
is the desire of the politicians of this city to find a scapegoat for the
Republican party.

“Now you may think I am going rather far afield for an explanation of
this very peculiar decision to prosecute Mr. Cowperwood, an agent of the
city, for demanding and receiving what actually belonged to him. But
I’m not. Consider the position of the Republican party at that time.
Consider the fact that an exposure of the truth in regard to the details
of a large defalcation in the city treasury would have a very unsatisfactory
effect on the election about to be held. The Republican party had a
new city treasurer to elect, a new district attorney. It had been in the
habit of allowing its city treasurers the privilege of investing the funds
in their possession at a low rate of interest for the benefit of them-
selves and their friends. Their salaries were small. They had to have
some way of eking out a reasonable existence. Was Mr. George Stener
responsible for this custom of loaning out the city money? Not at all.
Was Mr. Cowperwood? Not at all. The custom had been in vogue
long before either Mr. Cowperwood or Mr. Stener came on the scene. .
Why, then, this great hue and cry about it now? The entire uproar *
sprang solely from the fear of Mr. Stener at this juncture, the fear of the
politicians at this juncture, of public exposure. No city treasurer had |
ever been exposed before. It was a new thing to face exposure, to face §
the risk of having the public’s attention called to a rather nefarious prac-
tice of which Mr. Stener was taking advantage, that was all. A great;THE FINANCIER 353

fire and a panic were endangering the security and well-being of many
a financial organization in the city—Mr. Cowperwood’s among others.
It meant many possible failures, and many possible failures meant one
possible failure. If Frank A. Cowperwood failed, he would fail owing
the city of Philadelphia five hundred thousand dollars, borrowed from
the city treasurer at the very low rate of interest of two and one-half
per cent. Anything very detrimental to Mr. Cowperwood in that? Had
he gone to the city treasurer and asked to be loaned money at two and
one-half per cent.? If he had, was there anything criminal in it from
a business point of view? Isn’t a man entitled to borrow money from
any source he can at the lowest possible rate of interest? Did Mr.
Stener have to loan it to Mr. Cowperwood if he did not want to? As
a matter of fact didn’t he testify here to-day that he personally had
sent for Mr. Cowperwood in the first place? Why, then, in Heaven’s
name, this excited charge of larceny, larceny as bailee, embezzlement,
embezzlement on a check, etc., etc.?

“Once more, gentlemen, listen. I'll tell you why. The men who stood
behind Stener, and whose bidding he was doing, wanted to make a
political scapegoat of some one—of Frank Algernon Cowperwood, if
they couldn’t get any one else. That’s why. No other reason under
God’s blue sky, not one. Why, if Mr. Cowperwood needed more money
just at that time to tide him over, it would have been good policy for
them to have given it to him and hushed this matter up. It would have
been illegal—though not any more illegal than anything else that has
ever been done in this connection—but it would have been safer. Fear,
gentlemen, fear, lack of courage, inability to meet a great crisis when 2
great crisis appears, was all that really prevented them from doing™ this.
They were afraid to place confidence in a man who had never heretofore
betrayed their trust and from whose loyalty and great financial ability
they and the city had been reaping large profits. The reigning city
treasurer of the time didn’t have the courage to go on in the face of fire
and panic and the rumors of possible failure, and stick by his illegal
guns; and so he decided to draw in his horns as testified here to-day
—to ask Mr. Cowperwood to return all or at least a big part of the
five hundred thousand dollars he had loaned him, and which Cowperwood
had been actually using for his, Stener’s benefit, and to refuse him in
addition the money that was actually due him for an authorized pur-
chase of city loan. Was-Cowperwood guiltyas an agent in any-of these
transactions? Not in the least. Was there any suit~pending to make
Him return the five hundred thousand dollars of city money involved in
his present failure? Not at all. It was simply a case of wild, silly
panic~on~the part of George W. Stener, and a strong desire on the
part of the Republican party leaders, once..they discovered what the
situation was, to find some one outside of Stener, the party treasurer,
upon whom they could blame the shortage in the treasury. You heard
what Mr. Cowperwood testified to here in this case to-day—that he
went to Mr. Stener to forfend against any possible action of this kind
in the first place. And it was because of this very warning that Mr.
Stener became wildly excited, lost his head, and wanted Mr. Cowperwood354 THE FINANCIER

to return him all his money, all the five hundred thousand dollars he
had loaned him at two and one-half per cent. Isn’t that silly financial
business at the best? Wasn’t that a fine time to try to calla perfectly
legal loan?

“But now to return to this particular check of sixty thousand dollars.
When Mr. Cowperwood called that last afternoon before he failed, Mr.
Stener testified that he told him that he couldn’t have any more money,
that it was impossible, and that then Mr. Cowperwood went out into
his general office and without his knowledge or consent persuaded his chief
clerk and secretary, Mr. Albert Stires, to give him a check for sixty
thousand dollars, to which he was not entitled and on which he, Stener,
would have stopped payment if he had known.

“What nonsense! Why didn’t he know? The books were there, open
to him. Mr. Stires told him the first thing the next moming. Mr.
Cowperwood thought nothing of it, for he was entitled to it, and
could collect it in any court of law having jurisdiction in such cases,
failure or no failure. It is silly for Mr. Stener to say he would have
stopped payment. Such a claim was probably an after-thought of the
next morning after he had talked with his friends, the politicians, and
was all a part, a trick, a trap, to provide the Republican party with a
scapegoat at this time. Nothing-more-and nothing less; and you may be
sure noone knew it better than the people who Wwere~most_anxious
to see Mr. Cowperwood convicted.”

Steger paused and looked significantly at Shannon.

“Gentlemen of the jury [he finally concluded, quietly and earnestly],
you are going to find, when you think it over in the jury-room this
evening, that this charge of larceny and larceny as bailee, and embezzle-
ment of a check for sixty thousand dollars, which are contained in this
indictment, and which represent nothing more than the eager effort of
the district attorney to word this one act in such a way that it will
look like a crime, represents nothing more than the excited imagination
of a lot of political refugees Who are anxious to protect their own skirts
at the expense of Mr. Cowperwood, and who care for nothing—honor, fair
play, or anything else, so long as they are let off scot-free. They don’t
want the Republicans of Pennsylvania to think too ill of the Republican
party management and control in this city. They want to protect
George W. Stener as much as possible and to make a political scape-
goat of my client. It can’t be done, and it won’t be done. As honorable,
intelligent men you won’t permit it to be done. And I think with that
thought I can safely leave you.”

Steger suddenly turned from the jury-box and walked to his
seat beside Cowperwood, while Shannon arose, calm, forceful,
vigorous, much younger.

As between man and man, Shannon was not particularly
opposed to the case Steger had made out for Cowperwood, noree

THE FINANCIER 355

was he opposed to Cowperwood’s having made money as he
did. As a matter of fact, Shannon_actually thought that if he
had been in Cowperwood’s position he would have done exactly
the same thing. However, he was the newly elected district at-
torney. He had a record to make; and, besides, the political
powers who were above him were satisfied that Cowperwood
ought to be convicted for the looks of the thing. ‘Therefore he
laid his hands firmly on the rail at first, looked the jurors
steadily in the eyes for a time, and, having framed a few
thoughts in his mind began:

“Now, gentlemen of the jury, it seems to me that if we all pay strict
attention to what has transpired here to-day, we will have no difficulty
in reaching a conclusion; and it will be a very satisfactory one, if we
all try to interpret the facts correctly. This defendant, Mr. Cowper-
wood, comes into this court to-day charged, as I have stated to you
before, with larceny, with larceny as bailee, with embezzlement,
and with embezzlement of a_ specific check—namely, one dated
October 9, 1871, drawn to the order of Frank A. Cowperwood
& Company for the sum of sixty thousand dollars by the secretary of
the city treasurer for the city treasurer, and by him signed, as he had
a perfect right to sign it, and delivered to the said Frank A. Cowperwood,
who claims that he was not only properly solvent at the time, but had
previously purchased certificates of city loan to the value of sixty thou-
sand dollars, and had at that time or would shortly thereafter, as was
his custom, deposit them to the credit of the city in the city sinking-
fund, and thus close what would ordinarily be an ordinary transaction—
namely, that of Frank A. Cowperwood & Company as bankers and
brokers for the city buying city loan for the city, depositing it in the
sinking-fund, and being promptly and properly reimbursed. Now, gentle-
men, what_are the actual facts in this case? Was the said Frank A.
Cowperwood & Company—there is no cOmpany, as you well know, as
you have heard testified here to-day, only Frank A. Cowperwood—was
the said Frank A. Cowperwood a fit person to receive the check at this
time in the manner he received it—that is, was he authorized agent of
the city at the time, or was he not? Was he solvent? Did he actually
himself think he was going to fail, and was this sixty-thousand-dollar
check a last thin straw which he was grabbing at to..save his financial
life. regardless~of what it involved legally, morally, or otherwise; or
had he actually purchased certificates of city loan to the amount he
said he had in the way he said he had, at the time he said he had,
and was he merely collecting his honest due? Did he intend to deposit
these certificates of Joan in the city sinking-fund, as he said he would—
as it was understood naturally and normally that he would—or did he
not? Were his relations with the city treasurer as broker and agent
the same as they had always been on the day that he secured this
particular check for sixty thousand dollars, or were they not? Had they356 THe FINAN GibR

been terminated by a conversation fifteen minutes before or two days
before or two weeks before—it makes no difference when, so long as
they had been properly terminated—or had they not? A business man
has a right to abrogate an agreement at any time where there is no
specific form of contract and no fixed period of operation entered into—
as you all must know. Youmust not forget that in considering the
evidence in this case. Did George W. Stener; knowing-or suspecting that
Frank A. Cowperwood was in a tight place financially, unable to fulfill
amy longer properly and honestly the duties supposedly devolving on.
him by this agreement, terminate it then and there on October 9, 1871
before this check for sixty thousand dollars was given, or did he not?
Did Mr. Frank A. Cowperwood then and there, knowing that he was
no longer an agent of the city treasurer and the city, and knowing alsa
that he was insolvent (having, as Mr. Stener contends, admitted to
him that he was so), and having no intention of placing the certificates
which ke subsequently declared he had purchased in the sinking-fund, go
out into Mr. Stener’s general office, meet his secretary, tell him he had
purchased sixty thousand dollars’ worth of city loan, ask for the check,
get it, put it in his pocket, walk off, and never make any return of any
kind in any manner, shape, or form to the city, and then, subsequently,
twenty-four hours later, fail, owing this and five hundred thousand
dollars more to the city treasury, or did he not? What are the facts
in this case? What have the witnesses testified to? What has George
W. Stener testified to, Albert Stires, President Davison, Mr. Cowperwood
himself? What are the interesting, subtle facts in this case, anyhow?
Gentlemen, you have a very curious problem to decide.”

He paused and gazed at the jury, adjusting his sleeves as he
did so, and_looking as though he knew-for certain that he was
on the trail of a slippery, elusive criminal who was in a fair
way to foist himself upon an honorable and decent community
and an honorable and innocent jury as an honest man:

Then he continued:

“Now, gentlemen, what are the facts? You can see for yourselves
exactly how this~whoele-situation has come about. You are sensible
mén. I don’t need to tell you. Here are two men, one elected treasurer
of the city of Philadelphia, sworn to guard the interests of the city
and to manipulate its finances to the best advantage, and the other
called in at a time of uncertain financial cogitation to assist in unraveling
a possibly difficult financial problem; and then you have a case of a
quiet, private financial understanding being reached, and of subsequent
illegal dealings in which one man who is shrewder, wiser, more versed
in the subtle ways of Third Street leads the other along over seemingly
charming paths of fortunate investment into an accidental but none the
less criminal mire of failure and exposure and public calumny and what
not. And then they get to the place where the more vulnerable individual
of the two—the man in the most dangerous position, the city treas-THE FINANCIER 357

urer of Philadelphia, no less—can no longer reasonably or, let us say,
courageously, follow the other fellow; and then you have such a spec-
tacle as was described here this afternoon in the witness-chair by
Mr. Stener—that is, you have a vicious, greedy, unmerciful financial
wolf standing over a cowering, unsophisticated commercial lamb, and
saying to him, his white, shiny teeth glittering all the while, ‘If you
don’t advance me the money I ask for—the three hundred thousand
dollars I now demand—you will be a convict, your children will be
thrown in the street, you and your wife and your family will be in
poverty again, and there will be no one to turn a hand for you.’
That is what Mr. Stener says Mr. Cowperwood said to him. I, for my
part, haven’t a doubt in the world that he did. Mr. Steger, in his
very guarded references to his client, describes him as a nice, kind,
gentlemanly agent, a broker merely on whom was practically forced
the use of five hundred thousand dollars at two and a half per cent
when money was bringing from ten to fifteen per cent in Third Street
on call-loans, and even more. But I for one don’t choose to believe
it. The thing that strikes me as strange in all of this is that if he was
so nice and kind and gentle and remote—a mere hired and therefore
subservient agent—how is it that he could have gone to Mr. Stener’s
office two or three days before the matter of this sixty-thousand-dollar
check came up and say to him, as Mr. Stener testifies under oath that
he did say to him, ‘If you don’t give me three hundred thousand dollars’
worth more of the city’s money at once, to-day, I will fail, and you will
be a convict. You will go to the penitentiary.’? That’s what he said
to him. ‘I will fail and you will be a convict. They can’t touch me, but
they will arrest you. I am an agent merely.’ Does that sound like a
nice, mild, innocent, well-mannered agent, a hired broker, or doesn’t
it sound like a hard, defiant, contemptuous master—a man in control
and-ready to rule and win by fair means or foul?

“Gentlemen, I hold no brief for George W. Stener. In my judg-
ment he is as guilty as his smug co-partner in crime—if not more
so—this oily financier who came smiling and in sheep’s clothing,
pointing out subtle ways by which the city’s money could be made
profitable for both; but when I hear Mr. Cowperwood described as
I have just heard him described, as a nice, mild, innocent agent, my
gorge rises. Why, gentlemen, if you want to get a right point of view
on this whole proposition you will have to go back about ten or
twelve years and see Mr. “George W--Stener_as he was then, a rather
poverty-stricken. beginner in politics, and before this-very” subtle and
capable broker and agent came along and pointed out ways and means
by which the city’s money could be made profitable; George W. Stener
wasn’t very much of a personage then, and neither was Frank A. Cow-
perwood when he found Stener newly elected to the office of city
treasurer. Can’t you see him arriving at that time nice and fresh
and young and well dressed, as shrewd as a fox, and saying: ‘Come to
me: Let me handle city loan. Loan me the city’s money at two per
cent. or less? Can’t you hear him suggesting this? Can’t you see him?
“George W. Stener was a poor man, comparatively a very poorEAE PINAN CIE

 

358

man, when he first became city treasurer. All he had was a small real-
estate and insurance business which brought him in, say, twenty-five
hundred dollars a year. He had a wife and four children to support,
and he had never had the slightest taste of what for him might be
called luxury or comfort. Then comes Mr...Cowperwood—at.his request,
to be sure, but on an errand which held no theory of evil gains in
Mr. Stener’s mind at the time—and proposes his-grand scheme of manipu-
lating all the city loan to their mutual advantage. Do you yourselves
think, gentlemen, from what you have -seen.of George W. Stener here
on the witness-stand, that it was he who proposed this plan of ill-gotten
wealth to that gentleman over there?”

He pointed to Cowperwood.

“Does he look to you like a man who would be able to tell that gen-
tleman anything about finance or this wonderful manipulation that
followed? I ask you, does he look clever enough to suggest all the
subtleties by which these two subsequently made so much money?
Why, the statement of this man Cowperwood made to his creditors at
the time of his failure here a few weeks ago showed that he consid-
ered himself to be worth over one million two hundred and fifty
thousand dollars, and he is only a little over thirty-four years old to-day.
How much was he worth at the time he first entered business rela-
tions with the ex-city treasurer? Have you any idea? I can tell. I
had the matter looked up almost a month ago on my accession to office.
Just a little over two hundred thousand dollars, gentlemen—just a little
over two hundred thousand dollars. Here is an abstract from the files of
Dun & Company for that year. Now you can see how rapidly our Cesar
has grown in wealth since then. You can see how profitable these few
short years have been to him. Was George W. Stener worth any such
sum up to the time he was removed from his office and indicted for
embezzlement? Was he? I have here a schedule of his liabilities and
assets made out at the time. You can see it for yourselves, gentlemen.
Just two hundred and twenty thousand dollars measured the sum of all
his property three weeks ago; and it is an accurate estimate, as I have
reason to know. Why-~was it, do you suppose, that Mr. Cowperwood
grew so fast in wealth and Mr. Stener so slowly? They were partners
in crime. Mr. Stener was loaning Mr. Cowperwood vast sums of the
city’s money at two per cent. when call-rates for money in Third Street
were sometimes as high as sixteen and seventeen per cent. Don’t you
suppose that Mr. Cowperwood sitting there knew how to use this-very
cheaply come-by money. to the very best advantage? Does he look to
you as though he didn’t? You have seen him onthe witness-stand.
You have heard him testify. Very suave, very straightforward-seeming,
very innocent, doing everything as a favor to Mr. Stener and \his friends,
of course, and yet making a million in a little over six years and allowing
Mr. Stener to make one hundred and sixty thousand dollars or less, for
Mr. Stener had some little money at the time this partnership was entered
into—a few thousand dollars.”THE FINANCIER 359

Shannon now came to the vital transaction of October gth,
when Cowperwood called on Stener and secured the check for
sixty thousand dollars from Albert Stires. His-scorn for this (as
he appeared to think) subtle and criminal transaction was un-
bounded. It was plain larceny, stealing, and Cowperwood
knew it when he asked Stires for the check.

“Think of it! [Shannon exclaimed, turning and looking squarely at
Cowperwood, who faced him quite calmly, undisturbed and unashamed. ]
Think of it! Think of the colossal nerve of the man—the Machiavellian
subtlety-of—his—brain. “He knew he was going to fail. He knew after
two days of financial work—after two days of struggle to offset the
providential disaster which upset his nefarious schemes—that he had
exhausted every possible resource save one, the city treasury, and that
unless he could compel aid there he was going to fail. He already
owed the city treasury five hundred thousand dollars. He had already
used the city treasurer as a cat’s-paw so much, had involved him so
deeply, that the latter, because of the staggering size of the debt, was
becoming frightened. Did that deter Mr. Cowperwood? Not at all.”

 

He shook his finger ominously in Cowperwood’s face, and
the latter turned irritably away. ‘He is showing off for the
benefit of his future,” he whispered to Steger. “I wish you
could tell the jury that.”

“T wish I could,” replied Steger, smiling scornfully, “but my
hour is over.”

“Why [continued Mr. Shannon, turning once more to the jury],
think of the colossal, wolfish nerve that would permit a man to say
to Albert Stires that he had just purchased sixty thousand dollars’
worth additional of city loan, and that he would then and there take
the check for it! Had he actually purchased this city loan as he said
he had? Who can tell? Could any human being wind through all the
mazes of the complicated bookkeeping system which he ran, and actually
tell? The best answer to that is that if he did purchase the certificates
he intended that it should make no difference to the city, for he made
no effort to put the certificates in the sinking-fund, where they be-
longed. His counsel says, and he says, that he didn’t have to until the
first of the month, although the law says that he must do it at once,
and he knew well enough that legally he was bound to do it. His
counstIsays;-and” he says, that he didn’t know he was going to fail.
Hence _there-was_no need of worrying about it. I wonder if any of you
gentlemen really believed that? Had he ever asked for a check like
that so quick before in his life? In all the history of these nefarious
transactions was there another incident like that? You know there
wasn’t..._He had never before, on any occasion, asked personally for
a check for anything in this office, and yet on this occasion he did it.
Why? Why should he ask for it this time? A few hours more, accord-

    
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
     

\360 THE FINANCIER

ing to his own statement, wouldn’t have made any difference one way
or the other, would it? He could have sent a boy for it, as usual.
That was the way it had always been done before. Why anything
different now? I ’ll tell you why! [Shannon suddenly shouted, varying
his voice tremendously.] I’ll tell you why! He knew that he was
a ruined man! He knew that his last semi-legitimate avenue of escape—
the favor of George W. Stener—had been closed to him! He knew
that honestly, by open agreement, he could not extract another single
dollar from the treasury of the city of Philadelphia. He knew that if he
left the office without this check and sent a boy for it, the aroused city
treasurer would have time to inform his clerks, and that then no further
money could be obtained. That’s why! That’s why, gentlemen, if
you really want to know.

“Now, gentlemen of the jury, I am about done with my arraignment
of this fine, honorable, virtuous citizen whom the counsel for the defense,
Mr. Steger, tells you you cannot possibly convict without doing a
great injustice. All I have to say is that you look to me like sane,
intelligent men—just the sort of men that I meet everywhere in the
ordinary walks of life, doing an honorable American business in an
honorable American way. Now, gentlemen of the jury [he was very
soft-spoken now], all I have to say is that if, after all you have heard
and seen here to-day, you still think that Mr. Frank A. Cowperwood is
an honest, honorable man—that he didn’t steal, willfully and knowingly,
sixty thousand dollars from the Philadelphia city treasury; that he had
actually bought the certificates he said he had, and had intended to put
them in the sinking-fund, as he said he did, then don’t you dare to do
anything except turn him lose, and that speedily, so that he can go on back
to-day into Third Street, and_start-to straighten. out his much-entangled
financial affairs. It is the only thing for honest, conscientious men to do—
to turn him instantly loose into the heart of this community, so that_some
of the rank injustice that my opponent, Mr. Steger, alleges has been
done him will be a little made up to him. You owe him, if that is the
way you feel, a prompt acknowledgment of his innocence. Don’t worry
about George W. Stener. His guilt is established by his own confession.
He admits he is guilty. He will be sentenced without trial later on.
But this man—he says he is an honest, honorable man. He says he
didn’t think he was going to fail. He says he used all that threatening,
compelling, terrifying language, not because he was in danger of fail-
ing, but because he didn’t want the bother of looking further for aid.
What do you think? Do you really think that he had purchased sixty
thousand dollars more of certificates for the sinking-fund, and that he
was entitled to the money? If so, why didn’t he put them in the
sinking-fund? They’re not there now, and the sixty thousand dollars
is gone. Who got it? The Girard National Bank, where he was
overdrawn to the extent of one hundred thousand dollars! Did it get
it and forty, thousand dollars more in other checks and certificates?
Certainly. Why? Do you suppose the Girard National Bank might
be in any way grateful for this last little favor before he closed his
doors? Do you think that President Davison, whom you saw hereTHE FINANCIER 361

testifying so kindly in this case feels at all friendly, and that that may
possibly—I don’t say that it does—explain his very kindly interpretation
of-Mr. Cowperwood’s. condition? It might be. You can think as well
along that line as I can. Anyhow, gentlemen, President Davison says
Mr. Cowperwood is an honorable, honest man, and so does his counsel,
Mr. Steger. You have heard the testimony. Now you think it over.
If you want to turn him loose—turn him loose. [He waved his hand
wearily.] You're the judges. I wouldn’t; but then I am merely a hard-
working lawyer—one person, one opinion. You may think differently—
that’s your business. [He waved his hand suggestively, almost con-
temptuously.] However, I’m through, and I thank you for your courtesy.
Gentlemen, the decision rests with you.”

He turned away grandly, and the jury stirred—so did the
idle spectators in the court. Judge Payderson sighed a sigh of
relief. It was now quite dark, and the flaring gas forms in the
court were all brightly lighted. Outside one could see that it
was snowing. The judge stirred among his papers wearily, and
turning to the jurors solemnly, began his customary explanation
of the law, after which they filed out to the jury-room.

Cowperwood turned to his father who now came over across
the fast-emptying court, and said:

‘Well, we’ll know now in a little while.”

“Yes,” replied Cowperwood, Sr., a little wearily. “I-hope it
comes-out right. I saw Butler back there a little while ago.”

‘Did you?” queried Cowperwood, to whom this had a peculiar
interest.

“Yes,” replied his father. “He’s just gone.”

So, Cowperwood thought, Butler was curious enough as to
"his fate to want to come here and watch him tried. Shannon
was _his-tool.. Judge Payderson was his emissary, in a way. He,
Cowperwood, might defeat him in the matter of his daughter,
but it was not so easy to defeat him here unless the jury should
happen to take a sympathetic attitude. They might’ convict him,

and then Butler’s Judge Payderson would have the privilege of
sentencing him—giving him the maximum sentence. That
would not be so nice—five years! He cooled a little as he
thought of it, but there was no use worrying about what had
not yet happened. Steger came forward and told him that his
bail was now ended—had been the moment the jury left the
room—and that he was at this moment actually in the care of
the sheriff, of whom he knew—Sheriff Adlai Jaspers. Unless he
were acquitted by the jury, Steger added, he would have to re-362 Ae: er TIN A NI TR

 

main in the sheriff's care until an application for a certificate of
reasonable doubt could be made and acted upon.

“Tt would take all of five days, Frank,’ Steger said, “but
Jaspers isn’t a bad sort. He’d be reasonable. Of course if we’re
lucky you won’t have to visit him. You will have to go with
this bailiff now, though. Then-if-things.come-out right we'll go
home. Say, I’d like to win this case,” he said. “‘I’d like to give
them the laugh and see you do it. I consider you’ve been pretty
badly treated, and I think I made that perfectly clear. I can
reverse this verdict on a dozen grounds if they happen to decide
against you.”

He and Cowperwood and the latter’s father now stalked off
with the sheriff's subordinate—a small man by the name of
“Eddie” Zanders, who had approached to take charge. They
entered a small room called the pen at the back of the court,
where all those on trial whose liberty had been forfeited by the
jury’s leaving the room had to wait pending its return. It was
a dreary, high-ceiled, four-square place, with a window looking
out into Chestnut Street, and a second door leading off inte
somewhere—one had no idea where. It was dingy, with a worn
wooden floor, some heavy, plain, wooden benches lining the four
sides, no pictures or ornaments of any kind. A-single two-arm
gas-pipe descended from the center of the ceiling. It was per-
meated by a peculiarly stale and pungent odor, obviously redolent
of all the flotsam and jetsam of life—criminal and innocent—
that had stood or sat in here from time to time, waiting pa
tiently to learn what a deliberating fate held in store.

Cowperwood was, of course, disgusted; but he was too self-
reliant and capable to show it. All his life he had been im»
maculate, almost fastidious in his care of himself. Here he was
coming, perforce, in contact with a form of life which jarred
upon him greatly. Steger, who was beside him, made some com-
forting, explanatory, apologetic remarks.

“Not as nice as it might be,” he said, “but you won’t mind
waiting a little while. The jury won’t be long, I fancy.”

“That may not help me,” he replied, walking to the window.
“Afterward he added: ‘“What must be, must be.”

His father winced. Suppose Frank was on the verge of a long
prison term, which meant an atmosphere like this! Heavens!
For a moment, he trembled, then for the first time in years he
made a silent prayer.CHAPTER XLIV

EANWHILE the great argument had been begun in the
jury-room, and all the points that had been meditatively
speculated upon in the jury-box were now being openly discussed.
It is amazingly interesting to see how a jury will waver and
speculate in a case like this—how curious and uncertain is the
process by which it makes up its so-called mind. So-called truth
is a nebulous thing at best; facts are capable of such curious in-
version and interpretation, honest and otherwise. The jury had
a strongly complicated problem before it, and it went over it and
over it.

Juries reach not so much definite conclusions as verdicts, in a
curious fashion and for curious reasons. Very often a jury will
have concluded little so far as its individual members are con-
cerned and yet it will have reached a verdict. The matter of
time, as all lawyers know, plays a part in this. Juries, speaking
of the members collectively and frequently individually, object to
the amount of time it takes to decide a case. “They do not enjoy
sitting and deliberating over a problem unless it is tremendously
fascinating. ‘The ramifications or the mystery of a syllogism can
become a weariness and a bore. “The jury-room itself may and
frequently does become a dull agony.

On the other hand, no jury contemplates a disagreement with
any degree of satisfaction. There is something so inherently con-
structive in the human mind that to leave a problem unsolved is
plain misery. It haunts the average individual like any other
important task left unfinished. Men in a jury-room, like those
scientifically demonstrated atoms of a crystal which scientists and
philosophers love to speculate upon, like finally to arrange them-
selves into an orderly and artistic whole, to present a compact,
intellectual front, to be whatever they have set out to be, prop-
erly and rightly—a compact, sensible jury. One sees this same
instinct magnificently displayed in every other phase of nature
—in the drifting of sea-wood to the Sargasso Sea, in the geo-
metric interrelation of air-bubbles on the surface of still water,
363364. Tain ELINA N Gi ER

in the marvelous unreasoned architecture of so many insects and
atomic forms which make up the substance and the texture of
this world. It would seem as though the physical substance of
life—this apparition of ‘form which the eye detects and calls real
—were shot through with some vast sublety that loves order,
that is order. The atoms of our so-called being, in spite of our
so-called reason—the dreams of a mood—know where to go and
what to do. ‘They represent an order, a wisdom, a willing that
is not of us. They build orderly in spite of us. So the subcon-
scious spirit of a jury. At the same time, one does not forget
the strange hypnotic effect of one personality on another, the
varying effects of varying types on each other, until a solution—
to use the word in its purely chemical sense—is reached. In a
jury-room the thought or determination of one or two or three
men, if it be definite enough, is likely to pervade the whole room
and conquer the reason or the opposition of the majority. One
man “‘standing out”’ for the definite thought that is in him is apt
to become either the triumphant leader of a pliant mass or the
brutally battered target of a flaming, concentrated intellectual
fire. Men despise dull opposition that is without reason. In a
jury-room, of all places, a man is expected to give a reason for the
faith that is in him—if one is demanded. It will not do to say,
“T cannot agree.” Jurors have been known to fight. Bitter
antagonisms lasting for years have been generated in these close
quarters. Recalcitrant jurors have been hounded commercially
in their local spheres for their unreasoned oppositions or con-
clusions.

After reaching the conclusion that Cowperwood unquestion-
ably deserved some punishment, there was wrangling as to
whether the verdict should be guilty on all four counts, as charged
in the indictment. Since they did not understand how to dif-
ferentiate between the various charges very well, they decided it
should be on all four, and a recommendation to mercy added.
Afterward this last was eliminated, however; either he was
guilty or he was not. The judge could see as well as they could
all the extenuating circumstances—perhaps better. Why tie his
hands? As a rule no attention was paid to such recommenda-
tions, anyhow, and it only made the jury look wabbly.

So, finally, at ten minutes after twelve that night, they were
ready to return a verdict; and Judge Payderson, who, because ofTHE FINANCIER 365

his interest in the case and the fact that he lived not so far away,
had decided to wait up this long, was recalled. Steger and
Cowperwood were sent for. The court-room was fully lighted.
The bailiff, the clerk, and the stenographer were there. The
jury filed in, and Cowperwood, with Steger at his right, took his
position at the gate which gave into the railed space where
prisoners always stand to hear the verdict and listen to any com-
mentary of the judge. He was accompanied by his father, who
was very nervous.

For the first time in his life he felt as though he were walking
in his sleep. Was this the real Frank Cowperwood of two
months before—so wealthy, so progressive, so sure? Was this
only December 5th or 6th now (it was after midnight) ? Why
was it the jury had deliberated so long? What did it mean? Here
they were now, standing and gazing solemnly before them; and
here now was Judge Payderson, mounting the steps of his ros-
trum, his frizzled hair standing out in a strange, attractive way,
his familiar bailiff rapping for order. He did not look at Cow-
perwood—it would not be courteous—but at the jury, who
gazed at him in return. At the words of the clerk, “Gentlemen
of the jury, have you agreed upon a verdict?” the foreman
spoke up, “We have.”

‘Do you find the defendant guilty or not guilty?”

“We find the defendant guilty as charged in the indictment.”

How had they come to do this? Because he had taken a
check for sixty thousand dollars which did not belong to him?
But in reality it did. Good Lord, what was sixty thousand dol-
lars in the sum total of all the money that had passed back and
forth between him and George W. Stener? Nothing, nothing!
A mere bagatelle in its way; and yet here it had risen up, this
miserable, insignificant check, and become a mountain of opposi-
tion, a stone wall, a prison-wall barring his further progress. It
was astonishing. He looked around him at the court-room.
How large and bare and cold it was! Still he was Frank A.
Cowperwood. Why should he let such queer thoughts disturb

him? His fight for freedom and privilege and restitution was
not over yet. Good heavens! It had only begun. In five days
he would be out again on bail. Steger would take an appeal.
He would be out, and he would have two long months in which
to make an additional fight. He was not down yet. He wouldTHE FINANCIER

 

366

win his liberty. This jury was all wrong. A higher court
would say so. It would reverse their verdict, and he knew it.
He turned to Steger, where the latter was having the clerk poll
the jury, in the hope that some one juror had been over-per-
suaded, made to vote against his will.

“Ts that your verdict?” he heard the clerk ask of Philip Moul-
trie, juror No. 1.

“Tt is,” replied that worthy, solemnly

“Is that your verdict?” The clerk was pointing to Simon
Glassberg.

wes, sir.”

“Ts that your verdict?” He pointed to Fletcher Norton.

Yes:

So it went through the whole jury. All the men answered
firmly and clearly, though Steger thought it might barely be
possible that one would have changed his mind. ‘The judge
thanked them and told them that in view of their long services
this night, they were dismissed for the term. ‘The only thing re-
maining to be done now was for Steger to persuade Judge Pay-
derson to grant a stay of sentence pending the hearing of a mo-
tion by the State Supreme Court for a new trial.

The Judge looked- at Cowperwood very curiously as Steger
made this request in proper form, and owing to the importance
of the case and the feeling he had that the Supreme Court
might very readily grant a certificate of reasonable doubt in this
case, he agreed. “There was nothing left, therefore, but for
Cowperwood to return at this late hour with the deputy sherifé
to the county jail, where he must now remain for five days at
least—possibly longer.

The jail in question, which was known locally as Moyamen-
sing Prison, was located at Tenth and Reed Streets, and from
an architectural and artistic point of view was not actually dis-
pleasing to the eye. It consisted of a central portion—prison,
residence for the sheriff or what you will—three stories high
with a battlemented cornice and a round battlemented tower
about one-third as high as the central portion itself, and two
wings, each two stories high, with battlemented turrets at either
end, giving it a highly castellated and consequently, from the
American point of view, a very prison-like appearance. TheTHE BINAN CIE R 367

facade of the prison, which was not more than thirty-five feet
high for the central portion, nor more than twenty-five feet
for the wings, was set back at least a hundred feet from the
street, and was continued at either end, from the wings to the
end of the street block, by a stone wall all of twenty feet high.
The structure was not severely prison-like, for the central por-
tion was pierced by rather large, unbarred apertures hung on
the two upper stories with curtains, and giving the whole front a
rather pleasant and residential air. The wing to the right, as
one stood looking in from the street, was the section known as
the county jail proper, and was devoted to the care of prisoners
serving short-term sentences on some judicial order. The wing
to the left was devoted exclusively to the care and control of
untried prisoners. “The whole building was built of a smooth,
light-colored stone, which on a snowy night like this, with the
few lamps that were used in it glowing feebly in the dark,
presented an eery, fantastic, almost supernatural appearance.

It was a rough and-blowy night when Cowperwood started
for this institution under duress. ‘The wind was driving the
snow before it in curious, interesting whirls. Eddie Zanders,
the sheriff's deputy on guard at the court of Quarter Sessions,
accompanied him and his father and Steger. Zanders was a
little man, dark, with a short, stubby mustache, and a shrewd
though not highly intelligent eye. He was anxious first to up-
hold his dignity as a deputy sheriff, which was a very important
position in his estimation, and next to turn an honest penny if
he could. He knew little save the details of his small world,
which consisted of accompanying prisoners to and from the
courts and the jails, and seeing that they did not get away. He
was not unfriendly to a particular type of prisoner—the well-to-
do or moderately prosperous—for he had long since learned that
it paid to be so. To-night he offered a few sociable suggestions—
viz., that it was rather rough, that the jail was not so far but
that they could walk, and that Sheriff Jaspers would, in all like-
lihood, be around or could be aroused. Cowperwood. scarcely
heard. He was thinking of his mother and his wife and of
Aileen.

When the jail was reached he was led to the central portion,
hs it was here that the sheriff, Adlai Jaspers, had his private
foffice. Jaspers had recently been elected to ofice, and was in-368 THE FINANCIER

clined to conform-to~all outward appearances, in so far as the
proper conduct of his office was concerned, without in reality
inwardly conforming. Thus it was generally known among the
politicians that one way he had of fattening his rather lean salary
was to rent private rooms and grant special privileges to prisoners
who had the money to pay for the same. Other sheriffs had
done it before him. In fact, when Jaspers was inducted into of-
fice, several prisoners were already enjoying these privileges, and
it was not a part of his scheme of things to disturb them. The
rooms that he let to the “right parties,” as he invariably put it,
were in the central portion of the jail, where were his own
private living quarters. They were unbarred, and not at all
cell-like. There was no particular danger of escape, for a guard
stood always at his private door instructed “to keep an eye’ on
the general movements of all the inmates. A prisoner so accom-
modated was in many respects quite a free person. His meals
were served to him in his room, if he wished. He could read or
play cards, or receive guests; and if he had any favorite musical
instrument, that was not denied him. There was just one rule
that had to be complied with. If he were a public character, and
any newspaper men called, he had to be brought down-stairs inta
the private interviewing room in order that they might not
know that he was not confined in a cell like any other prisoner.
Nearly all of these facts had been brought to Cowperwood’:
attention beforehand by Steger; but for all that, when he crossed
the threshold of the jail a peculiar sensation of strangeness and
defeat came over him. He and his party were conducted to a
little office to the left of the entrance, where were only a desk and
a chair, dimly lighted by a low-burning gas-jet. Sheriff Jaspers,
rotund and ruddy, met them, greeting them in quite a friendly
way. Zanders was dismissed, and went briskly about his affairs.
“A bad night, isn’t it?” observed Jaspers, turning up the gas
and preparing to go through the routine of registering his
prisoner. Steger came over and held a short, private conversa:
tion with him in his corner, over his desk which resulted pre,
ently in the sheriff’s face lighting up.
“Oh, certainly, certainly! ‘That’s all right, Mr. Steger, to b
sure! Why, certainly!”
Cowperwood, eying the fat sheriff from his position, under,
stood what it was all about. He had regained completely hisTHE -BENGAN CIE 369

critical attitude, his cool, intellectual poise. So this was the jail;
and this was the fat mediocrity of a sheriff who was to take care
of him. Very good. He would make the best of it. He won-
dered whether he was to be searched—prisoners usually were—
but he soon discovered that he was not to be.

“That’s all right, Mr. Cowperwood,” said Jaspers, getting
up. “I guess I can make you comfortable, after a fashion.
We're not running a hotel here, as you know’—he chuckled to
himself—“but I guess I can make you comfortable. John,” he
called to a sleepy factotum, who appeared from another room,
rubbing his eyes, “is the key to Number Six down here?”

Sl¥es, sir.

“Let me have it.”

John disappeared and returned, while Steger explained to
Cowperwood that anything he wanted in the way of clothing,
etc., could be brought in. Steger himself would stop round next
morning and confer with him, as would any of the members of
Cowperwood’s family whom he wished to see. Cowperwood im-
mediately explained to his father his desire for as little of this as
possible. Joseph or Edward might come in the morning and
bring a grip full of underwear, etc.; but as for the others, let
them wait until he got out or had to remain permanently. He
did_think of writing Aileen, cautioning her to do nothing; but
the sheriff now beckoned, and he quietly followed. Accom-
panied by his father and Steger, he ascended to his new room.

It was a simple, white-walled chamber fifteen by twenty feet
in size, rather high-ceiled, supplied with a high-backed, yellow
wooden bed, a yellow bureau, a small imitation-cherry table,
three very ordinary cane-seated chairs with carved hickory-rod
backs, cherry-stained also, and a wash-stand of yellow-stained
wood to match the bed, containing a wash-basin, a pitcher, a
soap-dish, uncovered, and a small, cheap, pink-flowered tooth and
shaving brush mug, which did not match the other ware and
which probably cost ten cents. The value of this room to Sheriff
lilaspers was what he could get for it in cases like this—twenty-
hive to thirty-five dollars a week. Cowperwood would pay
thirty-five.

Cowperwood walked briskly to the window, which gave out
-on the lawn in front, now embedded in snow, and said he
thought this was all right. Both his father and Steger were will-370 THE FINANCIER

ing and anxious to confer with him for hours, if he wished; but
there was nothing to say. He did not wish to-talk.

“Let Ed bring in some fresh linerrin the morning and a couple
of suits of clothes, and I will be all right. George can get my
things together.’ He was referring to a family servant who
acted as valet and in other capacities. “Tell Lillian not to
worry. I’m all right. I’d rather she would not come here
so long as I’m going to be out in five days. If I’m not, it will be
time enough then. Kiss the kids for me.” And he smiled
good-naturedly.

After his unfulfilled predictions in regard to the result of this
preliminary trial Steger was almost afraid to suggest confidently
what the State Supreme Court would or would not do; but he
had to say something.

“T don’t think you need worry about what the outcome of my
appeal will be, Frank. I'll get a certificate of reasonable doubt,
and that’s as good as a stay of two months, perhaps longer. I
don’t suppose the bail will be more than thirty thousand dollars
at the outside. You'll be out again in five or six days, whatever
happens.”

Cowperwood said that he hoped so, and suggested that they
drop matters for the night. After a few fruitless parleys his
father and Steger finally said good night, leaving him to his own
private reflections. He was tired, however, and throwing off his
clothes, tucked himself in his mediocre bed, and was soon fast
asleep,CHAPTER XLV

AY what one will about prison life in general, modify it ever

so much by special chambers, obsequious turnkeys, a general
tendency to make one as comfortable as possible, a jail is a jail,
and there is no getting away from that. Cowperwood, in a
room which was not in any way inferior to that of the ordinary
boarding-house, was nevertheless conscious of the character of
that section of this real prison which was not yet his portion.
He knew that there were cells there, probably greasy and smelly
and vermin-infested, and that they were enclosed by heavy iron
bars, which would have as readily clanked on him as on those
who were now therein incarcerated if he had not had the price
to pay for something better. So. much for the alleged equality of
man, he thought, which gave to one man, even within the grim
confines of the machinery of justice, such personal liberty as he
himself was now enjoying, and to another, because he chanced
to lack wit or presence or friends or wealth, denied the more
comfortable things which money would buy.

The morning after the trial, on waking, he stirred curiously,
and then it suddenly came to him that he was no longer in the
free and comfortable atmosphere of his own bedroom, but in a
jail-cell, or rather its very comfortable substitute, a sheriff's
rented bedroom. He got up and looked out the window. The
ground outside and Passayunk Avenue were white with snow.
Some wagons were silently lumbering by. A few Philadelphians
were visible here and there, going to and fro on morning er-
rands. He began to think at once what he must do, how he
must act to carry on his business, to rehabilitate himself; and as
he did so he dressed and pulled the bell-cord, which had been
indicated to him, and which would bring him an attendant who
would build him a fire and later bring him something to eat.
A shabby prison attendant in a blue uniform, conscious of Cow-
perwood’s superiority because of the room he occupied, laid wood
and coal in the grate and started a fire, and later brought him
371372 Pah FINAN CIDE

his breakfast, which was anything but prison fare, though poor
enough at that.

After that he was compelled to wait in patience several hours,
in spite of the sheriff’s assumption of solicitous interest, before
his brother Edward was admitted with his clothes. An at-
tendant, for a consideration, brought him the morning papers,
and these, except for the financial news, he read indifferently.
Late in the afternoon Steger arrived, saying he had been busy
having certain proceedings postponed, but that he had arranged
with the sheriff for Cowperwood to be permitted to see such
of those as had important business with him.

By this time, Cowperwood had written Aileen under no cir-
cumstances to try to see him, as he would be out by the tenth,
and that either that day, or shortly after, they would meet. As
he knew, she wanted greatly to see him, but he had reason to
believe she was under surveillance by detectives employed by her
father. This was not true, but it was preying on her fancy,
and combined with some derogatory remarks dropped by Owen
and Callum at the dinner table recently, had proved almost toc
much for her fiery disposition. But, because of Cowperwood’s
letter reaching her at the Calligans’, she made no move until she
read on the morning of the tenth that Cowperwood’s plea fox
a certificate of reasonable doubt had been granted, and that
he would once more, for the time being at least, be a free
man. This gave her courage to-do what she had long wantec
to do, and that was to teach her father that she could get
along without him and that he could not make her do anything
she did not want to-do. She still had the two hundred dol-
lars Cowperwood had given her and some additional cash of
her own—perhaps three hundred and fifty dollars in all. This
she thought would be sufficient to see her to the end of her ad:
venture, or at least until she could make some other arangement.
for her personal well-being. From what she knew of the feeling
of her family for her, she felt that the agony would all be on
their side, not hers. Perhaps when her father saw how deter-
mined she was he would decide to let her alone and make peace
with her. She was determined to try it, anyhow, and imme-
diately sent word to Cowperwood that she was going to the
Calligans and would welcome him to freedom.

In a way, Cowperwood was rather gratified by Aileen’s mes-THE FINANCIER 373

sage, for he felt that his present plight, bitter as it was, was
largely due to Butler’s opposition and he felt no compunction in
striking him through his daughter. His former feeling as to the
wisdom of not enraging Butler had proved rather futile, he
thought, and since the old man could not be placated it might be
just as well to have Aileen demonstrate to him that she was not
without resources of her own and could live without him. She
might force him to change his attitude toward her and possibly
even to modify some of his political machinations against him,
Cowperwood. Any port in a storm—and besides, he had now
really nothing to lose, and instinct told him that her move was
likely to prove more favorable than otherwise—so he did nothing
to prevent it.

She took her jewels, some underwear, a couple of dresses
which she thought would be serviceable, and a few other things,
and packed them in the most capacious portmanteau she had.
Shoes and stockings came into consideration, and, despite her
efforts, she found that she could not get in all that she wished.
Her nicest hat, which she was determined to take, had to be
carried outside. She made a separate bundle of it, which was
not pleasant to contemplate. Still she decided to take it. She
rummaged in a little drawer where she kept her money and
jewels, and found the three hundred and fifty dollars and put
it in her purse. It wasn’t much, as Aileen could herself see,
but Cowperwood would help her. If he did not arrange to take
care of her. and her father would not relent, she would have
to get something to do. Little she knew of the steely face the
world presents to those who have not been practically trained
and are not economically efficient. She did not understand the
bitter reaches of life at all. She waited, humming for effect,
until she heard her father go downstairs to dinner on this tenth
day of December, then leaned over the upper balustrade to make
sure that Owen, Callum, Norah, and her mother were at the
table, and that Katy, the housemaid, was not anywhere in sight.
Then she slipped into her father’s den, and, taking a note from
inside her dress, laid it on his desk, and went out. It was ad-
dressed to “Father,” and read:

Dear FatHer,—I just cannot do what you want me to, I have made

up my mind that I love Mr. Cowperwood too much, so I am going away.
Den’t look for me with him. You won’t find me where you think. I374 PHE DF UNANCINE

am not going to him; I will not be there. I am going to try to get along
by myself for a while, until he wants me and can marry me. I’m terribly
sorry; but I just can’t do what you want. I can’t ever forgive you for
the way you acted to me. Tell mama and Norah and the boys good-by

for me.
AILEEN.

To insure its discovery, she picked up Butler’s heavy-rimmed
spectacles which he employed always when reading, and laid
them on it. For a moment-she-felt-very-strange, somewhat like
a thief—a new sensation for her. She even felt a momentary
sense of ingratitude coupled with pain. Perhaps she was doing
wrong. Her father had been very good to her, _Her_mother
would feel so very bad. Norah would be sorry, and Callum and
Owen. Still, they did not understand-her any more. She-was
resentful of her father’s attitude. He might have seen what the
point was; but no, he was too old, too hidebound in religion and
conventional ideas—he never would. He might never let her
come back. Very well, she would get along somehow. She
would show him. She might get a place as a school-teacher, and
live with the Calligans a long while, if necessary, or teach music.

She stole downstairs and out into the vestibule, opening the
outer door and looking out into the street. “The lamps were
already flaring in the dark, and a cool wind was blowing. Her
portmanteau was heavy, but she was quite strong, She
walked briskly to the corner, which was some fifty feet away,
and turned south, walking rather nervously and irritably, for
this was a new experience for her, and it all seemed-so-undigni-
fied, so unlike anything she was accustomedto doing. She put
her baz down on a street corner, finally, to rest. A boy whistling
in the distance attracted her attention, and as he drew near she
called to him: “Boy! Oh, boy!”

He came over, looking at her curiously.

“Do you want to earn some money?”

‘Yes, ma’am,” he replied politely, adjusting a frowsy cap over
one ear.

“Carry this bag for me,” said Aileen, and he picked it up and
marched off.

In due time she arrived at the Calligans’, and amid much
excitement was installed in the bosom of her new home. She
took her situation with much nonchalance, once she was properly
placed, distributing her toilet articles and those of personal wearTHE FINANCIER 375

with quiet care. The fact that she was no longer to have the
services of Kathleen, the maid who had served her and her
mother and Norah jointly, was odd, though not trying. She
scarcely felt that she had parted from these luxuries permanently,
and so made herself comfortable. Mamie Calligan and her
mother were adoring slaveys, so she was not entirely out of the at-
mosphere which she craved and to which she was accustomed.CHAPTER XLVI

EANWHILE, in the Butler home the family was assem-

bling for dinner. Mrs. Butler was sitting in rotund
complacency at the foot of the table, her gray hair combed
straight back from her round, shiny forehead. She had on a
dark-gray silk dress, trimmed with gray-and-white striped
ribbon. It suited her florid temperament admirably. Aileen
had dictated her mother’s choice, and had seen that it hac
been properly made. Norah was refreshingly youthful in a
pale-green dress, with red-velvet cuffs and collar. She looked
young, slender, gay. Her eyes, complexion, and hair were fresh
and healthy. She was trifling with a string of coral beads
which her mother had just given her.

“Oh, look, Callum,” she said to her brother opposite her, whe
was drumming idly on the table with his knife and fork. “Aren’t
they lovely? Mama gave them to me.”

“Mama does more for you than I would. You know what
you'd get from me, don’t you?”

“What?”

He looked at her teasingly. For answer Norah made a face
at him. Just then Owen came in and took his place at the
table. Mrs. Butler saw Norah’s grimace.

“Well, that’ll win no love from your brother, ye can depend
on that,” she commented.

“Lord, what a day!” observed Owen, wearily, unfolding his
napkin. “I’ve had my fill of work for once.”

‘“What’s the trouble?” queried his mother, feelingly.

“No real trouble, mother,” he replied. “Just everything—
ducks and drakes, that’s all.”

“Well, ye must ate a good, hearty meal now, and that'll
yrefresh ye,” observed his mother, genially and _ feelingly.
‘‘Thompson”—she was referring to the family grocer— ‘brought
us the last of his beans. You must have some of those.”

“Sure, beans’ll fix it, whatever it is, Owen,” joked Callum.
“Mother’s got the answer.”

376DAE RENAN Gl HR 377

“They’re fine, I’d have ye know,” replied Mrs. Butler, quite
unconscious of the joke.

“No doubt of it, mother,” replied Callum. “Real brain-
food. Let’s feed some to Norah.”

“You’d better eat some yourself, smarty. My, but you’re
gay! I suppose you’re going out to see somebody. ‘That’s why.”

“Right you are, Norah. Smart girl, you. Five or six. Ten
to fifteen minutes each. I’d call on you if you were nicer.”

“You would if you got the chance,” mocked Norah. “I'd
have you know I wouldn’t let you. I’d feel very bad if I
couldn’t get somebody better than you.”

“As good as, you mean,” corrected Callum.

“Children, children!” interpolated Mrs. Butler, calmly, look-
ing about for old John, the servant. “You'll be losin’ your
tempers in a minute. Hush now. Here comes your father.
Where’s Aileen?”

Butler walked heavily in and took his seat.

John, the servant, appeared bearing a platter of beans among
other things, and Mrs. Butler asked him to send some one to
call Aileen.

“Tt’s gettin’ colder, I’m thinkin’,” said Butler, by way of
conversation, and eyeing Aileen’s empty chair. She would come
oon now—his heavy problem. He had been very tactful these
last two months—avoiding any reference to Cowperwood in so
far as he could help in her presence.

“Tt’s colder,” remarked Owen, “much colder. We'll soon
see real winter now.”

Old John began to offer the various dishes in order; but when
all had been served Aileen had not yet come.

“See where Aileen is, John,’ observed Mrs. Butler, inter-
estedly. ‘“The meal will be gettin’ cold.”

Old John returned with the news that Aileen was not in
her room.

“Sure she must be somewhere,” commented Mrs. Butler, only
slightly perplexed. ‘‘She’ll be comin’, though, never mind, if
she wants to. She knows it’s meal-time.”

The conversation drifted from a new water-works that was
being planned to the new city hall, then nearing completion;
Cowperwood’s financial and social troubles, and the state of the
stock market generally; a new gold-mine in Arizona; the depar-378 THLE OFT NAN Ci hk

ture of Mrs. Mollenhauer the following Tuesday for Europe,
with appropriate comments by Norah and Callum; and a
Christmas ball that was going to be given for charity.

“Aileen’ll be wantin’ to go to that,” commented Mrs. Butler.

“I’m going, you bet,” put in Norah.

“Who’s going to take you?” asked Callum.

‘“That’s my affair, mister,” she replied, smartly.

The meal was over, and Mrs. Butler strolled up to Aileen’s
room to see why she had not come down to dinner. Butler:
entered his den, wishing so much that he could take his wife
into his confidence concerning all that was worrying him. On
his desk, as he sat down and turned up the light, he saw the
note. He recognized Aileen’s handwriting at once. Whai
could she mean by writing him? A sense of the untowar¢
came to him, and he tore it open slowly, and, putting on hié
glasses, contemplated it solemnly.

So Aileen was gone. The old man stared at each word as il
it had been written in fire. She said she had not gone with
Cowperwood. It was possible, just the same, that he had run
away from Philadelphia and taken her with him. This wa:
the last straw. This ended it. Aileen lured away from home
—to where—to what? Butler could scarcely believe, though
that Cowperwood had tempted her to do this. He had too
much at stake; it would involve his own and Butler’s families.
The papers would be certain to get it quickly. He got up
crumpling the paper in his hand, and turned about at a noise.
His wife was coming in. He pulled himself together and
shoved the letter in his pocket.

“Aileen’s not in her room,” she said, curiously. “She didn’t
say anything to you about going out, did she?”

“No,” he replied, truthfully, wondering how soon he should
have to tell his wife.

“That’s odd,” observed Mrs. Butler, doubtfully. “She must
have gone out after somethin’. It’s a wonder she wouldn’t tell
somebody.”

Butler gave no sign. He dared not. ‘“‘She’ll be back,” he
said, more in order to gain time than anything else. He was
sorry to have to pretend. Mrs. Butler went out, and he closed
the door. Then he took out the letter and read it again. The
girl was crazy. She was doing an absolutely wild, inhumanTHE RENAN GLE R 379

senseless-thing. Where could she go, except to Cowperwood?
She was onthe verge of a public scandal, and this would produce
it. There was just one thing to do as far as he could see.
Cowperwood, if he were still in Philadelphia, would know. He
would go to him—threaten, cajole, actually destroy him, if
necessary. Aileen must come back. She need not go to Europe,
serhaps, but she must come back and behave herself at least
until Cowperwood could legitimately marry her. That was
all he could expect now. She would have to wait, and some
day perhaps he could bring himself to accept her wretched propo-
sition. Horrible thought! It would kill her mother, disgrace
her sister. He got up, took down his hat, put on his overcoat,
and started out.

Arriving at the Cowperwood home he was shown into the
reception-room. Cowperwood at the time was in his den look-
ing over some private papers. When the name of Butler was
announced he immediately went downstairs. It was character-
istic of the man that the announcement of Butler’s presence
created -no-stir_in him whatsoever. So Butler had come. ‘That
meant, of coursé, that Aileen had gone. Now for a battle, not
of words, but of weights of personalities. He felt himself to be
intellectually, socially, and in every other way the more power-
ful man of the two. ‘That spiritual content of him which we
call life hardened to the texture of steel. He recalled that
although he had told his wife and his father that the politicians,
of whom Butler was one, were trying to make a scapegoat of
‘him, Butler, nevertheless, was not considered to be wholly
alienated as a friend, and civility must prevail. He would like
very much to placate him if he could, to talk out the hard facts
of life in a quiet and friendly way. But this matter of Aileen
had to be adjusted now once and for all. And with that thought
in his mind he walked quickly into Butler’s presence.

The old man, when he learned that Cowperwood was in and
‘would see him, determined to make his contact with the financier
as short and effective as possible. He moved the least bit when
he heard Cowperwood’s step, as light and springy as ever.

“Good evening, Mr. Butler,” said Cowperwood, cheerfully,
-when he saw him, extending his hand. “What can I do
‘for you?”

7 “Ye can take that away from in front of me, for one thing,”380 (eB NTA IN GaGa

   

said Butler, grimly referring to his hand. “I have no need of
it. It’s my daughter I’ve come to talk to ye about, and I want
plain answers. Where is she?”

“You mean Aileen?” said Cowperwood, looking at him with
steady, curious, unrevealing eyes, and merely interpolating this
&<

ere
to obtain a moment for reflection. What can I tell you
about her ?”

“Ye can tell me where she is, that I know. And ye can
make her come back to her home, where she belongs. _It was
bad .fortune-that_ever~brought~ye-aeress..my doorstep ;..butUJ
not bandy words with ye here. Ye'll tell me where my-daughter
is,.and_ye'll leave her alone from-now,-or I'll” The old man’s
fists closed like a vise, and his chest heaved with suppressec
rage. “Ye'll-not~be_drivin’ me-too-far, man, if ye’re wise,” he
added, after a time, recovering his equanimity in part. “I want
no.thruck with ye... | want-my~daughteér.”

“Listen, Mr. Butler,” said Cowperwood, quite calmly, relish-
ing the situation for the sheer sense of superiority it gave him,
“I want to be perfectly frank with you, if you will let me. I may
know where your daughter is, and I may not. I may wish
to tell you, and I may not. She may not wish me to. But
unless you wish to talk with me in a civil way there is no need
of our going on any further. You are privileged to do.what
you like. Won’t you come up-stairs to my room? We can
talk more comfortably there.”

Butler looked at his former protégé in utter astonishment
He had never before in all his experience come up against a
suave, bland, forceful, unterrified. This
man had certainly come to him as a sheep, and had turned out!
“to be a ravening wolf. His incarceration had not put him in
the least awe.

“Tl not come up to your room,” Butler said, ‘‘and ye’ll

 

more ruthless type

not get out of Philadelphy with her if that’s what ye’re plannin’.
[ can see to that. Ye think ye have the upper hand. of-me,
I see, and ye’re anxious’ tO make something of it. Well, ye’ve
not. It wasn’t enough that ye come to me as a beggar, cravin’
the help of me, and that I took ye in and helped ye all I could—
ye had to steal my daughter from me in the bargain. If it wasn’t
for the girl’s mother and her sister and her brothers—dacencert
men than ever ye’ll know how to be—I’d brain ye where ye stan¢,THE FINANCIER 381

innocent girl and makin’ an evil woman out of
It’s a God’s blessin’ for ye that

‘5 me, and not one of me sons, that’s here talkin’ to ye, or ye

wouldn’t be alive to say what ye’d do.”

The old man was grim but impotent in his rage.

“Pm sorry, Mr. Butler,” replied Cowperwood, quietly. “I’m
Willing to explain, but you won't let me. I’m not planning
to run away with your daughter, nor to leave Philadelphia. You
ought to know me well enough to know that I’m not con-
templating anything of that kind; my interests are too large.
You and J are practical men. We ought to be able to talk this
her and reach an understanding. I thought
once of coming to you and explaining this; but I was quite sure
you wouldn’t listen to me. Now that you are here I would
like to talk to you. If you will come up to my room I will
be glad to—otherwise not. Won’t you come up Pe

Butler saw that Cowperwood had the advantage. He might
as well go up. Otherwise it was plain he would get no

information.
“Very well,” he said.
Cowperwood led the way quite amicably, and, }
his private office, closed the door behind him.
“We ought to be able to talk this matter over and reach an
understanding,” he said again, when they were in the room
and he had closed the door. “I am not as bad as you think,
though I know I appear very bad.” Butler stared at him in
“T love your daughter, and she loves me. 1 know
asking yourself how I can do this while I am still
I can, and that I do. J am not
if this panic hadn’t come
Aileen.

= )
Takin’ a young,
her, and ye a married man!

matter over toget

having entered

{
k contempt.

you are
married; but I assure you
happily married. I had expected,
along, to arrange with my wife for a divorce and marry
My intentions are perfectly good. The situation which you can
\ complain of, of course, is the one you encountered a few weeks
\, ago. It was indiscreet, juman. Your daugh-
ter does not complain—she understands.”
At the mention of his d
{ sushed with rage and shame, but
( “And ye think because she doesn
do ye?” he asked, sarcastically.

ES pl

but it was entirely |

aughter in this connection Butler

he controlled himself.

+ complain that it’s all right,382 THE FINANCIER

“From my point of view, yes; from yours no. You have
One view of life, Mr. Butler, and I have another.”

~Ye’re right there,” put in Butler, “for once, anyhow.”

“That doesn’t prove that either of us is right or wrong. In
my judgment the present end justifies the means. The end I
have in view is to marryAileen, If I can possibly pull myself
out of this financial scrape that I am in I will do so. Of
course, I would like to have your consent for that—so would
Aileen; but if we can’t, we can’t.” (Cowperwood was think-
ing that while this might not have a very soothing effect on the
old contractor’s point of view, nevertheless it must make some
appeal to his sense of the possible or necessary. Aileen’s present
situation was quite unsatisfactory without marriage in view.
And even if he, Cowperwood, was a convicted embezzler in the
eyes of the public, that did not make him so. He might get
free and restore himself—would certainly—and Aileen ought to
be glad to marry him if she could under the circumstances. He
did not quite grasp the depth of Butler’s religious and moral
prejudices.) ‘‘Lately,” he went on, “you have been doing all
you can, as I understand it, to pull me down, on account, of
Aileen, I suppose; but that is simply delaying what I want
to do.”

“Ye'd like me to help ye do that, I suppose?” suggested Butler,
with infinite disgust and patience.

“I want to marry Aileen,”’ Cowperwood repeated, for em-
phasis’ sake. “She wants to marry me. Under the circum-
stances, however you may feel, you can have no real objection
to my doing that, I am sure; yet you go on fighting me—making
it hard for me to do what you really know ought to be done.”

“Ye’re a scoundrel,” said Butler, seeing through his motives
quite clearly. “Ye’re a sharper, to my way of thinkin’, and it’s
no child of mine I want connected with ye. I’m not sayin’,
Seein’ that things are as they are, that if ye were a free man
it wouldn’t be better that she should marry ye. It’s the one
dacent thing ye could do—if ye would, which I doubt. But
that’s nayther here nor there now. What can ye want with
her hid away somewhere? Ye can’t marry her. Ye can’t get
a divorce. Ye’ve got your hands full fightin’ your lawsuits and
kapin’ yourself out of jail. She'll only be an added expense to
ye, and ye’ll be wantin’ all the money ye have for other things,383

 

THE FINANCIER

I’m thinkin’. Why should ye want to be takin’ her away from
a dacent home and makin’ something out of her that ye’d be
ashamed to marry if you could? The laist ye could do, if ye
were any kind of a man at all, and had any of that thing that
ye’re plazed to call love, would be to lave her at home and
keep her as respectable as possible. Mind ye, I’m not thinkin’
she isn’t ten thousand times too good for ye, whatever ye’ve
made of her. But if ye had any sinse of dacency left, ye
wouldn’t let her shame her family and break her old mother’s
heart, and that for no purpose except to make her worse than
she is already. What good can ye get out of it, now? What
good can ye expect to come of it? Be hivins, if ye had any
sinse at all I should think ye could see that for yerself. Ye're
only addin’ to your troubles, not takin’ away from them—and
she'll not thank ye for that later on.”

He stopped, rather astonished that he should have been drawn
into an argument. His contempt for this man was so great that
he could scarcely look at him, but his duty and his need was to
get Aileen back. Cowperwood looked at him as one who gives
serious attention to another. He seemed to be thinking deeply
over what Butler had said.

“To tell you the truth, Mr. Butler,” he said, “I did not
want Aileen to leave your home at all; and she will tell you so,
if you ever talk to her about it. I did my best to persuade
her not to, and when she insisted on going the only thing I
could do was to be sure she would be comfortable wherever she
went. She was greatly outraged to think you should have put
detectives on her trail. That, and the fact that you wanted
to send her away somewhere against her will, was the principal
reasons for her leaving. I assure you I did not want her to go.
I think you forget sometimes, Mr. Butler, that Aileen is a
grown woman, and that she has a will of her own. You think
I control her to her great disadvantage. As a matter of fact, I am
very much in love with her, and have been for three or four
years; and if you know anything about love you know. that it
doesn’t always tnean control. I’m-not-doing Aileen any injustice
when I say that she has had as much influence on me as I have
had on her. I love her, and that’s the cause of all the trouble.
You come and insist that I shall return your daughter to you.
As a matter of fact, I don’t know whether I can or not. ITHE FINAN Cie

   

384

don’t know that she would go if I wanted her to. She might
turn on me and say that I didn’t care for her any more. ‘That
is not true, and I would not want her to feel that way. She is
greatly hurt, as I told you, by what you did to her, and the
fact that you want her to leave Philadelphia. You can do as
much to remedy that as I can. I could tell you where she is,
but I do not know that I want to. Certainly not until I know
what your attitude toward her and this whole proposition i:
to be.”

He paused and looked calmly at the old contractor, who eyed
him grimly in return.

“What proposition are ye talkin’ about?” asked Butler, inter-
ested by the peculiar developments of this argument. In spite
of himself he was getting a slightly different angle on the whole
situation. “The scene was shifting to a certain extent. Cow-
perwood appeared to be reasonably sincere in the matter. His
promises might all be wrong, but perhaps he did love Aileen;
and it was possible that he did intend to get a divorce from
his wife some time and marry her. Divorce, as Butler knew,
was against the rules of the Catholic Church, which he so much
revered. “The laws of God and any sense of decency commanded
that Cowperwood should not desert his wife and children and
take up with another woman—not even Aileen, in order to save
her. It was a criminal thing to plan, sociologically speaking,
and showed what a villain Cowperwood inherently was; but,
nevertheless, Cowperwood was not a Catholic, his views of life
were not the same as his own, Butler’s, and besides and worst
of all (no doubt due in part to Aileen’s own temperament), he
had compromised her situation very materially. She might not
easily be restored to a sense of the normal and decent, and so
the matter was worth taking into thought. Butler knew that
ultimately he could not countenance any such thing—certainly
not, and keep his faith with the Church—but he was human
enough none the less to consider it. Besides, he wanted Aileen to
come back; and Aileen from now on, he knew, would have some
say as to what her future should be.

“Well, it’s simple enough,” replied Cowperwood. “I should
like to have you withdraw your opposition to Aileen’s remain-
ing in Philadelphia, for one thing; and for another, I should

ike you to stop your attacks on me.’’ Cowperwood smiled inTHE BUNAN CLE R 385

an ingratiating way. -He-hoped really to placate Butler in
part by his generous attitude throughout this procedure. “I can’t
make you do that, of course, unléss you want to. I merely
bring it up, Mr. Butler, because I am sure that if it hadn't
been for Aileen you would not have taken the course you have
taken toward me. I understood you received an anonymous
letter, and-that afternoon you called your loan with me. Since
then I have heard from one source and another that you were
strongly against me, and I merely wish to say that I wish you
wouldn’t be>--am-not-guilty of embezzling any sixty thousand
dollars,-and-you-know it..My intentions were of the best. I did
not think I was going to fail at the time I used those certificates,
and if it hadn’t been for several other loans that were called I
would have gone on to the end of the month and put them
back in time, as I always had. I have always valued your
friendship very highly, and I am very sorry to lose it. Now
I have said all I am going to say.”

. Butler looked at Cowperwood with shrewd, calculating eyes.
The man had some merit, but much unconscionable evil in
him. Butler knew very well how he had taken the check, and
a good many other things in connection with it. “The manner
in which he had played his cards to-night was on a par with
the way he had run to him on the night of the fire. He was
just shrewd and calculating and heartless.

“T’ll make ye no promise,” he said. “Tell me where my
daughter is, and I’ll think the matter over. Ye have no claim
on me now, and I owe ye no good turn. But I’ll think it over,
anyhow.”

“That’s quite all right,” replied Cowperwood. “That's all
I can expect. But what about Aileen? Do you expect her to
leave Philadelphia?”

“Not if she settles down and behaves herself; but there must
be an end of this between you and her. She’s disgracin’ her
family and ruinin’ her soul in the bargain. And that’s what you
are doin’ with yours. It’ll be time enough to talk about any-
thing else when you’re a free man. More than that Ill not
promise.”

Cowperwood, satisfied that this move on Aileen’s part had
done her a real service if it had not aided him especially, was
convinced that it would be a good move for her to return to386 THE FINANCIER

her home at-once. He could not tell how his appeal to the
State Supreme Court would eventuate. His motion for a new
trial which was now to be made under the privilege-of the
certificate of reasonable doubt might not be granted, in which
case he would have to serve a term in the penitentiary. If he
were compelled to go to the penitentiary she would be safer—
better off in the bosom of her family. His own hands were go-
ing to be exceedingly full for the next two months until he
knew how his appeal was coming out. And after that—well,
after-that he would fight on, whatever happened.

During all-thetime~that-Cowperwood had“ been arguing his
case in this fashion he had been thinking how he could adjust
this compromise so as to retain the affection of Aileen and no‘
offend her sensibilities by urging her to return. He knew that
she would not agree to give up seeing him, and he was not
willing that she should. Unless he had a good and sufficient
reason, he would be playing a wretched part by telling Butler
where she was. He did not intend to do so until he saw exactly
how to do it—the way that would make it most acceptable to
Aileen. He knew that she would not long be happy where she
was. Her flight was due in part to Butler’s intense opposition
to himself and in part to his determination to make her leave
Philadelphia and behave; but this last was now in part obviated.
Butler, in spite of his words, was no longer a stern Nemesis.
He was a melting man—very anxious to find his daughter, very
willing to forgive her. He was whipped, literally beaten, at
his own game, and Cowperwood could see it in the old man’s
eyes. If he himself could talk to Aileen personally and explain
just how things were, he felt sure he could make her see that
it would be to their mutual advantage, for the present at least,
to have the matter amicably settled. “The thing to do was to
make Butler wait somewhere—here, possibly—while he went and
talked to her. When she learned how things were she would
probably acquiesce.

“The best thing that I can do under the circumstances,” he
said, after a time, ‘“‘would be to see Aileen in two or three days
and ask her what she wishes to do. I can explain the matter
to her, and if she wants to go back, she can. I will promise
to tell her anything that you say.”

“Two or three days!” exclaimed Butler, irritably. ‘Iwo orTHE ELPNANCTER 387

three fiddlesticks! She must come home to-night. Her mother
doesn’t know she’s left the place yet. To-night is the time!
I'll go and fetch her meself to-night.”

“No, that won’t do,” said Cowperwood. “I shall have to go
myself. If you wish to wait here I will see what can be done,
and let you know.”

“Very well,” grunted Butler, who was now walking up and
down with his hands behind his back. “But for Heaven’s
sake be quick about it. There’s-no~time_to lose: He was
thinking of Mrs. Butler. Cowperwood called the servant,
ordered his runabout, and told George to see that his private
office was not disturbed. Then, as Butler strolled to and fro
in this, to him, objectionable room, Cowperwood drove rapidly
away.CHAPTER XLVII
LTHOUGH it was nearly eleven o’clock when he arrived

at the Calligans’, Aileen was not yet in bed. In her bed-
room upstairs she was confiding to Mamie and Mrs. Calligan
some of her social experiences when the bell rang, and Mrs.
Calligan went down and opened the door to Cowperwood.

“Miss Butler is here, I believe,” he said. “Will you tell
her that there is some one here from her father?”

Although Aileen had instructed that her presence here was
not to be divulged even to the members of her family the force
of Cowperwood’s presence and the mention of Butler’s name
cost Mrs. Calligan her presence of mind.

“Wait a moment,” she said; “‘I’ll see.”

She stepped back, and Cowperwood promptly stepped in, tak-
ing off his hat with the air of one who was satisfied that Aileen
was there. ‘Say to her that I only want to speak to her for a
few moments,” he called, as Mrs. Calligan went up-stairs, rais-
ing his voice in the hope that Aileen might hear. She did, and
came down promptly. She was very much astonished to think
that he should come so soon, and fancied, in her vanity, that
there must be great excitement in her home. She would have
greatly grieved if there had not been.

The Calligans would have been pleased to hear, but Cowper-
wood was cautious. As she came down the stairs he put his
finger to his lips in sign for silence, and said, ““This is Miss
Butler, I believe.”

“Yes,” replied Aileen, with a secret smile. Her one desire
was to kiss him. ‘“‘What’s the trouble, darling?” she asked,
softly.

“You'll have to go back, dear, I’m afraid,’ whispered Cow-
perwood. “You'll have everything in a turmoil if you don’t.
Your mother doesn’t know yet, it seems, and your father is over
at my place now, waiting for you. It may be a good deal of
help to me if you do. Let me tell you—” He went off into a
complete description of his conversation with Butler and his
own views in the matter. Aijleen’s expression changed from
time to time as the various phases of the matter were put before
her; but, persuaded by the clearness with which he put the
matter, and by his assurance that they could continue their
388THE FINANCIER 389.

elations as before uninterrupted, once this was settled, she de-
ided to return. In a way, her father’s surrender was a great
riumph. She made her farewells to the Calligans, saying, with
1 smile, that they could not do without her at home, and that
he would send for her belongings later, and returned with
Sowperwood to his own door. There he asked her to wait in
he runabout while he sent her father down.

“Well?” said Butler, turning on him when he opened the
loor, and not seeing Aileen.

“You'll find her outside in my runabout,” observed Cowper-
vood. “You may use that if you choose. I will send my man
Oreit..

“No, thank you; we'll walk,” said Butler.

Cowperwood called his servant to take charge of the vehicle,
ind Butler stalked solemnly out.

He had to admit to himself that the influence of Cowper-
wood over his daughter was deadly, and probably permanent.
The best he could do would be to keep her within the pre-
‘incts of the home, where she might still, possibly, be brought
o her senses. He held a very guarded conversation with her
yn his way home, for fear that she would take additional offense.
Argument was out of the question.

“Ye might have talked with me once more, Aileen,” he said,
‘before ye left. Yer mother would be in a terrible state if she

new ye were gone. She doesn’t know yet: Ye’ll-have to say

ye Stayed somewhere to dinner.”

“T was at the Calligans,” replied Aileen. ‘“That’s easy
enough. Mama won’t think anything about ite

“Tis a sore heart I have, Aileen. I hope ye'll think. over
V'll not say anythin’ more now.”
room, decidedly triumphant in her
mood for the moment, and things went on apparently in the
Butler household as before. But those who imagine that this
defeat permanently altered the attitude of Butler toward Cow-

perwood are mistaken.

your ways and do better.
Aileen returned to her

In the meanwhile between the day of his temporary release
as two months off, Cowper-

and the hearing of his appeal which w
pair his shattered forces.

wood was going on doing his best to re
He took up his work where he left off; but the possibility of390 IEE FINANCE!

reorganizing his business was distinctly modified since his con-
viction. Because of his action in trying to protect his largest
creditors at the time of his failure, he fancied that once he was
free again, if ever he got free, his credit, other things being equal,
would be good with those who could help him most—say, Cooke
& Co., Clark & Co., Drexel & Co., and the Girard National.
Bank—providing his personal reputation had not been too badly
injured by his sentence. Fortunately for his own hopefulness of
mind, he failed fully to realize what a depressing effect a legal
decision of this character, sound or otherwise, had on the minds
of even his most enthusiastic supporters.

His best friends in the financial world were by now convinced
that his was a sinking ship. A student of finance_once-observed
that nothing is so sensitive as money, and the financial mind par-
takes largely of the quality.of the thing in which it deals. There
was no use tryng to do much for a man who might be going to
prison for a term of years. Something might be done for him
possibly in connection with the Governor, providing he lost his
case before the Supreme Court and was actually. sentenced to
prison; but that was two months off, or more, and they could
not tell what the outcome of that would be. So Cowperwood’s
repeated appeals for assistance, extension of credit,-or~the~ac-
ceptance of some plan he had for his general rehabilitation\
were met with the kindly evasions of those who were doubtful.
They would think it over. They would see about it. Cer-
tain things were standing in the way. -And_so-.on, and so
forth, through all the endless excuses of those who do not
care to act. In these days he went about the money world in
his customary jaunty way, greeting all those whom he had
known there many years and pretending, when asked, to be very
hopeful, to be doing very well; but they did not believe him,
and he really did not care whether they did or not. His business
was to persuade or over-persuade any one who could really be
of assistance to him, and at this task he worked untiringly,
ignoring all others.

“Why, hello, Frank,” his friends would call, on seeing him
“How are you getting on?”

“Fine! Fine!” he would reply, cheerfully. ‘Never better,”
and he would explain in a general way how his affairs were

being handled.

He conveyed much of his own optimism to alJRHE EUNAN CLE R 391

hose who knew him and were interested in his welfare, but
f course there were many who were not.

In these days also, he and Steger were constantly to be met
vith in courts of law, for he was constantly being reéxamined
n some petition in bankruptcy. ‘They were heart-breaking days,
ut he did not flinch. He wanted to stay in Philadelphia and
ight the thing to a finish—putting himself where he had been
vefore the fire; rehabilitating himself in the eyes of the public.
Te felt that he could do it, too, if he were not actually sent to
yrison for a long term; and even then, so naturally optimistic
was his mood, when he got out again. But, in so far, as Phila-
lelphia was concerned, distinctly he was dreaming vain dreams.

One of the things militating against him was the continued
pposition of Butler and the politicians. _Somehow—no one
‘ould have said exactly why—the general political feeling was
hat the financier and the former city treasurer would lose their
yppeals and eventually be sentenced together. Stener, in spite
»f his original intention to plead guilty and take his punishment
without comment, had been persuaded by some of his political
friends that it would be better for his future’s sake to plead
n0t guilty and claim that his offense had been due to custom,
-ather than to admit his guilt outright and so seem not to have
nad any justification whatsoever. “This he did, but he was con-
victed nevertheless. For the sake of appearances, a trumped-up
appeal was made which was now before the State Supreme
Court.

Then, too, due to one whisper and another, and these origi-
nating with the girl who had written Butler and Cowperwood’s
wife, there was-at this time a growing volume of gossip relating
1o-the-alleged relations of Cowperwood with Butler’s daughter,
Aileen.There had been a house in Tenth Street. It had been
maintained by Cowperwood for her. No wonder Butler was so
vindictive. This, indeed, explained much. And even in the prac-
tical, financial world, criticism was now rather against Cowper-
wood=than hisenemies. For, was it not a fact, that atthe
inception of his career, he had been befriended by Butler? And
what a way to reward that friendship! His oldest and firmest
admirers wagged their heads. For they sensed clearly that this
was another illustration of that innate “I-satisfy myself” atti-
tude which so regulated Cowperwood’s conduct. He was a392 PHE BUNAN Crk

strong man, surely—and a brilliant one. Never had Third
Street seen a more pyrotechnic, and yet fascinating and finan-
cially aggressive, and at the same time, conservative person.
Yet might one not fairly tempt Nemesis by a too great daring
and egotism? Like Death, it loves a shining mark. He should
not, perhaps, have seduced Butler’s daughter; unquestionably
he should not have so boldly taken that check, especially after
his quarrel and break with Stener. He was.a little too aggressive.
Was it not questionable whether—with such a record—he could
be restored to his former place here? ‘The bankers and busi-
ness men who were‘closest to him were decidedly dubious.

But in so far as Cowperwood and his own attitude toward
life was concerned, at this time—the feeling he had—‘I satisfy
myself’”’—when combined with his love of beauty and love and
women, still made him ruthless and thoughtless. Even now, the
beauty and delight of a girl like Aileen Butler were far more
important to him than the good-will of fifty million people, if he
could evade the necessity of having their good-will. Previous to
the Chicago fire and the panic, his star had been so rapidly
ascending that in the helter-skelter of great and favorable events
he had scarcely taken thought of the social significance of the
thing he was doing. Youth and the joy of life were in his
blood. He felt so young, so vigorous, so like new grass looks
and feels. The freshness of spring evenings was in him, and he
did not care. After the crash, when one might have imaginec
he would have seen the wisdom of relinquishing Aileen for the
time being, anyhow, he did not care to. She represented the best
of the wonderful days that had gone before. She was a link
between him and the past and a still-to-be triumphant future,

His worst anxiety was that if he were sent to the penitentiary,
or ‘adjudged a bankrupt, or both, he would probably lose the
privilege of a seat on ’change, and that would close to him the
most distinguished avenue of his prosperity here in Philadelphia
for some time, if not forever. At present, because of his compli-~
cations, his seat had been attached as an asset, and he could not
act. Edward and Joseph, almost the only employees he could
afford, were still acting for him in a small way; but the other
members of ’change naturally suspected his brothers as his agents,
and any talk that they might raise of going into business for
themselves merely indicated to other brokers and bankers thatTHE) FINANCIER 393

Cowperwood was contemplating some concealed move which
would not necessarily be advantageous to his creditors, and
against the law anyhow. Yet he must remain on ’change, what-
ever happened, potentially if not actively; and so in his quick
mental searchings he hit upon the idea that in order to forfend
against the event of his being put into prison or thrown into
bankruptcy, or both, he ought to form a subsidiary silent part-
nership with some man who was or would be well liked on
change, and whom he could use as a cat’s-paw and a dummy.

Finally he hit upon a man who he thought would do. He

did not amount to much—had a small business; but he was
honest, and he liked Cowperwood. His name was Wingate—
Stephen Wingate—and he was eking out a not too robust
‘existence in South Third Street as a broker. He was forty-five
years of age, of medium height, fairly thick-set, not at all unpre-
possessing, and rather intelligent and active, but not too forceful
afid pushing in spirit. He really needed a man like Cowperwood
to make him into something, if ever he was to be made. He
had a seat on ’change, and was well thought of; respected, but
not so very prosperous. In times past he had asked small favors
of Cowperwood—the use of small loans at a moderate rate of
interest; tips, and sa forth; and-Cowperwood, because he liked
him and felt a little sorry for him, had granted-them.—Now
Wingate-was slowly drifting down toward a none too successful
old age, and was as tractable as such a man would naturally be.
No one for-the-time being would~suspect him of being a hireling
of Cowperwood’s, and the latter could depend on him to execute
his orders to the letter. He sent for him and had a long con-
versation with him. He told him just what the situation was,
what he thought he could do for him as a partner, how much
of his business he would want for himself, and so on, and found
‘him agreeable.

“Pll be glad to do anything you say, Mr. Cowperwood,” he
assured the latter. ‘I know whatever happens that you'll protect
me, and there’s nobody in the world I would rather work with
or have greater respect for. ‘This storm will all blow over,
and you'll be all right. We can try it, anyhow. If it don’t
work out you can see what you want to do about it later.”
And so this relationship was tentatively entered into and

Cowperwood began to act in a small way through Wingate.CHAPTER XLVIII

 

Y the time the State Supreme Court came to pass upon Cow-
perwood’s plea for a reversal of the lower court and the
granting of a new trial, the rumor of his connection with Aileen
had spread far and wide,.“As has-been seen, it_had~done-and
was still doing him much damage. It confirmed the impression,
which the politicians had originally tried to create, that Cowper:
wood was the true criminal and Stener the victim. His semi:
legitimate financial subtlety, backed indeed by his financial genius,
but certainly on this account not worse than that being prac-
ticed in peace and quiet and with much applause in many other
quarters—was now seen to be Machiavellian trickery of the
most dangerous type. He had a wife and two children; and
without knowing what his real thoughts had been the fruitfully
imaginative public jumped to the conclusion that he had been
on the verge of deserting them, divorcing Lillian, and marrying
Aileen. This was criminal enough in itself, from the conserv-
ative point of view; but when taken in connection with his finan-
cial record, his trial, conviction, and general bankruptcy situation,
the public was inclined to believe that he was all the politicians
said he was. He ought to be convicted. The Supreme Court
ought not to grant his prayer for a new trial. It is thus that
our inmost thoughts and intentions burst at times via no known
material agency into public thoughts. People know, when they
cannot apparently possibly know why they know. ‘There is such
a thing as thought-transference and transcendentalism of ideas.

It reached, for one thing, the ears of the five judges of the
State Supreme Court and of the Governor of the State.

During the four weeks Cowperwood had been free on a cer-
tificate of reasonable doubt both Harper Steger and Dennis
Shannon appeared before the judges of the State Supreme Court,
and argued pro and con as to the reasonableness of granting a
new trial, Through his lawyer, Cowperwood made a learned
appeal to the Supreme Court judges, showing how he had been
unfairly indicted in the first place, how there was no real sub-
394ADEE, SEMISNVAGN) CilsEak. 395

stantial evidence on which to base a charge of larceny or any-
thing else. It took Steger two hours and ten minutes to make
his argument, and District-Attorney Shannon longer to make his
reply, during which the five judges on the bench, men of consid-
erable legal experience but no great financial understanding, lis-
tened with rapt attention. Three of them, Judges Smithson,
Rainey, and Beckwith, men most amenable to the political feel-
ing of the time and the wishes of the bosses, were little interested
in this story of Cowperwood’s transaction, particularly since his
relations with Butler’s daughter and Butler’s consequent opposi-
tion to him had come to them. ‘They fancied that in a way they
were considering the whole matter fairly and impartially; but
the manner in which Cowperwood had treated Butler was never
out of their minds. Two of them, Judges Marvin and Rafalsky,
who were-men of larger sympathies and understanding, but of
ino greater political freedom, did feel that Cowperwood had been
badly used thus far, but they did not see what they could do
jabout it. He had put himself in a most unsatisfactory position,
‘politically and socially. They understood and took into consid-
eration his great financial and social losses which Steger de-
sscribed accurately; and one of them, Judge Rafalsky, because of
a similar event in his own life in so far as a girl was concerned,
was inclined to argue strongly against the conviction of Cowper-
wood ; but, owing to his political connections and obligations, he
realized that it would not be wise politically to stand out against
what was wanted. Still, when he and Marvin learned that
\Judges Smithson, Rainey, and Beckwith were inclined to convict
{Cowperwood without much argument, they decided to hand
‘down a dissenting opinion. ‘Lhe point inyolved-was a very
iknotty-one. Cowperwood might carry it to the Supreme Court
tof the United States on some fundamental principle of liberty of
faction. Anyhow, other judges in other courts in Pennsylvania
jand elsewhere would be inclined to examine the decision in this
Case, it was so important. The minority decided that it would
inot do them any harm to hand down a dissenting opinion. The
(politicians would not mind as long as Cowperwood was con-
victed—would like it better, in fact. It looked fairer. Be-
isides, Marvin and Rafalsky did not care to be included, if
ithey could help it, with Smithson, Rainey, and Beckwith in a
hweeping condemnation of Cowperwood. So all five judgesee Pee ea Lhe

396 THE FINANCIER

fancied they were considering the whole matter rather fairly and
impartially, -as*men--will under such Circumstances. Smithson,
speaking for himself and Judges Rainey and Beckwith on the
eleventh of February, 1872, said:

“The defendant, Frank A. Cowperwood, asks that the finding of the
jury in the lower court (the State of Pennsylvania vs. Frank A. Cowper-
wood) be reversed and_a new_trial granted. This court cannot see that
any substantial injustice has been done the defendant. [Here followed
a-rather lengthy résumé of the history of the case, in which it was pointed
out that the custom and precedent of the treasurer’s office, to say nothing
of Cowperwood’s easy method of doing business with the city treasury,
could have nothing to do with his responsibility for failure to observe
both the spirit and the letter of the law.] The obtaining of goods under
color of legal process [went on Judge Smithson, speaking for the ma-
jority] may amount to larceny. In the present case it was the province
of the jury to ascertain the felonious intent. They have settled that
against the defendant as a question of fact, and the court cannot say that
there was not sufficient evidence to sustain the verdict. For what purpose
did the defendant get the check? He was upon the eve of failure. He
had already hypothecated for his own debts the loan of the city placed in
his hands for sale—he had unlawfully obtained five hundred thousand
dollars in cash as loans; and it is reasonable to suppose that he could
obtain nothing more from the city treasury by any ordinary means.
Then it is that he goes there, and, by means of a falsehood implied if not
actual, obtains sixty thousand dollars more. The jury has found the intent
with which this was done.”

It was in these words that Cowperwood’s appeal for a new
trial was denied by the majority.

For himself and Judge Rafalsky, Judge Marvin, dissenting,
wrote:

“Tt is plain from the evidence in the case that Mr. Cowperwood did not
receive the check without authority as agent to do so, and it has not
been clearly demonstrated that within his ity as agent he did not
perform or intend to perform the full measu f the obligation which the
receipt of this check implied. It was shown in the trial that as a matte
of policy it was understood that purchases for the sinking-fund should
not be known or understood in the market or by the public in that light,
and that Mr..Cowperwood.as.agent..was-to.have.an absolutely..free hand
in the disposal: of his~assets-and liabilities so long as the ultimate result
was satisfactory. There was no particular time when the loan was to
be bought, nor was there any particular amount mentioned at any time
to be purchased. Unless the defendant intended at the time he received
the check fraudulently to appropriate it he could not be convicted even
on the first count. The verdict of the jury does not establish this fact;
the evidence does not show conclusively that it could be established;
and the same jury, upon three other counts, found the defendant guiltyTHE PENAN C1lE ® 397

without the semblance of shadow of evidence. How can we say that
their conclusions upon the first count are unerring when they so palpably
erred on the other counts? It is the opinion of the minority that the
verdict of the jury in charging larceny on the first count is not valid, and
that that verdict should be set aside and a new trial granted.”

Judge Rafalsky, a meditative and yet practical man of Jewish
extraction but peculiarly American appearance, felt called upon
to write a third opinion which should especially reflect his own
cogitation and be a criticism on the majority as well as a slight
variation from and addition to the points on which he agreed
with Judge Marvin. It was a knotty question, this, of Cowper-
wood’s guilt, and, aside from the political necessity of convicting
him, nowhere was it more clearly shown than in these varying
opinions of the superior court. Judge Rafalsky held, for in-
stance, that if a crime had been committed at all, it was not
that known as larceny, and he went on to add:

“Tt is impossible, from the evidence, to come to the conclusion either
that Cowperwood did not intend shortly to deliver the loan or that
Albert Stires, the chief clerk, or the city treasurer did not intend to
part not only with the possession, but also and absolutely with the prop-
erty in the check and the money represented by it. It was testified by
Mr. Stires that Mr. Cowperwood said he had bought certificates of city
loan to this amount, and it has not been clearly demonstrated that he had
not. His non-placement of the same in the sinking-fund must in all
fairness, the letter of the law to the contrary notwithstanding, be looked
upon and judged in the light of custom. Was it his custom so to doP
In my judgment the doctrine now announced by the majority of the
court extends the crime of constructive larceny to such limits that any
business man who engages in extensive and perfectly legitimate stock
transactions may, before he knows it, by a sudden panic in the market
or a fire, as in this instance, become a felon. When a principle is as-
serted which establishes such a precedent, and may lead to such results,
it is, to say the least, startling.”

While he was notably comforted by the dissenting opinions of
the judges in minority, and while he had been schooling him-
self to expect the worst in this connection and had been ar-
ranging his affairs as well as he could in anticipation of- it, Cow-
—perwood-was still bitterly disappointed. It would-be.untrue_to
say—that, strong and self-reliant as-he.normally was, he did not
suffer. He was not without sensibilities of the highest order,
only they were governed and controlled in him by that cold iron
thing, his reason, which never forsook him. There was no398 THE FINANCIER

further appeal possible save to the United States Supreme Court,
as Steger pointed out, and there only on the constitutionality of
some phase of the decision and his rights as a citizen, of which
the Supreme Court of the United States must take cognizance.
This was a tedious and expensive thing to do. It was not ex-
actly obvious at the moment on what point he could make an
appeal. It would involve a long delay—perhaps a year and a
half, perhaps longer, at the end of which period he might have
to serve his prison term anyhow, and pending which he would
certainly have to undergo incarceration for a time.

Cowperwood mused speculatively for a few moments after
hearing Steger’s presentation of the case. Then he said: “Well,
it looks as if I have to go to jail or leave the country, and I’ve
decided on jail. Lcan fight this out right here in Philadelphia
in the long run and win. I can get that decision reversed in the
Supreme Court,-or I can get the Governor to pardon me after
a time, I think. I’m not-going_to run away, and everybody
knows I’m not. These people who think-they-have-me down
haven’t got one corner of me~whipped: V’ll-get~out-of- this
thing after a while, and when I do I'll show~some of these
petty little politicians what it means to put up a real fight.
They'll never get a damned dollar out of me now—not~a dol-
lar! I did intend to pay that five hundred thousand dollars
some time if they had let me go. Now they can whistle!”

He set his teeth and his gray eyes fairly snapped their determi-
nation.

“Well, I’ve done all I can, Frank,” pleaded Steger, sympa-
thetically. ‘You’ll do me the justice to say that I put up the
best fight I knew how. I may not know how—you'll have to
answer for that—but within my limits I’ve done the best I can.
I can do a few things more to carry this thing on, if you want
me to, but I’m going to leave it to you now. Whatever you say
goes.”

“Don’t talk nonsense at this stage, Harper,” replied Cowper-
wood almost testily. ‘I know whether I’m satisfied or not, anc
I’d soon tell you if I wasn’t. I think you might as well go on and
see if you can find some definite grounds for carrying it to the
Supreme Court, but meanwhile [’ll begin my sentence. I sup-
pose Payderson will be naming a day to have me brought before
him now shortly.”THE FINANCIER 399

“Tt depends on how you’d like to have it, Frank. I could get
a stay of sentence for a week maybe, or ten days, if it will do
you any good. Shannon won’t make any objection to that, I’m
sure. There’s only one hitch. Jaspers will be around here to-
morrow looking for you. It’s his duty to take you into custody
again, once he’s notified that your appeal has been denied. He'll
be wanting to lock you up unless you pay him, but we can fix
that. If you do want to wait, and want any time off, I suppose
he’ll arrange to let you out with a deputy; but I’m afraid you'll
have to stay there nights. They’re pretty strict about that since
that Albertson case of a few years ago.”

Steger referred to the case of a noted bank cashier who, being
let out of the county jail at night in the alleged custody of a
deputy, was permitted to escape. There had been emphatic and
severe condemnation of the sheriff’s office at the time, and since
then, repute or no repute, money or no money, convicted crimi-
nals were supposed to stay in the county jail at night at least.

Cowperwood meditated this calmly, looking out of the lawyer’s
window into Second Street. He did not much fear anything
that might happen to him in Jaspers’s charge since his first taste
of that gentleman’s hospitality, although he did object to
spending nights in the county jail when his general term of
imprisonment was being reduced no whit thereby. All that he
could do now in connection with his affairs, unless he could
have months of freedom, could be as well adjusted from a prison
cell as from his Third Street office—not quite, but nearly so.
Anyhow, why parley? He was facing a prison term, and he
might as well accept it without further ado. He might take
a day or two finally to look after his affairs; but beyond that,
why bother?

“When, in the ordinary course of events, if you did nothing
at all, would I come up for sentence ore

“Oh, Friday or Monday, I fancy,” replied Steger. “T don’t
know what move Shannon is planning to make in this matter.
I thought I’d walk around and see him in a little while.”

“T think you’d better do that,” replied Cowperwood. “Friday
or Monday will suit me, either way. I’m really not particular.
Better make it Monday if you can. You don’t suppose there
is any way you can induce Jaspers to keep his hands off until
then? He knows I’m perfectly responsible.”400 THE FINANCIER

“T don’t know, Frank, I’m sure; I'll see. I'll go around
and talk to him to-night. Perhaps a hundred dollars will make
him relax the rigor of his rules that much.”

Cowperwood smiled grimly.

“T fancy a hundred dollars would make Jaspers relax a whole
lot of rules,” he replied, and he got up to go.

Steger arose also. “I'll see both these people, and then I'll
call around at your house. You'll be in, will you, after dinner ?”’

Bayes.”

They slipped on their overcoats and went out into the cold
February day, Cowperwood back to his Third Street office, Steger
to see Shannon and Jaspers.CHAPTER XLIX

HE business of arranging Cowperwood’s sentence for Mon-
day was soon disposed of through Shannon, who had no
personal objection to any reasonable delay.

Steger next visited the county jail, close on to five o’clock,
when it was already dark. Sheriff Jaspers came lolling out from
his private library, where he had been engaged upon the work
of cleaning his pipe.

“How are you, Mr. Steger?” he observed, smiling blandly.
“How are you? Glad to see you. Won't you sit down? I
suppose you’re round here again on that Cowperwood matter.
I just received word from the district attorney that he had lost
his case.”

“That’s it, Sheriff,” replied Steger, ingratiatingly. “He asked
me to step around and see what you wanted him to do in the
matter. Judge Payderson has just fixed the sentence time for
Monday morning at ten o’clock. I don’t suppose you'll be much
put out if he doesn’t show up here before Monday at eight
o'clock, will you, or Sunday night, anyhow? He’s perfectly re-
liable, as you know.” Steger was sounding Jaspers out, politely
trying to make the time of Cowperwood’s arrival a trivial matter
in order to avoid paying the hundred dollars, if possible. But
Jaspers was not to be so easily disposed of. His fat face length-
ened considerably. How could Steger ask him such a favor and
not even suggest the slighest form of remuneration?

“Tt’s ag’in’ the law, Mr. Steger, as you know,” he began,
cautiously and complainingly. “I’d like to accommodate him,
everything else being equal, but since that Albertson case three
years ago we've had to run this office much more careful, and—’”’

“Oh, I know, Sheriff,” interrupted Steger, blandly, “but this
isn’t an ordinary case in any way, as you can see for yourself.
Mr. Cowperwood is a very important man, and he has a great
many things to attend to. Now if it were only a mere matter
of seventy-five or a hundred dollars to satisfy some court clerk
with, or to pay a fine, it would be easy enough, but—” He
AOI402 THE FINANCIER

 

paused and looked wisely away, and Mr. Jaspers’s face began to
relax at once. The-law against which it was ordinarily-so_hard
to offend was not now so important. Steger saw that it was
needless to introduce any additional arguments.

“Tt’s a very ticklish business, this, Mr. Steger,” put in the
sheriff, yieldingly, and yet with a slight whimper in his voice.
“Tf anything were to happen, it would cost me my place all right.
I don’t like to do it under any circumstances, and I wouldn’t,
only I happen to know both Mr. Cowperwood and Mr. Stener,
and I like ’em both. I don’t think they got their rights in this
matter, either. I don’t mind making an exception in this case
if Mr. Cowperwood don’t go about too publicly. I wouldn’t
want any of the men in the district attorney’s office to know this.
I don’t suppose he’ll mind if I keep a deputy somewhere near all
the time for looks’ sake. I have to, you know, really, under_the
law. He won't bother him any. Just keep on guard like.”
Jaspers looked at Mr. Steger very flatly and wisely—almost
placatingly under the circumstances—and Steger nodded.

“Quite right, Sheriff, quite right. You're quite right,”’ and he
drew out his purse while the sheriff led the way very cautiously
back into his library.

“T’d like to show you the line of law-books I’m fixing up for
myself in here, Mr. Steger,” he observed, genially, but mean-
while closing his fingers gently on the small roll of ten-dollar
bills Steger was handing him. “We have occasional use for
books of that kind here, as you see. I thought it a good sort
of thing to have them around.” He waved one arm compre-
hensively at the line of State reports, revised statutes, prison
regulations, etc., the while he put the money in his pocket and
Steger pretended to look.

“A good idea, I think, Sheriff. Very good, indeed. So you
think if Mr. Cowperwood gets around here very early Monday
morning, say eight or eight-thirty, that it will be all right?”

“T think so,” replied the sheriff, curiously nervous, but agree-
able, anxious to please. “I don’t think that anything will come
up that will make me want him earlier. If it does I'll let you
know, and you can produce him. I don’t think so, though, Mr.
Steger; I think everything will be all right.” They were once
more in the main hall now. ‘Glad to have seen you again, Mr.
Steger—very glad,” he added. “Call again some day.”THE FINANCIER 403

Waving the sheriff a pleasant farewell, he hurried on his
way to Cowperwood’s house.

You would not have thought, seeing Cowperwood mount the
front steps of his handsome residence in his neat gray suit and
yell-cut overcoat on his return from his office that evening,
that he was thinking that this might be his last night here. His
sir and walk indicated no weakening of-spirit...He entered the
hall, where an early lamp was aglow, and encountered ‘““Wash”
Sims, an old negro factotum, who was just coming up from the
basement, carrying a bucket of coal for one of the fireplaces.

“Mahty cold out, dis evenin’, Mistah Coppahwood,” said
Wash, to whom anything less than sixty degrees was very cold.
His one regret was that Philadelphia was not located in North
Carolina, from whence he came.

“°Tis sharp, Wash,” replied Cowperwood, absent-mindedly.
He was thinking for the moment of the house and how it had
looked, as he came toward it west along Girard Avenue—what
the neighbors were thinking of him, too, observing him from
time to time out of their windows. It was clear and cold. ‘The
lamps in the reception-hall and sitting-room had been lit, for
he had permitted no air of funereal gloom to settle down over
this place since his troubles had begun. In the far west of the
street a last tingling gleam of lavender and violet was showing
over the cold white snow of the roadway. The house of gray-
green stone, with its lighted windows, and cream-colored lace
curtains, had looked especially attractive. He had thought for
the moment_of.the pride he had taken in putting all this here,
decorating and _ornamenting ‘it, and whether, ever, he-could
secure-it-for himself again. ‘Where is your mistress?” he added
to Wash, when he bethought himself.

‘Tn the sitting-room, Mr. Coppahwood, ah think.”

Cowperwood ascended the stairs, thinking curiously that Wash
would soon be out of a job now, unless Mrs. Cowperwood, out
of all the wreck of other things, chose to retain him, which
was not likely. He entered the sitting-room, and there sat his
wife by the oblong center-table, sewing a hook and eye on one
of Lillian, second’s, petticoats. She looked up, at his step, with
the peculiarly uncertain smile she used these days—indication
of her pain, fear, suspicion—and inquired, ‘Well, what is new404 THE FINANCIER

with you, Frank?” Her smile was something like a hat or belt
or ornament which one puts on or off at will.

“Nothing in particular,” he replied, in his offhand way, “except
that I understand I have lost that appeal of mine. Steger is
coming here in a little while to let me know. I had a note
from him, and I fancy it’s about that.”

He did not care to say squarely that he had lost. He knew
that she was sufficiently distressed as it was, and he did not care
to be too abrupt just now.

“You don’t say!” replied Lillian, with surprise and fright in
her voice, and getting up.

She had been so used to a world where prisons were scarcely
thought of, where things went on smoothly from day to day
without any noticeable intrusion of such distressing things as
courts, jails, and the like, that these last few months had driven
her nearly mad. Cowperwood had so definitely insisted on her
keeping in the background—he had told her so very little that
she was all at sea anyhow in regard to the whole procedure.
Nearly all that she had had in the way of intelligence had been
from his father and mother and Anna, and from a close and
almost secret scrutiny of the newspapers.

At the time he had gone to the county jail she did not even
know anything about it until his father had come back from
the court-room and the jail and had broken the news to her. —It
had been a terrific blow to her. Now to have this thing suddenly
broken to her in this offhand way, even though she had been
expecting and dreading it hourly, was too much.

She was still a decidedly charming-looking woman_as she stood
holding her daughter’s garment in her hand, even if she was
forty years old to Cowperwood’s thirty-five. She was robed in
one of the creations of their late prosperity, a cream-colored
gown of rich silk, with dark brown trimmings—a fetching com-
bination for her. Her eyes were a little hollow, and reddish
about the rims, but otherwise she showed no sign of her keen
mental distress. "There was considerable evidence of the former
tranquil sweetness that had so fascinated him ten years before.

“Tsn’t that terrible?” she said, weakly, her hands trembling in
a nervous way. ‘“Isn’t it dreadful? Isn’t there anything more
you can do, truly? You won’t really have to go to prison,
He objected to her distress and her nervous fears

 

will you?”THE PEN aN ere R 405

He preferred a stronger, more self-reliant type of woman, but
still she was his wife, and in his day he had loved her much.

“Tt looks that way, Lillian,” he said, with the first note of
real sympathy he had used in a long while, for he felt sorry
for her now. At the same time he was afraid to go any further -
along that line, for fear it might give her a false sense as to his
present attitude toward her which was one essentially of in-
difference. But she was not so dull but what she could see that
the consideration in his voice had been brought about by his
defeat, which meant hers also. She choked a little——and even so
was touched. ‘The bare suggestion of sympathy brought back
the old days so definitely gone forever. If only they could be
brought back!

“T don’t want you to feel distressed about me, though,” he
went on, before she could say anything to him. “T’m not through
with my fighting. I'll get out of this. I have to go to prison,
it seems, in order to get things straightened out properly. What
I would like you to do is to keep up a cheerful appearance in
front of the rest of the family—father and mother particularly.
They need to be cheered up.” He thought once of taking her
hand, then decided not. She_noted mentally his hesitation, the
great difference between his attitude now and that of ten or
twelve years before. It did not hurt her now as much as she
once would have thought. She looked at him, scarcely knowing
what to say. There was really not so much to say.

“Will you have to go soon, if you do have to go ?” she ven-
tured, wearily.

“T can’t tell yet. Possibly to-night. Possibly Friday. Pos-
sibly not until Monday. I’m waiting to hear from Steger. I
expect him here any minute.”

To prison! To prison! Her Frank Cowperwood, her hus-
band—the substance of their home here—and all their soul
destruction going to prison. And even now she scarcely grasped
why! She stood there wondering what she could do. “Is there

anything I can get for you?” she asked, starting forward as if out
of a dream. “Do you want me to do anything? Don’t you
think perhaps you had better leave Philadelphia, Frank? You
needn’t go to prison unless you want fone

She was a little beside herself, for the first time in her life
shocked out of a deadly calm.

 

®406 Cae FINANCE E

He paused and looked at her for a moment in his direct, ex-
amining way, his hard commercial business judgment restored
on the instant.

“That would be a confession of guilt, Lillian, and I’m not
guilty,” he replied, almost coldly. “I haven’t done anything
that warrants my running away or going to prison, either. I’m
merely going there to save time at present. I can’t be litigating
this thing forever. I’ll get out—be pardoned out or sued out in
a reasonable length of time. Just now it’s better to go, I think.
I wouldn’t think of running away from Philadelphia. Two of
five judges found for me in the decision. ‘That’s pretty fair
evidence that the State has no case against me.”

His wife saw she had made a mistake. It clarified her judg-
ment on the instant. “I didn’t mean in that way, Frank,” she
replied, apologetically. “You know I didn’t. Of course I
know you're not guilty. Why should I think you were, of all
people?”

She paused, expecting some retort, some further argument—
a kind word maybe. A trace of the older, bafing love, but
he had quietly turned to his desk and was thinking of other
things.

At this point the anomaly of her own state came over her
again. It was all so sad and so hopeless. And what was she to
do in the future? And what was he likely to do? She paused
half trembling and yet decided, because of her peculiarly non-
resisting nature—why trespass on his time? Why bother? No
good would really come of it. He really did not care for her
any more—that was it. Nothing could make him, nothing
could bring them together again, not even this tragedy. He
was interested in another woman—Aileen—and so her foolish
thoughts and explanations, her fear, sorrow, distress, were not
important to him. He could take her agonized wish for his
freedom as a comment on his probable guilt, as-doubt of his inno-
cence, a criticism of him! She turned away for a minute, and
he started to leave the room.

“T’ll be back again. in a few moments,” he volunteered. ‘‘Are
the children here?”

“Yes, they’re up in the play-room,” she answered, sadly, ut-
terly nonplussed and distraught.

“Oh, Frank!” she had it on her lips to cry, but before sheTHE FINANCIER 407

-ould utter it he had bustled down the steps and was gone.
She turned back to the table, her left hand to her mouth, her
eyes in a queer, hazy, melancholy mist. Could it be, she thought,
that life could really come to this—that love could so utterly,
so thoroughly die? Ten years before—but, oh, why go back to
that? Obviously it could, and thoughts concerning that would
sot help now. Twice now in her life her affairs had seemed
to go to pieces—once when her first husband had died, and now
when her second had failed her, had fallen in love with another
and was going to be sent off to prison. What was it about her
that caused such things? Was there anything wrong with her?
What was she going to do? Where go? She had no idea, of
course, for how long a term of years he would be sent away.
It might be one year or it might be five years, as the papers had
said. Good heavens! ‘he children could almost come to forget
him in five years. She put her other hand to her mouth, also,
and then to her forehead, where there was a dull ache. She tried
to think further than this, but somehow, just now, there was
no further thought. Suddenly quite outside of her own volition,
with no thought that she was going to do such a thing, her
bosom began to heave, her throat contracted in four or five
short, sharp, aching spasms, her eyes burned, and she shook in
a vigorous, anguished, desperate, almost one might have said
dry-eyed, cry, so hot and few were the tears. She could not stop
for the moment, just stood there and shook, and then after a
while a dull ache succeeded, and she was quite as she had been
before.

“Why cry?” she suddenly asked herself, fiercely—for her.
“Why break down in this stormy, useless way? Would it
help?”

But, in spite of her speculative, philosophic observations to
herself, she still felt the echo, the distant rumble, as it were, of
the storm in her own soul. “Why cry? Why not cry?” She
might have said—but wouldn't, and in spite of herself and all
her logic, she knew that this tempest which had so recently raged
over her was now merely circling around her soul’s horizon and
would return to break again.CHAPTER L

HE arrival of Steger with the information that no move

of any kind would be made by the sheriff until Monday
morning, when Cowperwood could present himself, eased mat-
ters. This-gave-him—time_to_think—to-adjust-home_details at
his leisure. He broke the news to his father and mother in a
consoling way and talked with his brothers and father about
getting matters immediately adjusted in connection with the
smaller houses to which they were now shortly to be compelled
to move. There was much conferring among the different mem-
bers of this collapsing organization in regard to the minor de-
tails: and what with his conferences with Steger, his seeing
personally Davison, Leigh, Avery Stone, of Jay Cooke & Co.,
George Waterman (his old-time employer Henry was dead),
ex-State Treasurer Van Nostrand, who had gone out with the
last State administration, and others, he was very busy. Now
that he was really going into prison, he wanted his financial
friends to get together and see if they could get him out by
appealing to the Governor. ‘The division of opinion among. the
judges of the State Supreme Court was his excuse and strong
point. He wanted Steger to follow this up, and he spared no
pains in trying to see all and sundry who might be of use, to
him—Edward Tighe, of Tighe & Co., who was still in busi-
ness in Third Street; Newton Targool; Arthur Rivers; Joseph
Zimmerman, the dry-goods prince, now a millionaire; Judge
Kitchen; Terrence Relihan, the former representative of the
money element at Harrisburg; and many others.

Cowperwood wanted Relihan to approach the newspapers and
see if he could not readjust their attitude so as to work to get
him out, and he wanted Walter Leigh to head the movement
of getting up a signed petition which should contain all the im-
portant names of moneyed people and others, asking the Governor
to release him. Leigh agreed to this heartily, as did Relihan,
and many others.

And, afterwards there was really nothing else to do, unless
408THE FINANCIER 409

t was to see Aileen once more, and this, in the midst of his
sther complications and obligations, seemed all but impossible
1t times—and yet he did achieve that, too—so_eager was he to
se soothed and comforted by the ignorant and yet all embracing
volume of her love. Her eyes these days! “he eager,-burning
quest of him-and his happiness that blazed-in them. To think
‘Hat he-should be tortured so—her Frank! Oh, she knew—
whatever he said, and however bravely and jauntily he-talked.
Tothink-that-her-tove for him should—have been the principal
cause-of_his being sent to jail, as she now believed. And the
cruelty of her father! And the smallness of his enemies—that
fool Stener, for instance, whose pictures she had seen in the
papers. Actually, whenever in the presence of her Frank, she
fairly seethed in a chemic agony for him—her strong, hand-
some lover—the strongest, bravest, wisest, kindest, handsomest
man in the world. Oh, didn’t she know! And Cowperwood,
looking in her eyes and realizing this reasonless, if so comfort-
ing fever for him, smiled and was touched. Such love! ‘That
of a dog for a master; that of a mother for a child. And how
had he come to evoke it? He could not say, but it was beautiful:
§ And so, now, in these last trying hours, he wished to see her
much—and did—meeting her at least four times in the month
in which-he had been free, between his conviction and the final
dismissal of his appeal. He had one last opportunity of seeing
her—and she him—just before his entrance into prison this
last time—on the Saturday before the Monday of his sentence.
He had not come in contact with her since the decision of the
Supreme Court had been rendered, but he had had a letter from
her sent to a private mail-box, and had made an appointment
for Saturday at a small hotel in Camden, which, being across
the river, was safer, in his judgment, than anything in Phila-
delphia. He was a little uncertain as to how she would take
the possibility of not seeing him soon again after Monday, and
1e was where she could not

 

how she would act generally once |!

confer with him as often as she chose. And in consequence,
Peyrwas anxious/to talk to hers Butonethis occasion, as he
anticipated, and even feared, so sorry for her was he, she was
not less emphatic in her protestations than she had ever been;
in_ fact, much-more-so-—When.she saw him approaching in-the
distance, she went forward to meet him in that direct, forceful410 THE FINANCIER

way which only she could attempt with him, a sort of mannish
impetuosity which he both enjoyed and admired, and slipping
her arms around his neck, said: “Honey, you needn’t tell me.
I saw it in the papers the other morning. Don’t you_mind,
honey. I love you. Tl wait for-you. Il be with—you_yet,
if it takes a dozen years of waiting. It doesn’t make any
difference’ to me if it takes a hundred, only I’m so sorry for
you, sweetheart. I'll be with you every day through this, darling,
loving you with all my might.”

She caressed him while he looked at her in that quiet way
which betokened at once his self-poise and yet his interest and
satisfaction in her. He couldn’t help loving Aileen, he thought,
who could? She was so passionate, vibrant, desireful. He
couldn’t help admiring her tremendously, now more than ever,
because literally, in spite of all his intellectual strength, he
really could not rule her. She went at him, even when he
stood off in a calm, critical way, as if he were her special prop-
erty, her toy. She would talk to him always, and particularly
when she was excited, as if he were just a baby, her pet; and
sometimes he felt as though she would really overcome him men-
tally, make him subservient to her, she was so individual, so sure
of her importance as a woman.

Now on this occasion she went babbling on as if he were
broken-hearted, in need of her greatest care and tenderness, al-
though he really wasn’t at all; and for the moment she actually
made him feel as though he was.

“Tt isn’t as bad as that, Aileen,”’ he ventured to say, eventually;
and with a softness and tenderness almost unusual for him, even
where she was concerned, but she went on forcefully, paying no
heed to him.

“Oh, yes, it is, too, honey. I know. Oh, my poor Frank!
But I’ll see you. I know how to manage, whatever happens.
How often do they let visitors~come-out to see the prisoners
there?”

“Only once in three months, pet, so they say, but I think we
can fix that after I get there; only do you think you had better
try to come right away, Aileen? You know what the feeling
now is. Hadn’t you better wait a while? Aren’t you in danger
of stirring up your father? He might cause a lot of trouble
out there if he were so minded.”THE FINANCIER All

“Only once in three months!” she exclaimed, with rising em-
phasis, as he began this explanation. “Oh, Frank, no! Surely
not! Once in three months! Oh, I can’t stand that! I won't!
I’ll go and see the warden myself. He’ll let me see you. I’m
sure he will, if I talk to him.”

She fairly gasped in her excitement, not willing to pause in
her tirade, but Cowperwood interposed with her, “You're not
thinking what you’re saying, Aileen. You’re not thinking. Re-
member your father! Remember your family! Your father
may know the warden out there. You don’t-want it to get
all over town that you’re running out there to see me, do you?
Your father might cause you trouble. Besides you don’t know
the small party politicians as I do. They gossip like a lot of
old women. You'll have to be very careful what you do and
how you do it. I don’t want to lose you. I want to see you.
But you’ll have to mind what you’re doing. Don’t try to see
me at once. I want you to, but I want to find out how the land
lies, and I want you to find out too. You won't lose me. [ll
be there, well enough.”

He paused as he thought of the long tier of iron cells which
must be there, one of which would be his—for how long?—and
of Aileen seeing him through the door of it or in it. At the
same time he was thinking, in spite of all his other calculations,
hew—charming she was looking to-day. How~—young she kept,
and-how~forceful! While he-was-nearing-his-full maturity she
was~a-comparatively_young girl,and as beautiful_as ever. She
was wearing a black-and-white-striped silk in the curious bustle
style of the times, and a set of sealskin furs, including a little
sealskin cap set jauntily on top her red-gold hair.

“T know, I know,” replied Aileen, firmly. “But think of
three months! Honey, I can’t! I won’t! It’s nonsense. ‘Three
months! I know that my father wouldn't have to wait any
three months if he wanted to see anybody out there, nor any-
body else that he wanted to ask favors for. And I won’t, either.
I'll find some way.”

Cowperwood had to smile. You could not defeat Aileen so “
easily.

“But you’re not your father, honey; and you don’t want him
to know.”

“T know I don’t, but they don’ need to know who I am. I412 THE FINANCIER

can go heavily veiled. I don’t think that the warden knows my
father. He may. Anyhow, he doesn’t know me; and he
wouldn’t tell on me if he did—if I talked to him.”

Her confidence in her charms, her personality, her earthly
privileges was quite anarchistic. Cowperwood shook his head.

“Honey, you’re about the best and the worst there is when it
tomes to a woman,” he observed, affectionately, pulling her
head down to kiss her, ‘‘but you'll have to listen to me just the
same. I have a lawyer, Steger—you know him. He’s going to
take up this matter with the warden out there—is doing it to-
day. He may be able to fix things, and he may not. I[’ll know
to-morrow or Sunday, and I’ll write you. But don’t go and do
anything rash until you hear. I’m sure I can cut that visiting
limit in half, and perhaps down to once a month or once in two
weeks even. They only allow me to write one letter in three
months’ —Aileen exploded again—‘‘and I’m sure I can have
that made different—some; but don’t write me until you hear,
or at least don’t sign any name or put any address in. ‘They
open all mail and read it. If you see me or write me you'll have
to be cautious, and you’re not the most cautious person in the
world. Now be good, will you?”

They talked much more—of his family, his court appearance
Monday, whether he would get out soon to attend any of the
suits still pending, or be pardoned. Aileen still believed in his
future. -She had read the opinions of the dissenting judges in-his
favor, and that of the three agreed judges against him. She
was sure his day was not over in Philadelphia, and that he
would some time reestablish-himself and then take her with him
somewhere else. She was sorry for Mrs. Cowperwood, but she
was convinced that she was not suited to him—that Frank
needed some one more like herself, some one with youth and
beauty and force—her, no less. She clung to him now in ecstatic
embraces until it was time to go. So far as a plan of procedure
could have been adjusted in a situation so incapable of accurate
adjustment, it had been done. She was desperately downcast
at the last moment, as was he, over their parting; but_she pulled
herself together with her usual force-and faced the dark future
with a steady eye.CHAPTER LI

ONDAY came and with it his final departure. All that

couldbe~done had been done. Cowperwood said his
farewells to his mother and father, his brothers and sister.
He had a rather distant but sensible and matter-of-fact talk
with his wife. He made no special point of saying good-by to
his son or his daughter; when he came in on ‘Thursday,
Friday, Saturday, and Sunday evenings, after he had learned
that he was to depart Monday, it was with the thought of
talking to them a little in an especially affectionate way. .He
realized that his general moral or unmoral attitude was perhaps
working them a temporary injustice. Still he was not sure,
Most people did fairly well with their lives, whether coddled or
deprived of opportunity. These children would probably do as
well»as—most-children, whatever happened—and then, anyhow,
he had no intention of forsaking them financially, if he could
help it. He did not want to separate his wife from her children,
nor them from her. She should keep them. He wanted them
to be comfortable with her. He would like to see them, wher-
ever they were with her, occasionally. Only he wanted his own
personal freedom, in so far as she and they were concerned, to
go off and set up a new world and a new home with Aileen.
So now on these last days, and particularly this last Sunday
night, he was rather noticeably considerate of his boy and girl,
without being too openly indicative of his approaching separation
from them.

“Frank,” he said to his notably lackadaisical son on this occa-
sion, “aren’t you going to straighten up and be a big, strong,
healthy fellow? You don’t play enough. You ought to get in
with a gang of boys and be a leader. Why don’t you fit your-
self up a gymnasium somewhere and see how strong you can
get?”

They were in the senior Cowperwood’s sitting-room, where
they had all rather consciously gathered on this occasion.

Lillian, second, who was on the other side of the big library
413414 THE FINANCIER

 

table from her father, paused to survey him and her brother with
interest. Both had been carefully guarded against any real
knowledge of their father’s affairs or his present predicament.
He was going away on a journey for about a month or so they
understood. Lillian was reading in a Chatterbox book which
had been given her the previous Christmas.

“He won’t do anything,’ she volunteered, looking up from
her reading in a peculiarly critical way for her. “Why, he
won’t ever run races with me when I want him to.

“Aw, who wants to run races with you, anyhow?” returned
Frank, junior, sourly. ‘You couldn’t run if I did want to run
with you.”

“Couldn’t I?” she replied. “I could beat you, all right.”

“Lillian!” pleaded her mother, with a warning sound in her
voice.

Cowperwood smiled, and laid his hand affectionately on his
son’s head. “You'll be all right, Frank,” he volunteered, pinch-
ing his ear lightly. ‘Don’t worry—just make an effort.”

The boy did not respond as warmly as he hoped. Later in
the evening Mrs. Cowperwood noticed that her husband squeezed
his daughter’s slim little waist and pulled her curly hair gently.
For the moment she was_jealous_of her-daughter.

“Going to be the best kind of a girl while I’m away?” he
said to her, privately.

“Yes, papa,” she replied, brightly.

“That's right,” he returned, and leaned over and kissed her
mouth tenderly. “Button Eyes,” he said.

Mrs. Cowperwood sighed after he had gone. “Everything for
the children, nothing for me,” she thought, though the children
had not got so vastly much either in the past.

Cowperwood’s attitude toward his mother in this final hour
was about as tender and sympathetic as any he could maintain
in this world. He understood quite clearly the ramifications of
her interests, and how she was suffering for him and all the
others concerned. He had not forgotten her sympathetic care
of him in his youth; and if he could have done anything to
have spared her this unhappy breakdown of her fortunes in her
old age, he would have done so. “There was no use crying over |
spilled milk. It was impossible at times for him not to feel
intensely in moments of success or failure; but the proper thingTHE FER AN CLER 415
to do was to bear up, not to show it, to talk little and go your
way with an air not so much of resignation as of self-sufficiency,
to whatever was awaiting you. That was his attitude on this
morning, and that was what he expected from those around him
—almost compelled, in fact, by his own attitude.

“Well, mother,’ he said, genially, at the last moment—he
would not let her nor his wife nor his sister come to court,
maintaining that it would make not the least difference to him
and would only harrow their own feelings uselessly—‘‘I’m going
now. Don’t worry. Keep up your spirits.”

He slipped his arm around his mother’s waist, and she gave
him a long, unrestrained, despairing embrace and kiss.

“Go on, Frank,” she said, choking, when she let him go.
“God bless you. I’ll pray for you.”

He paid no further attention to her. He didn’t dare.

“Good-by, Lillian,” he said to his wife, pleasantly, kindly.
“Pll be back in a few days, I think. I'll be coming out to attend
some of these court proceedings.”

To his sister he said: ‘““Good-by, Anna. Don’t let the others
get too down-hearted.”

“T’ll see you three afterward,” he said to his father and
brothers: and so, dressed in the very best fashion of the time,
he hurried down into the reception-hall, where Steger was wait-
ing, and was off. His family, hearing the door close on him,
suffered a poignant sense of desolation. They stood there for
a moment, his mother crying, his father looking as though he
had lost his last friend but making a great effort to seem sel f-
contained and equal to his troubles, Anna telling Lillian not to
mind. and the latter staring-dumbly into the future, not know-
img—what to think. Surely a brilliant sun had’ set on their local

scene,and in a-very- pathetic way.CHAPTER LII

 

HEN Cowperwood. reached-the jail, Jaspers was_ there,

glad to see him—but principally relieved to feel that
nothing-had-happened.to mar his own reputation as a sheriff.
Because of the urgency of court matters generally, it was de-
cided to depart for the courtroom at nine o'clock. Eddie Zan-
ders was once more delegated to see that Cowperwood was
brought safely before Judge Payderson and afterward taken to
the penitentiary. All of the papers in the case were put in his
care to be delivered to the warden.

“T suppose you know,” confided Sheriff Jaspers to Steger, “‘that

Stener is here. He ain’t got no money now, but I gave him a
private room just the same. I didn’t want to put a man like
him in no cell.” Sheriff Jaspers sympathized with Stener.

“That’s right. I’m glad to hear that,” replied Steger, smiling
to himself.

“T didn’t suppose from what I’ve heard that Mr. Cowper-
wood would want to meet Stener here, so I’ve kept ’em apart.
George just left a minute ago with another deputy.”

“That’s good. ‘That’s the way it ought to be,” replied Steger.
He was glad for Cowperwood’s sake that the sheriff had so
much tact. Evidently George and the sheriff were getting along
in a very friendly way, for_all the former’s_bitter_troubles_and
lack_of means:

The Cowperwood party walked, the distance not being great,
and as they did so they talked of rather simple things to avoid
the more serious.

‘Things aren’t going to be so bad,” Edward said to his father.
“Steger says the Governor is sure to pardon Stener in a year
or less, and if he does he’s bound to let Frank out too.”

Cowperwood, the elder, had heard this over and over, but he :
was never tired of hearing it. It was like some simple croon
with which babies are hushed to sleep. “The snow on the ground,
which was enduring remarkably well for this time of year,
the fineness of the day, which had started out to be clear and
416FINANCIER 417

bright, the hope that the courtroom might not be full, all held

the attention of the father and his two sons. Cowperwood,

senior, even commented on some sparrows fighting over a piece
of bread, marveling how well they did in winter, solely to ease
his mind. Cowperwood, walking on ahead with Steger and
Zanders, talked of approaching court proceedings in connection

with his business and what ought to be done.
When they reached the court the same little pen in which

Cowperwood had awaited the verdict of his jury several months
before was waiting to receive him.

Cowperwood, senior, and his other sons sought places in the

courtroom proper. Eddie Zanders remained with his charge.
Stener and a deputy by the name of Wilkerson were in the
room; but he and Cowperwood pretended now not to see each
other. Frank had no objection to talking to his former as-
sociate, but he could see that Stener was diffident and ashamed.
So he let the situation pass without look or word of any kind.
After some three-quarters of an hour of dreary waiting the
door leading into the courtroom proper opened and a bailiff
stepped in.

“All prisoners up for sentence,” he called.

There were six, all told, including Cowperwood and Stener.
Two of them were confederate housebreakers who had been
caught red-handed at their midnight task.

Another prisoner was no more and no less than a plain horse-
thief, a young man of twenty-six, who had been cony icted by a
jury of stealing a grocer’s horse and selling it. The last man
was a negro, a tall, shambling, illiterate, nebulous-minded black,
who had walked off with an apparently discarded section of lead
pipe which he had found in a lumber-yard. His idea was to sell
or trade it for a drink. He really did not belong in this court
at all; but, having been caught by an undersized American watch-
man charged with the care of the property, and having at first

refused to plead guilty, not quite understanding what was to be

done with him, he had been perforce bound over to this court for
had changed his mind and admitted his

trial. Afterward he ha
guilt, so he now had to come before J
tence or dismissal. “The lower court before which he had
had lost jurisdiction by binding him over

udge Payderson for sen-

originally been brought
to the higher court for trial. Eddie Zanders, in his self-ap-418 1H PVN AN Cir

pointed position as guide and mentor to Cowperwood, had con-
fided nearly all of this data to him as he stood waiting.

The courtroom was crowded. It was very humiliating to
Cowperwood to have to file in this way along the side aisle
with these others, followed by Stener, well dressed but sickly
looking and disconsolate.

The negro, Charles Ackerman, was the first on the list.

“How is it this man comes before me?” asked Payderson,
peevishly, when he noted the value of the property Ackerman
was supposed to have stolen.

“Your honor,” the assistant district attorney explained,
promptly, “this man was before a lower court and refused, be-
cause he was drunk, or something, to plead guilty. The lower
court, because the complainant would not forego the charge,
was compelled to bind him over to this court for trial. Since
then he has changed his mind and has admitted his guilt to the
district attorney. He would not be brought before you except
we have no alternative. He has to be brought here now in order
to clear the calendar.”

Judge Payderson stared quizzically at the negro, who, ob-
viously not very much disturbed by this examination, was lean-
ing comfortably on the gate or bar before which the average
criminal stood erect and terrified. He had been before police-
court magistrates before on one charge and another—drunken-
ness, disorderly conduct, and the like—but his whole attitude
was one of shambling, lackadaisical, amusing innocence.

“Well, Ackerman,” inquired his honor, severely, “did you or
did you not steal this piece of lead pipe as charged here—four
dollars and eighty cents’ worth?”

“Yassah, I did,” he began. “I tell you how it was, jedge. I was
a-comin’ along past dat lumber-yard one Saturday afternoon, and
I hadn’t been wuckin’, an’ I saw dat piece o’ pipe thoo de fence,
lyin’ inside, and I jes’ reached thoo with a piece o’ boad I found
dey and pulled it over to me an’ tuck it. An’ aftahwahd dis
Mistah Watchman man”’—he waved his hand oratorically to-
ward the witness-chair, where, in case the judge might wish to
ask him some questions, the complainant had taken his stand—
“come around tuh where I live an’ accused me of done takin’

9
.

“But you did take it, didn’t you?”

itTHE FINANCIER

“Yassah, I done tuck it.”’
“What did you do with it?
“T traded it foh twenty-five cents.”

“You mean you sold it,” corrected his honor.

“Yassah, I done sold it.”

“Well, don’t you know it’s wrong to do anything like that?
Didn’t you know when you reached through that fence and
pulled that pipe over to you that you were stealing? Didn't
you?”

“Yassah, I knowed it was wrong,” replied Ackerman, sheep-

”

ishly. “I didn’ think ‘twuz stealin’ like zackly, but I done
‘nowed it was wrong. I done knowed I oughtn’ take it, I
guess.”

“Of course you did. Of course you did. That’s just it.
You knew you were stealing, and still you took it. Has the
man to whom this negro sold the lead pipe been apprehended
yet?” the judge inquired sharply of the district attorney. “He
should be, for he’s more guilty than this negro, a receiver of
stolen goods.”

“Yes, sir,” replied the assistant. “His case is before Judge
Yaweger.”

“Quite right. It should be,” replied Payderson, severely.
“This matter of receiving stolen property is one of the worst
offenses, in my judgment.”

He then turned his attention to Ackerman again. “Now, look
here, Ackerman,” he exclaimed, ‘rritated at having to bother
“T want to say something to you, and

with such a petty case,
Straighten up, there!

I want you to pay strict attention to me.
Don’t lean on that gate! You are in the presence of the law
Ackerman had sprawled himself comfortably down on
eaning over a back-
y drew himself

now.”
his elbows as he would have if he had been l
fence gate talking to some one, but he immediatel
straight, still grinning foolishly and apologetically, when he
heard this. ‘You are not so dull but that you can understand
what I am going to say to you. The offense you have committed
—stealing a piece of lead pipe—is a crime: Do. you hear met
A criminal offense—one that I could punish you very severely
for. I could send you to the penitentiary for one year lca
chose—the law says I may—one year at hard labor for stealing
Now, if you have any sense you will pay

 

a piece of lead | pipe.420 LAE FINANCIER

strict attention to what I am going to tell you. I am not going
to send you to the penitentiary right now. I’m going to wait }
little while. I am going to sentence you to one year in the
penitentiary—one year. Do you understand?” Ackerman
blanched a little and licked his lips nervously. ‘And then |
am going to suspend that sentence—hold it over your head, so
that if you are ever caught taking anything else you will be
punished for this offense and the next one also at one and the
same time. Do you understand that? Do you know what J
mean? ‘Tell me. Do you?”

“Yassah! I does, sir,” replied the negro. ‘“You’se gwine to
let me go now—tha’s it.”

The audience grinned, and his honor made a wry face to pre-
vent his own grim grin.

“I’m going to let you go only so long as you don’t steal
anything else,” he thundered. ‘The moment you steal anything
else, back you come to this court, and then you go to the peni-
tentiary for a year and whatever more time you deserve. Do
you understand that? Now, I want you to walk straight out
of this court and behave yourself. Don’t ever steal anything.
Get something to do! Don’t steal, do you hear? Don’t touch
anything that doesn’t belong to you! Don’t come back here!
If you do, Ill send you to the penitentiary, sure.”

“Yassah! No, sah, I won’t,” replied Ackerman, nervously.
“I won't take nothin’ more that don’t belong tuh me.”

He shuffled away, after a moment, urged along by the guid-
ing hand of a bailiff, and was put safely outside the court, amid
a mixture of smiles and laughter over his simplicity and Pay-
derson’s- undue severity of manner. But the next case was
called and soon engrossed the interest of the audience.

It was that of the two housebreakers whom Cowperwood
had been and was still studying with much curiosity. In all his
life before he had never witnessed a sentencing scene of any
kind. He had never been in police or criminal courts of any
kind—rarely in any of the civil ones. He was glad to see the
negro go, and gave Payderson credit for having some sense and
sympathy—more than he had expected.

He wondered now whether by any chance Aileen was here.
He had objected to her coming, but she miglit have done so.
She was, as a matter of fact, in the extreme rea-, pocketed in aTHE FINANCIER 421

crowd near the door, heavily veiled, but oe She had—not
id

been able to resist the desire to know quickly « surely her
beloved’s fate—to be near him in his hour of real suffering, a6
she thought. She was greatly angered at seeing him brought in
with a line of ordinary criminals and made to wait in this, to her,
hameful public manner, but_she could not help admiring all
the more the dignity and superiority of his presence even here.

He was-not-even-palé, as she saw, just the same firm, calm soul
‘he had alwave-known him-to be. If he could only see her now;
she had always-known Nim to be. it he could only set her now;
if he would only look so she could lift her veil and smile! He
didn’t, though; he woul: in't. He didn’t want to see her here.
But she would tell him all about it when she saw him again just

the same.

a ;

The two burglars were quickly disposed of by the judge,
each, and they were led away, un-

knowing what to think of their

with a sentence of one year
certain, and apparently not
crime or their future.

When it came to Cowperwood’s turn to be called, his honor
himself stiffened and straig zhtened up, for this was a different
type of man and could not | e handled in the usual manner. He
knew exactly what he was going to say. When one of Mollen-
hauer’s agents, a close friend of Butler’s, had suggested that
five years for both Cowperwood and Stener would be about
right, he knew exactly what to do.

“Prank Algernon Cowperwood,” called the clerk.

Cowperwood stepped briskly forward, sorry for himself,
ashamed of his position in a way, but showing it neither in look
nor manner. Payderson eyed him as he had the others.

“Name?” asked the bailiff, for the benefit of the court stenog-
rapher.

“Frank Algernon Cowperwood.”

“Residence?”

“1937 Girard Avenue.

“Occupation ?”

Zanker and broker.”

Steger stood close beside him, very dignified, very
teady to make a final-statement for the benefit of the court and
the pul blic when the time should come. Aileen, from her posi-
tion in the crowd near the door, was for the first time_in_her
life biting her fingers nervously and there were-great beads of

forceful,422 THLE ORTN AN CARER

perspiration on her brow. Cowperwood’s father was tense witli
excitement and his two brothers looked quickly away, doing
their_best to hide their fear and sorrow.

“Ever convicted before?”

“Never,” replied Steger for Cowperwood, quietly.

“Frank Algernon Cowperwood,” called the clerk, in his nasal
singsong way, coming forward, “have you anything to say why
judgment should not now be pronounced upon you? If so,
speak.”

Cowperwood started to say no, but Steger put up his hand.

“Tf the court pleases, my client, Mr. Cowperwood, the pris-
oner at the bar, is neither guilty in his own estimation, nor in
that of two-fifths of the Pennsylvania State Supreme Court—
the court of last resort in this State,” he exclaimed, loudly and
clearly, so that all might hear.

One of the interested listeners and spectators at this point was
Edward Malia Butler, who had just stepped in from another
courtroom where he had been talking to a judge. An obsequious
court attendant had warned him that Cowperwood was about
to be sentenced. He had really come here this morning in order
not to miss this sentence, but he cloaked his motive under the
guise of another errand. He did not know that Aileen was there,
nor did he see her.

“As he himself testified at the time of his trial,’ went on
Steger, “‘and as the evidence clearly showed, he was never more
than an agent for the gentleman whose offense was subsequently
adjudicated by this court; and as an agent he still maintains, and
two-fifths of the State Supreme Court agree with him, that he
was strictly within his rights and privileges in not having de-
posited the sixty thousand dollars’ worth of city loan certificates
at the time, and in the manner which the people, acting through
the district attorney, complained that he should have. My client!
is a man of rare financial ability. By the various letters which
have been submitted to your honor in his behalf, you_will see
that he commands the respect and the sympathy of a large ma
jority of the most forceful and eminent men in his particular
world. He is a man: of distinguished social standing and of|
notable achievements. Only the most unheralded and the un-
kindest thrust of fortune has brought him here before you to=:
day—a fire and its consequent panic which involved a financial!THE FINANCIER 423

horough and stable character. In spite

property of the most t
and the decision of three-fifths of the

of the verdict of the jury
State Supreme Court, | maintain that my client is not an em-
bezzler, that he has not committed larceny, that he should never

have been convicted, and that he should not now be punished

for something of which he 1s not guilty.
“T trust that your honor will not misunderstand me or my
out in this situation that what I have

motives when I point
lection on the integrity

said is true. I do not wish to cast any rel
of the court, nor of any court, nor of any of the processes of
law. But.I do condemn and deplore the untoward chain of
events which has built up a seeming situation, not easily under-
stood by the lay mind, and which has brought my distinguished
client within the purview of the law. I think it is but fair that
this should be finally and publicly stated here and now. I ask
that your honor be lenient, and that if you cannot conscientiously
dismiss this charge you will at least see that the facts, as I have
indicated them, are given due weight in the measure of the
punishment inflicted.”

Steger stepped back <
as to say he had heard
and would give it such consideration as it d
Then he turned to Cowperwood, and, summoning all his ju-
dicial dignity to his aid, he began:

“Frank Algernon Cowperwood, you have been convicted by
offense of larceny. ‘The
behalf by your learned
and overruled, the ma-
with the propriety of

ind Judge Payderson nodded, as much
all the distinguished lawyer had to say,
eserved—no more.

a jury of your own selection of the
motion for a new trial, made in your
counsel, has been carefully considered
jority of the court being entirely satisfied
the conviction, both upon the law and the evidence. Your of-
fense was one of more than usual gravity, the more so that the
large amount of money which you obtained belonged to the city.
And it was aggravated by the fact that you had in addition
thereto unlawfully used and converted to your own Use several
hundred thousand dollars of the loan and money of the city. For
such an offense the maximum punishment affixed by the law 1s
singularly merciful. Nevertheless, the facts in connection with
your hitherto distinguished position, the circumstances under
which your failure was brought about, and the appeals of your
numerous friends and financial associates, will be given due con-424 THE FINANCIER

sideration by this court. It is not unmindful of any important
fact in your career.” Payderson paused as if in doubt, though he
knew very well how he was about to proceed. He knew what
his superiors expected of him.

“If your case points no other moral,” he went on, after a
moment, toying with the briefs, “it will at least teach the
lesson much needed at the present time, that the treasury of the
city is not to be invaded and plundered with impunity under the
thin disguise of a business transaction, and that there is still a
power in the law to vindicate itself and to protect the public.

“The sentence of the court,” he added, solemnly, the while
Cowperwood gazed unmoved, “‘is, therefore, that you pay a
fine of five thousand dollars to the commonwealth for the use
of the county, that you pay the costs of prosecution, and that
you undergo imprisonment in the State Penitentiary for the
Eastern District by separate or solitary confinement at labor
for a period of four years and three months, and that you stand
committed until this sentence is complied with.”

Cowperwood’s father, on hearing this, bowed his head to hide
his tears. Aileen bit her lower lip and clenched her hands to
keep down her rage and disappointment and tears. Four years
and three months! That would make a terrible gap in his life
and hers, Still, she could wait. It was better than eight or
ten years, as she had feared it might be. Perhaps now, once
this was really over and he was in prison, the Governor would
pardon him.

The judge now moved to pick up the papers in connection
with Stener’s case, satisfied that he had given the financiers no
chance to say he had not given due heed to their plea in Cow-
perwood’s behalf and yet certain that the politicians would be
pleased that he had so nearly given Cowperwood the maximum
while appearing to have heeded the pleas for mercy. Cowper-
wood saw through the trick at once, but it did not disturb him.
It struck him as rather_weak and contemptible. A bailiff came
forward and started to hurry him away.

“Allow the prisoner to remain for a moment,” called the
judge.

The name of George W. Stener had been called by the clerk
and Cowperwood did not quite understand why he was being
detained, but he soon learned. It was that he might hear theTHE FINANCIER 425

opinion of the court in connection with his co-partner in crime.
The latter’s record was taken. Roger O’Mara, the Insh po-
litical lawyer who had been his counsel all through his
stood near him, but had nothing to say beyond asking the judge
to consider Stener’s previously honorable cat

“George W. Stener,” said his honor, while the audience, in-
cluding Cowperwood, listened attentively. “The motion for a
new trial as well as an arrest of judgment in your case having
been overruled, it remains for the court to impose such sen-
tence as the nature of | t not desire
to add to the pain of your position by any extended remarks

f
a
—

of my own; but I cannot let the occasion pass without ex-
pressing my emphatic condemnation of your offense. “The mis-
application of public
age. If not promptly and firmly checked, it will ultimately

Li°*
hlic

mone\ h lS bec yme the oTreat crime of the
destroy our institutions. When a republic becomes honeycombed
with corruption its vitality is gone. It must crumble upon the
first pressure.

“In my opinion, the public is much to blame for your offense
and others of a similar character. Heretofore, official fraud has
been regarded with too much indifference. What we_need is a
higher and purer political morality—a state of public opinion
which—would—make—the-improper use~of public money a thing
to be execrated. It was the lack ofthis which-made your offense
‘possible: Beyond that I see nothing of extenuation in your cas

Judge Payderson paused for emphasis. He was coming to his

”

finest flizht, and he wanted it to sink in.
rr 1 ' - }.] yk . Sara) ace aes » L
~ The people had con dad to u the care of thelr money, ne
went on, solemnly. It.was a high, a iered trust. [ 1 sn yuld

have guarded the door of the tre

7 ‘ T . Zs P >
tected the Garden of Iden, and e g
sword of in abl nonesty yainst y one who roached
it improperly. Your position as the representatl\ ( 1 great

community warranted

“In view of all the facts in your case the court can do no
a major pen: Ity The seventy-fourth section
of the Criminal Procedure Act provides that no convict shall
be sentenced by the court of this commonwealth to either of
the penitentiaries thereof, for any term which shall expire be-
f November and the fifteenth day of Feb-

less than impose

tween tbe fifteenth oTHE FINANCIER

 

426

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

ruary of any year, and this provision requires me to abate three
months from the maximum of time which I would affix in your
case—namely, five years. “The sentence of the court is, there-
fore, that you pay a fine of five thousand dollars to the common-
wealth for the use of the county’”—Payderson knew well enough
that Stener could never pay that sum—‘‘and that you undergo
imprisonment in the State Penitentiary for the Eastern District, ,
by separate and solitary confinement at labor, for the period of
four years and nine months, and that you stand committed until }
this sentence is complied with.”

He laid down the briefs and rubbed his chin reflectively
while both Cowperwood and Stener were hurried out. Butler
was the first to leave after the sentence—quite satisfied. Seeing
that all was over so far as she was concerned, Aileen stole quickly |
out; and after her, in a few moments, Cowperwood’s father and
brothers. They were to await him outside and go with him to
the penitentiary. The remaining members of the family were
at home eagerly awaiting intelligence of the morning’s work, and
Joseph Cowperwood was at once despatched to tell them.

The day had now become cloudy, lowery, and it looked as if
there might be snow. Eddie Zanders, who had been given all
the papers in the case, announced that there was no need to
return to the county jail. In consequence the five of them—
Zanders, Steger, Cowperwood, his father, and Edward—got
into a street-car which ran to within a few blocks of the prison.
Within half an hour they were at the gates of the Eastern
Penitentiary.

¢

 

Tt

vv

~aL HE Easter
ing at

Philadelphia, where Cowpe | was now to serve his

of four years and thre larg stone st!
solemn and momentous in its mien, n all unlike the palace o1
the Sforzas at Milan, although not so distinguished. It stretched
its gay length for several blocks along four different streets,
and looked as lonely and forbidding as a prison should. ‘The
wall which inclosed its extending over ten acres and
gave it so much of its solemn dionity was thirty-five feet high and

]

some seven feet thick. The prison proper, which was not visible

|

from the outside, consisted of seven arms or corridors, ranged
octopus-like around a central room or court, and occupying in
their sprawling length about tw thirds of the yard inclosed
within the walls, so that there was but little space for the charm
of lawn or sward. The corridors, forty-two feet wide from

one hundred and eighty feet in

outer wall to outer wall, were
length, and in four instances two stories high, and extended
in their long reach in every direction.
in the corridors, only narrow slits of skylights, three and one-
half feet long by perhaps eight inches wide, let in the roof
companied in some instances by a

There were no windows

the ground-floor cells were a
small yard ten by sixteen—the same size as the cells proper—
which was surrounded by a high brick ws
The cells and floors and roofs were ma
ride between the cells, and

ill in every instance.
e ]

ot stone, and the

corridors, which were only ten feet Ww
in the case of the single-story portion onl}
paved with stone. If you stood in the central room, or rotunda,
and looked down the long stretches which departed from you in
every direction, you had a sense of narrowness and confinement
not compatible with their length. The iron doors, with their
f <olid wooden ones, the Ja

times to shut the prisoner from all sight and sound, were grim
and unpleasing to behold. ‘The halls were light enough, being
427

outer accompaniment ol latter used at428 THE EN A Set ae

whitewashed frequently and set with the narrow skylights,
which were closed with frosted glass in winter; but they were, as
are all such matter-of-fact arrangements for incarceration, bare
—wearisome to look upon. Life-enough there was~inall-cen-
science, seeing that there were four hundred prisoners here at
that time, and that nearly every cell was occupied ; but—it_was
a life of which noone individual was essentially aware as a spec-
tacle. He was-of it; but he was not. Some of the prisoners,
after long service, were used as “‘trusties” or “runners,” as
they were locally called; but not many. “There was a bakery,
a machine-shop, a carpenter-shop, a store-room, a flour-mill, and
a series of gardens; or truck patches; but the manipulation of
these did not require the services of a large number.

The prison proper dated from 1822, and it had grown, wing
by wing, until its present considerable size had been reached.
Its population consisted of individuals of all degrees of intelli-
gence and crime, from murderers to minor practitioners of
larceny. It had what was known as the ‘Pennsylvania System”
of regulation for its inmates, which was nothing more nor less
than solitary confinement for all concerned—a-ttfe—of absolute
silence and separate labor in separate cells.

Barring his comparatively recent experience in the county jail,
which after all was far from typical, Cowperwood had never
been in a prison in his life. Once, when a boy, in one of his
perambulations through several of the surrounding towns, he
had passed a village “lock-up,” as the town prisons were then
called—a small, square, gray building with long iron-barred win-
dows, and he had seen, at one of these rather depressing apertures
on the second floor, a none too prepossessing drunkard or town
ne’er-do-well who looked down on him with bleary eyes, un-

kempt hair, and a sodden, waxy, pallid face, and called—for it
i - t

 

was summer and the jail window was open:

“Hey, sonny, get me a plug of tobacco, will you?”

Cowperwood, who had looked up, shocked and disturbed by
the man’s disheveled appearance, had called back, quite without
stopping to think:

“Naw. lL cancts«:

“Look out you don’t get locked up yourself sometime, you
little runt,” the man had replied, savagely, only half recovered

from his debauch of the day before.THE FINANCIER 429

He had not thought of this particular scene in years, but
suddenly it came back to Rian Here he was on his way to be
locked up in this dull, somber prison, and it was snowing, and
he was being cut out of human affairs as much as it was possible

now

l LO pe\
outer gate—not even Steger tor the time bein though he might
visit him later in the ¢ 1 his W n inviolable rm le. Zanders
a a + +] =a 1 - . Pi -
being known to the gate-keeper, and bearing his commitment
, : — ' : . |
d OI [he others turned solemn awa\

paper, was admitt
J hey bade a gloom} if affectionate farewell to Cowperwood,
| an air of inconsequence

who, on his pat
—as, in part and e\ here,

“Well. good-by for the present,” he said shaking hands. “T’ll
be all right and I’ll get out soon. Wait and see. Tell Lillian
not to worry.”

He stepped inside, and the gate clanked solemnly behind him.
Zanders led the way through a dark, somber hall, wide and
high-ceiled, to a farther gate, where a second gateman, trifling
with a large key, unlocked a barred door at his bidding. Once
inside the prison yard, 2 ft into a small
office, acts his prisoner before a sn ll, chest-high desk,

f blue. The latter, the

practical, executive-
hair, took the

where stood a prison officer
receiving overseer of the prison—a thin,
looking ped with narrow gray eyes and light

1

paper which the sheriff's deputy handed him and i
1

was his ai thority for receiving p
handed Zanders a slip, showing that he had so received the
1 then Zanders left, receiving gr atefully the tip

prisoner ; and
which Cowperwood pressed in his hand.

“Well. good-by, Mr. Cowperwor d.” he said, witl
ad. “I’m sorry. I hope you won't

1 a peculiar

twist of his detective-!
find it so bad here.’

He wanted to impress the receiving overseer with his famil-
iarity with this distingu ished prisoner, and Cowp yerwood, true to
hands with wie cordially.
Mr. Zanders,”
a man

his policy of make-believe, shook

“Tm much obliged to you for your courtesy,
he said, then turned to his new master with the air of
who is determined to a good impression. He was now in
the hands of petty officials, he knew, who could modify or430 THE PIN AN CIE R

increase his comfort at will. He wanted to impress-this-man
with his utter willingness to comply and obey—his sense of
respect for his authority—without in any way demeaning him-
self. He was depressed but efficient, even here in the clutch of
that eventual machine of the law, the State penitentiary, which
he had been struggling so hard to evade.

The receiving overseer, Roger Kendall, though thin and
clerical, was a rather capable man, as prison officials go—shrewd,
not particularly well educated, not over-intelligent naturally,
not over-industrious, but sufficiently energetic to hold his posi-
tion. He knew something about convicts—considerable—for he
had been dealing with them for nearly twenty-six years. His
attitude toward them was cold, cynical, critical.

He did not permit any of them to come into personal contact
with him, but he saw to it that underlings in his presence car-
ried out the requirements of the law.

When Cowperwood entered, dressed in his very good cloth-
ing—a dark gray-blue twill suit of pure wool, a light, well-
made gray overcoat, a black derby hat of the latest shape, his
shoes new and of good leather, his tie of the best silk, heavy and
conservatively colored, his hair and mustache showing the atten-
tion of an intelligent barber, and his hands well manicured—
the receiving overseer saw at once that he was in the presence of
some one of superior intelligence and force, such a man as the
fortune of his trade rarely brought into his net.

Cowperwood stood in the middle of the room without ap-
parently looking at any one or anything, though he saw all.
“Convict number 3633,” Kendall called to a clerk, handing him
at the same time a yellow slip of paper on which was written
Cowperwood’s full name and his record number, counting from

 

the beginning of the penitentiary itself.

The underling, a convict, took it and entered it in a book,
reserving the slip at the same time for the penitentiary “runner”’
or “trusty,” who would eventually take Cowperwood to the
“manners” gallery.

“You will have to take off your clothes and take a bath,”
said Kendall to Cowperwood, eyeing him curiously. “I don’t
suppose you need one, but-it’s the-rule.”’

“Thank you,’ replied Cowperwood, pleased that his per-TH oP NAN CPE R 431

sonality was counting for something even here. “Whatever
the rules-are,-L-want-to obey.”

When he started to take off his coat, however, Kendall put up
his hand delayingly and tapped a bell. There now issued from an
adjoining room an assistant, a prison servitor, a weird-looking
specimen of the genus “trusty.” He was a small, dark, lop-sided
individual, one leg being slightly shorter, and therefore one
shoulder lower, than the other. He was hollow-chested, squint-
eyed, and rather shambling, but spry enough withal. He was

ier shaml
dressed in a thin, poorly made, baggy suit of striped jeans, the
prison stripes of the place, showing a soft roll-collar shirt under-
neath, and wearing a large, wide-striped cap, peculiarly offensive
in its size and shape to Cowperwood. He could not help think-
ing how uncanny the man’s squint eyes looked under its straight
outstanding visor. ‘The trusty had a silly, sycophantic manner
of raising one hand in salute. He was a professional “second-
story man,” “up” for ten years, but by dint of good behavior
he had attained to the honor of working about this office without
the degrading hood customary for prisoners to wear Over the
cap. For this he was properly grateful. He now considered.
his superior with nervous dog-like eyes, and looked at Cowper-
wood with a certain cunning appreciation of his lot and a show,
of initial mistrust.

One prisoner is as good as another to the average convict;
as a matter of fact, it is their only consolation in their degrada-
tion that all who come here are no better than they. The world
may have misused them; but they misuse their confréres in their
thoughts. The “holier than thou” attitude, intentional or other-
wise, is quite the last and most deadly offense within prison
walls. This particular “trusty” could no more understand
Cowperwood than could a fly the motions of a fly-wheel; but
lerling of the world he did

with the cocky superiority of the unc
A crook was a crook to

not hesitate to think that he could.
him—Cowperwood no less than the shabbiest pickpocket. His
one feeling was that he would like to demean him, to pull him”
down to his own level.

“You will have to take everything you have out of your
pockets,” Kendall now informed Cowperwood. Ordinarily he
would have said, “Search the prisoner.”

Cowperwood stepped forward and laid out a purse with432 TAE FINANCTER

 

twenty-five dollars in it, a pen-knife, a lead-pencil, a small note-
book, and a little ivory elephant which Aileen _had given him
once, “for luck,-and which he treasured solely because she gave
it to him. Kendall looked-atthe-latter curiously. ‘Now you
¢an go on,” he said to the “trusty,” referring to the undressing
and bathing process which was to follow.

“This way,” said the latter, addressing Cowperwood, and
preceding him into an adjoining room, where three closets held
three old-fashioned, iron-bodied, wooden-top bath-tubs, with
their attendant shelves for rough crash towels, yellow soap, and
the like, and hooks for clothes.

“Get in there,” said the trusty, whose name was Thomas
Kuby, pointing to one of the tubs.

Cowperwood realized that this was the beginning of petty
official supervision; but he deemed it wise to appear friendly
even here.

“TI see,” he said. “I will.”

“That’s right,” replied the attendant, somewhat placated.
“What did you bring?”

Cowperwood looked at him quizzically. He did not under-
stand. The prison attendant realized that this man did not
know the lingo of the place. “What did you bring?” he re-
peated. ‘How many years did you get?”

“Oh!” exclaimed Cowperwood, comprehendingly. “I under-
stand. Four and three months.”

He decided to humor the man. It would probably be better
sO.
“What for?” inquired Kuby, familiarly.

Cowperwood’s blood chilled slightly. “Larceny,” he said.
“Yuh got off easy,” commented Kuby. “I’m up for ten.
A rube judge did that to me.”

Kuby had never heard of Cowperwood’s crime. He would
not have understood its subtleties if he had. Cowperwood did
not want to talk to this man; he did not know how. He _wished
he would go away; but that was not likely. He wanted to be
put in his cell and let alone.

“‘That’s too bad,” he answered ; and the convict realized clearly
that this man was really not one of them, or he would not
have said anything like that. Kuby went to the two hydrants
opening into the bath-tub and turned them on. CowperwoodTHE FE ENANCI ER 433

  

had been undressing the while, and_now stood naked, but not
ashamed, in front of this eighth-rate intelligence.

“Don’t forget to wash your head, too,” said Kuby, and went
away.

Cowperwood stood there while the water ran, meditating on
his fate. It was strange how life had dealt with him of late—
so severely. Unlike most men in his position, he was not suffer-
ing from a consciousness of evil. He did not think he was
evil. As he saw it, he was merely unfortunate. To think that
he should be actually in this great, silent penitentiary, a convict,
waiting here beside this cheap iron bathtub, not very sweet or
hygienic to contemplate, with this crack-brained criminal to
watch over him!

He stepped into the tub and washed himself briskly with the
biting yellow soap, drying himself on one of the rough, only
partially bleached towels. He looked for his underwear, but
there was none.

At this point the attendant looked in again.

“Out here,” he said, inconsiderately.

Cowperwood followed, naked. He was led through the re-
ceiving overseer’s office into a room, where were scales, imple-
ments of measurement, a record-book, etc. The attendant who
stood guard at the door now came over, and the clerk who sat
in a corner automatically took down a record-blank. Kendall
surveyed Cowperwood’s decidedly graceful figure, already in-
clining to a slight thickening around the waist, and approved of
it as superior to that of most who came here. His skin, as he
particularly noted, was especially white.

“Step on the scale,” said the attendant, brusquely.

Cowperwood did so. The former adjusted the weights and
scanned the record carefully.

‘Weight, one hundred and seventy-five,” he called. “Now
step over here.”

He indicated a spot in the side wall where was fastened in
a thin slat—-which ran from the floor to about seven and one
half feet above, perpendicularly—a small movable wooden indi-
cator, which, when a man was standing under it, could be
pressed down on his head. At the side of the slat were the
total inches of height, laid off in halves, quarters, eighths, and
so on, and to the right a length measurement for the arm. Cow-434 THE FINANCIER

perwood understood what was wanted and stepped under the
indicator, standing quite straight.

“Feet level, back to the wall,” urged the attendant. ‘So.
Height, five feet nine and ten-sixteenths,” he called. The
clerk in the corner noted it. He now produced a tape-measure
and began measuring Cowperwood’s arms, legs, chest, waist,
hips, etc. He called out the color of his eyes, his hair, his
mustache, and, looking into his mouth, exclaimed, “Teeth, all
sound.”

After Cowperwood had once more given his address, age,
profession, whether he knew any trade, etc.—which he did not—
he was allowed to return to the bathroom, and put on the cloth-
ing which the prison provided for him—first the rough, prickly
underwear, then the cheap soft roll-collar, white-cotton shirt,
then the thick bluish-gray cotton socks of a quality such as he
had never worn in his life, and over these a pair of indescribable
rough-leather clogs, which felt to his feet as though they were
made of wood or iron—oily and heavy. He then drew on the
shapeless, baggy trousers with their telltale stripes, and over his
arms and chest the loose-cut shapeless coat and waistcoat. He
felt and knew of course that he looked very strange, wretched.
And as he stepped out into the overseer’s room again he experi-
enced a peculiar sense of depression, a gone feeling which before
this had not assailed him and which now he did his best to con-
ceal. This, then, was what society did to the criminal, he
thought to himself. It took him and tore away from his body
and his life the habiliments of his proper state and left him
these. He felt sad and grim, and, try as he would, he could
not help showing it for a moment. It was always his business
and his intention to conceal his real feelings, but now it was not
quite possible. He felt degraded, impossible, in these clothes,
and he knew that he looked it. Nevertheless, he did his best to
pull himself together and look unconcerned, willing, obedient,
considerate of those above him. After all, he said to himself,
it was all a play of sorts, a dream even, if oné chose to view it
s0, a miasma even, from which, in the course of time and with
a little luck one might emerge safely enough. He hoped so. It
could not last. He was only acting a strange, unfamiliar part
on the stage, this stage of life that he knew so well.

Kendall did not waste any time looking at him, however.THE FINANCIER 435

Ie merely said to his assistant, “See if you can find a cap for
im’; and the latter, going to a closet containing numbered
helves, took down a cap—a high-crowned, straight-visored,
habby, striped affair which Cowperwood was asked to try on.
t fitted well enough, slipping down close over his ears, and_he
hought that now his indignities must be about complete. What
ould be added? here could be no more of these disconcerting
ccoutrements. But he was mistaken.
“Now, Kuby, you take him to Mr. Chapin,” said Kendall.
Kuby understood. He went back into the wash-room and
had heard of but never before seen

sroduced what Cowperwood
_a blue-and-white-striped cotton bag about half the length of

an ordinary pillow-case and half again as wide, which Kuby
now unfolded and shook out as he came toward him. It was
The use of this hood, dating from the earliest days
to prevent a sense of location and

a custom.
of the prison, was intended
direction and thereby obviate-any-attempt— to escape. There-
after durin® all his stay he was not supposed to walk with or
talk to or see another prisoner—not even to converse with
It was a grim theory, and yet

his superiors, unless addressed.
1 as he was to learn later

one definitely enforced here, althoug!
even this could be modified here.
“You'll have to put this on,” Kuby said, and opened it
in such a way that it could be put over Cowperwood’s head.
Cowperwood understood. He had heard of it in some way, in
He was a little shocked—looked at it first with a

times past.
but a moment after lifted his hands and

touch of real surprise,
helped pull it down.
“Never mind,” cautioned the guard, “put your hands down.
Tll get it over.”
Cowperwood dropped his arms. When it was fully on, it
came to about his chest, giving him little means of seeing any-
thing. He_felt very strange, very humiliated, very—downeast.

This simple thing of a blue-and-white striped bag over his head
almost cost him his sense of self-possession. Why could not
they have spared him this last indignity, he thought.

“This way,” said his attendant, and he was led out—to where

he could not say.
“Tf you hold it out in front you
guide; and Cowperwood pulled it out, t

can see to walk,” said his
hus being able to discern436 PHB iN AN CLE R

his feet and a portion of the floor below. He was thus con
ducted—seeing nothing in his transit—down a short walk, ther
through a long corridor, then through a room of uniformec
guards, and finally up a narrow flight of iron steps, leading tc
the overseer’s office on the second floor of one of the two-tier
blocks. ‘There, he heard the voice of Kuby saying: ‘“‘Mr. Chapin
here’s another prisoner for you from Mr. Kendall.”

“T’ll be there in a minute,” came a peculiarly pleasant voice
from the distance. Presently a big, heavy hand closed about his
arm, and he was conducted still further.

“You hain’t got far to go now,” the voice said, “‘and then I'll
take that bag off,’ and—Cowperwood~—felt—for—some_reason—a
sense -of-sympathy, perhaps—as—though~he—would—choke.

The further steps were not many.

A cell door was reached and unlocked by the inserting
of a great iron key. It was swung open, and the same big hand
guided him through. A moment later the bag was pulled easily
from his head, and he saw that he was in a narrow, whitewashed
cell, rather dim, windowless, but lighted from the top by a
small skylight of frosted glass three and one half feet long by
four inches wide. For a night light there was a tin-bodied
lamp swinging from a hook near the middle of one of the side
walls. A rough iron cot, furnished with a straw mattress and
two pairs of dark blue, probably unwashed blankets, stood in
one corner. “There was a hydrant and small sink in another.
A small shelf occupied the wall opposite the bed. A plain
wooden chair with a homely round back stood at the foot of
the bed, and a fairly serviceable broom was standing in one
corner. “There was an iron stool or pot for excreta, giving, as
he could see, into a large drain-pipe which ran along the inside
wall, and which was obviously flushed by buckets of water
being poured into it. Rats and other vermin infested this, and
it gave off an unpleasant odor which filled the cell. The. floor
was of stone. Cowperwood’s clear-seeing eyes took it all in
at a glance. He noted the hard cell door, which was barred
and cross-barred with great round rods of steel, and fastened
with a thick, highly polished lock. He saw also that beyond
this was a heavy wooden door, which could shut him in even
more completely than the iron one. ‘There was no chance for
any clear, purifying sunlight here. Cleanliness depended en-THE FINANCIER 437

irely on whitewash, soap and water and sweeping, which in
urn depended on the prisoners themselves.

He also took in Chapin, the homely, good-natured, cell over-
eer whom he now saw for the first time—a large, heavy, lum-
sering man, rather dusty and misshapen-looking, whose uniform
lid not fit him well, and whose manner of standing made him
look as though he would much prefer to sit down. He was
obviously bulky, but not strong, and his kindly face was cov-
ered with a short growth of grayish-brown whiskers. His hair
was cut badly and stuck out in odd strings or wisps from un-
derneath his big cap. Nevertheless, Cowperwood was not at
all unfavorably impressed—quite the contrary—and he felt at
once that this man might be more considerate of him than
the others had been. He hoped so, anyhow. He did not know
that he was in the presence of the overseer of the “manners
squad,” who would have him in charge for two weeks only,
instructing him in the rules of the prison, and that he was only
one of twenty-six, all told, who were in Chapin’s care.

That worthy, by way of easy introduction, now went over
to the bed and seated himself on it. He pointed to the hard
wooden chair, which Cowperwood drew out and sat on.

“Well, now you're here, hain’t yuh?” he asked, and an-
swered himself quite genially, for he was an unlettered man,
generously disposed, of long experience with criminals, and in-
clined to deal kindly with them. Age>and a naturally kindly
temperament and a form of religious belief —Quakerism—had
inclined him to be merciful, and yet his official duties, as Cow-
perwood later found out, seemed to have led him to the con-
clusion that most criminals were innately bad. Like Kendall,
as weaklings and ne’er-do-wells with evil
majn he was not mistaken. Yet he
was, a fatherly, kindly old man,
1e weak and inexperienced

he regarded them
streaks in them, and in the
could not help being what he
having faith in those shibboleths of tl
mentally—human justice and human decency.

“Yes, I’m here, Mr. Chapin,” Cowperwood replied, simply,

remembering his name from the attendant, and flattering the

keeper by the use of it.

To old Chapin the situation was more or less puzzling. This
was the famous Frank A. Cowperwood whom he had read about,
the noted banker and treasury-looter. He’ and his co-partner438 THE FINANCIER

in crime, Stener, were destined to serve, as he had read, com-
paratively long terms here. Five hundred thousand dollars was
a large sum of money in those days, much more than five mil-
lion would have been forty years later. He was awed by the
thought of what had become of it—how Cowperwood managed
to do all the things the papers had said-he-had=done. —He had
a little formula of questions which he usually went through
with each new prisoner—asking him if he was sorry now for
the crime he had committed, if he meant to do better with
a new chance, if his father and mother were alive, etc.; and
by the manner in which they answered these questions—simply,
regretfully, defiantly, or otherwise—he judged whether they
were being adequately punished or not. Yet he-could not talk.
to Cowperwood as he now saw or as he would to the average
second-story burglar, store-looter, pickpocket, and plain cheap
thief and swindler. And yet he scarcely knew how else to talk.

“Well, now,” he went on, “I don’t suppose you ever thought
you'd get to a place like this, did you, Mr. Cowperwood ?”

“I never did,” replied Frank, simply. “I wouldn’t have be-
lieved it’ a few months ago, Mr. Chapin. I don’t think I
deserve to be here now, though of course there is no use of my
telling you that.”

He saw that old Chapin wanted to moralize a little, and he
was only too glad to fall in with his mood. He would soon be
alone with no one to talk to perhaps, and if a sympathetic under-
standing could be reached with this man now, so much the
better. Any port in a storm; any straw to a drowning man.

“Well, no doubt~all of us makes mistakes,” continued Mr.
Chapin, superiorly, with an amusing faith in his own value as
a moral guide and reformer. ‘We can’t just always tell how
the plans we think so fine are coming out, can we? You’re
here now, an’ I suppose you’re sorry certain things didn’t come
out just as you thought; but if you had a chance I don’t sup-
pose you'd try to do just as you did before, now would yuh?”

“No, Mr. Chapin, I wouldn’t, exactly,” said Cowperwood,
truly enough, “though I believed I was right in everything I
did. I don’t think legal justice has really been done me.”

“Well, that’s the way,’ continued Chapin, meditatively,
scratching his grizzled head and looking genially about. “Some-
times, as I allers says to some of these here young fellers thatTHE FINANCIER 439

comes in here, we don’t know as much as we thinks we does.
We forget that others are just as smart as we are, and that there
ire allers people that are watchin’ us all the time. ‘These here
courts and jails and detectives—they’re here all the time, and
they get us. I gad’”—Chapin’s moral version of “by God”’—
“they do, if we don’t behave.”

“Yes,” Cowperwood replied, “that’s true enough, Mr.
Chapin.”

“Well,” continued the old man after a time, after he had made
a few more solemn, owl-like, and yet well-intentioned remarks,
“now here’s your bed, and there’s your chair, and there’s your

 

wash-stand, and there’s your water-closet. Now keep ‘em all
clean and use ’em right.” (You would have thought he was
making Cowperwood a present of a fortune.) ‘You're the
one’s got to make up your bed every mornin’ and keep your
floor swept and your toilet flushed and your cell clean. ‘There
hain’t anybody here’ll do that for yuh. You want to do all
them things the first thing in the mornin’ when you get up,
and afterward you’ll get sumpin’ to eat, about six-thirty. You're
supposed to get up at five-thirty.”

“Yes Mr. Chapin,’ Cowperwood said, politely. “You can
depend on me to do all those things promptly.”

‘There hain’t so much more,’ added Chapin. “You’re sup-
posed to wash yourself all over once a week, an’ I'll give you a
clean towel for that. Next you gotta wash this floor up every
Friday mornin’.’ Cowperwood winced at that. “You kin
have hot water for that if you want it. I'll have one of the
runners bring it to you. An’ as for your friends and relations”
—he got up and shook himself like a big Newfoundland dog,
“You gotta wife, hain’t you?”

“Yes,” replied Cowperwood.

“Well, the rules here are that your wife or your friends kin
come to see you once in three months, and your lawyer—you
gotta lawyer, hain’t yuh?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Cowperwood, amused.

“Well, he kin come every week or so if he likes—every day,
I guess—there hain’t no rules about lawyers. But you kin only
write one letter once in three months yourself, an’ if you want
anything like tobaccer or the like o’ that, from the store-room,440 THE FINANCIER

you gotta sign an order for it, if you got any money with th
warden, an’ then I can git it for you.”

The old man was really above taking small tips in the shap
of money.- He was a hold-over from a much more severe anc
honest régime, but subsequent presents or constant flattery wer:
not amiss in making him kindly and generous. Cowperwooc
read him accurately.

“Very well, Mr. Chapin; I understand,” he said, getting uf
as the old man did.

“Then when you have been here two weeks,” added Chapin
rather ruminatively (he had forgot to state this to Cowperwood
before), ‘the warden ’ll come and git yuh and give yuh yer regu-
lar cell summers down-stairs. Yuh kin make up yer mind by that
time what y’u’d like tuh do, what y’u’d like to work at. If you
behave yourself proper, more’n like they'll give yuh a cell with
a yard. Yuh never can tell.”

He went out, locking the door with a solemn click; and
Cowperwood stood there, a little more depressed than he had
been, because of this latest intelligence.—Only two weeks, and
then he would be transferred from this kindly old man’s care
to another’s, whom he did not know and with whom he might
not fare so well.

“If ever you want me for anything—if ye’re sick or sumpin’
like that,” Chapin now returned to say, after he had walked
a few paces away, “we have a signal here of our own. Just
hang your towel out through these here bars. I’ll see it, and
I'll stop and find out what yuh want, when I’m passin’.”

Cowperwood, whose spirits had_sunk,-revived for the moment.

“Yes, sir,” he replied; “thank you, Mr. Chapin.”

The old man walked away, and Cowperwood heard his steps
dying down the cement-paved hall. He stood and listened, his
ears being greeted occasionally by a distant cough, a faint scrap-
ing of some one’s feet, the hum or whir of a machine, or the
iron scratch of a key in a lock. None of the noises was loud.
Rather they were all faint and far away. He went over and
looked at the bed, which was not very clean, and without linen,
and anything but wide or soft, and felt it curiously. So here
was where he was to sleep from now on—he who so craved and
appreciated luxury and refinement. If Aileen or some of his
rich friends should see him here. Worse, he was sickened_by theTHE PINAN CIE R 441

thought of possible vermin. How could he tell? How would
he do? The one chair was abominable. ‘The skylight was
weak. He tried to think of himself as becoming accustomed
to the situation, but he re-discovered the offal pot in one corner,
and that discouraged him. It was possible that rats might
come up here—it looked that way. No pictures, no books, no
scene, no person, no space to walk—just the four bare walls and
silence, which he would be shut into at night by the thick door.
What a horrible fate!

Tie-sat down and contemplated his situation. So here he
was at last in the Eastern Penitentiary, and doomed, according
to the judgment of the politicians (Butler among others),
remain here four long years and longer. Stener, it suddenly
occurred to him, was~probably being put through the same
process he had just gone through. Poor old Stener! What a
fool he-had made of himself. But because of his foolishness he
deserved all he was-now getting. But the difference between
himself and Stener was that they would let Stener out. It was
possible that already they were easing his punishment in some
way that he, Cowperwood, did not know. He put his hand to his
chin, thinking—his business, his house, his friends, his family,
Aileen. He felt for his watch, but remembered fiat they had
taken that. There was no way of telling the time. Neither had
he any notebook, pen, or pencil with which to amuse or interest
himself. Besides he had had nothing to eat since morning. Still,
that mattered little. What did matter was_that he-was shut up
here away from the world, quite alone, quite lonely, without
knowing what time it was, and that he could not attend to any
of the things he ought to be attending to—his business affairs, his
future. True, Steger would probably come to see him after a
while. That would help a little. But even so—think of his
position, his prospects up to the day of the fire and his state
now. He sat looking at his shoes; his suit. God! He got up
and walked to and fro, to and fro, but his own steps and move-
ments sounded so loud. He walked to the cell door and looked
nothing

  

 

out through the thick bars, but there was nothing to see
save a portion of two cell doors op} yosite, something like his own
He came back and sat in his single chair, meditating, but, getting
weary of that finally, stretched himself on the dirty prison bed
to try it. It was not uncomfortable entirely. He got up after a442 THE FINANCIER

 

while, however, and sat, then walked, then sat. What a nar.
row place to walk, he thought. ‘This was horrible—something
like a living tomb. And to think he should be here now, day
after day and day after day, until—

Until what?

Until the Governor pardoned him or his time was up, or his
fortune eaten away—or—

So he cogitated while the hours slipped by. It was nearly
five o’clock before Steger was able to return, and then only fo1
a little while. He had been arranging for Cowperwood’s ap:
pearance on the following Thursday, Friday, and Monday in
his several court proceedings. When he was gone, however,
and the night fell and Cowperwood had to trim his little, shabby
oil-lamp and to drink the strong tea and eat the rough, pooi
bread made of bran and white flour, which was shoved to him
through the small aperture in the door by the trencher trusty
who was accompanied by the overseer to see that it was done
properly, he really felt very badly. And after that the center
wooden door of his cell was presently closed and locked by 2
trusty who slammed it rudely and said no word. Nine o’clock
would be sounded somewhere by a great bell, he understood
when his smoky oil-lamp would have to be put out promptly and
he would have to undress and go to bed. There were punish-
ments, no doubt, for infractions of these rules—reduced rations,
the strait-jacket, perhaps stripes—he scarcely knew what. He
felt disconsolate, grim, weary. He had put up such a long, un-
satisfactory fight. ~After-washing his heavy stoné~cup~ and tin
plate at the hydrant, he took off the sickening uniform and
shoes and even the drawers of the scratching underwear, and
stretched himself wearily on the bed. The place was not any
too warm, and he tried to make himself comfortable betweer
the blankets—but it was of little use. His soul was cold.

“This will never do,” he said to himself. ‘This will never
do. I’m not sure whether I can stand much of this or not.”

Still he turned his face to the wall, and after several hours
sleep eventually came.CHAPTER LI*

HOSE who by any pleasing courtesy of fortune, accident

of birth, inheritance, or the wisdom of parents or friends,

have succeeded in avoiding making that anathema of the pros-
perous and comfortable, “a mess of their lives,” will scarcely
understand the mood of Cowperwood, sitting rather gloomily
‘n his cell these first days, wondering what, in spite of his great
ingenuity, was to become of him. The strongest have their
hours of depression. “There are times when life to those en-
dowed with the greatest intelligence—perhaps mostly to those—
takes on a somber hue. They see so many phases of its dreary
subtleties. It is only when the soul of man has been built up
into some strange self-confidence, some curious faith in its own
he actual presence of these same

powers, based, no doubt, on t
powers subtly involved in the body, that it fronts life unflinch-
ingly. It would be too much to say that Cowperwood’s mind
was of the first order. It was subtle enough in all conscience—
and involved, as is common with the executively great, with a
strong sense of personal advancement. It was a powerful mind,
turning, like a vast searchlight, a glittering ray into many a dark
corner; but it was not sufficiently disinterested to search the
ultimate dark. He realized, in a way, what the great astron-
omers, sociologists, philosophers, chemists, physicists, and physiol-
ogists were meditating ; but he could not be sure in his own mind
that, whatever it was, it was important for him. No doubt life
held many strange secrets. Perhaps it was essential that some-
body should investigate them. However that might be, the call
of his own soul was in another direction. His business was to
make money—to organize something which would make him
much money, or, better yet, save the organization he had begun.
But this, as he now looked upon it, was almost impossible.
It had been too disarranged and complicated by unfortunate
He might, as Steger pointed out to him, string

circumstances. p
out these bankruptcy proceedings for years, tiring out one creditor

4434AA THE FINANCIER

and another, but in the meantime the properties involved were
being seriously damaged. Interest charges on his unsatisfied loans
were making heavy inroads; court costs were mounting up; and,
to cap it all, he ha! discovered with Steger that there were a
number of creditors- -those who had sold out to Butler, and
incidentally to Mollen yauer—who would never accept anything
except the full value of heir claims. His~one hope-now was to
save what he-could-by-con:nromise a. little later, and_to build_up
some sort of profitable business through Stephen Wingate. The
latter was coming in a day or two, as soon as Steger had made
some working arrangement for him with Warden ‘Michael
Desmas who came the second day to have a look at the new
prisoner.

Desmas was a large man physically—Irish by birth, a politician
by training—who had been one thing and another in Philadel-
phia from a policeman in his early days and a corporal in the
Civil War to a ward captain under Mollenhauer. He was a
canny man, tall, raw-boned, singularly muscular-looking, who
for all his fifty-seven years looked as though he could give a
splendid account of himself in a physical contest. His hands
were large and bony, his face more square than either round or
long, and his forehead high. He had a vigorous growth of short-
clipped, iron-gray hair and a bristly iron-gray mustache, very
short; keen, intelligent blue-gray eyes; a florid complexion; and
even-edged, savage-looking teeth, which showed the least bit in
a slightly wolfish way when he smiled. However, he was not as
cruel a person as he looked to be; temperamental, to a certain
extent hard, and on occasions savage, but with kindly hours
also. His greatest weakness was that he was not quite men-
tally able to recognize that there were mental and social dif-
ferences between prisoners, and that now and then one was apt
to appear here who, with or without political influences, was
eminently worthy of special consideration. What he could
recognize was the difierences pointed out to him by the politicians
in special cases, such as that of Stener—not Cowperwood. How-
ever, seeing that the prison-was.a public institution apt to be
visited at any time by lawyers, detectives, doctors, preachers,
propagandists, and the public generally, and that certain rules
and regulations had to be enforced (if for no other reason than to
keep a moral and administrative control over his own help), itTHE FINANCIER 445

was necessary to maintain—and that even in the face of the
politician—a certain amount of discipline, system, and order, and
it was not possible to be too liberal with any one. ‘There were,
however, exceptional cases—men of wealth and refinement, vic-
tims of those occasional uprisings which so shocked the political
ally—who had to be looked after in a friendly

 

 

leaders gener
way.

Desmas was quite aware, of course, of the history of Cowper-
wood and Stener. The politicians had already given him warn-
ing that Stener, because of his past services to the community,
was to be treated with special consideration. Not so much was
said about Cowperwood, although they did admit that his lot

was rather hard. Perhaps he might do a little something for

him but at his own risk.
“Butler is down on him,” Strobik said to Desmas, on one

“Ts that girl of his that’s at the bottom of it all.
utler you’d feed him on bread and water,
As a matter of fact, if George had had
n’t be where he is to-day. But the
They wouldn’t let him

occasion.
If you listened to B
but he isn’t a bad fellow.
any sense Cowperwood would
big fellows wouldn’t let Stener alone.
give Cowperwood any money.”
Although Strobik had been one of those who, under pressure
from Mollenhauer, had advised Stener not to let Cowperwood
yet_here he was pointing out the folly

have any more money,
The thought of-the-inconsistency in-

of the victim’s course.
volved did-not trouble him in the least.

Desmas decided, therefore, that if Cowperwood were persona
non grata to the “Big Three,” it might be necessary to be
‘different to him, or at least slow ‘n extending him any special
favors. For Stener a good chair, clean linen, special cutlery and
dishes, the daily papers, privileges in the matter of mail, the
visits of friends, and the like. For Cowperwood—well, he
would have to look at Cowperwood and see what he thought.
At the same time, Steger’s ‘ntercessions were not without their
effect-on Desmas. So the morning after Cowperwood’s entrance
the warden received a letter from Terrence Relihan, the Harris-
burg potentate, indicating that any kindness shown to Mr.
Cowperwood would be duly appreciated by him. Upon the
receipt of this letter Desmas went up and looked through Cow-
perwood’s iron door. On the way he had a brief talk with446 THE FINANCIER

Chapin, who told him what a nice man he thought Cowperwood
was. oe a

Desmas had never seen Cowperwood before, but in spite of
the shabby uniform, the clog shoes, the cheap shirt, and the
wretched cell, he was impressed. Instead of the weak, anzmic
body-and_the-shifty-eyes-of-the-average prisoner, he-saw-a—man
whose face and ferm—blazed_energy and power, and whose
Vigorous erectness no wretched clothes or conditions.could_de-
mean. He lifted his head when-Desmas_ appeared, glad that_any
form should have appeared at his door, and looked at him with
large, clear, examining eyes—those eyes that im-the~past had
inspired so much confidence and surety in all those who had
known him. Desmas was stirred. Compared with Stener, whom
he knew in the past and whom he had met on his entry, this man
was a force. Say what you will, one vigorous man inherently
respects another. And Desmas was vigorous physically. He
eyed Cowperwood and Cowperwood eyed him. Instinctly Des-
mas liked him. He was like one tiger looking at another.

Instinctively Cowperwood knew that he was the warden.
“This is Mr. Desmas, isn’t it?’ he asked, courteously and pleas-
antly.

“Yes, sir, I’m the man,” replied Desmas interestedly. “These
rooms are not as comfortable as they might be, are they?” ‘The
warden’s even teeth showed-in-a-friendly, -yet-wolfish; way.

“They certainly are not, Mr. Desmas,” replied Cowperwood,
standing very erect and soldier-like. “I didn’t imagine I was
coming to a hotel, however.” He smiled.

“There isn’t anything special I can do for you, is there, Mr.
Cowperwood?” began Desmas curiously, for he was moved by
a thought that at some time or other a man such as this might
be of service to-him. ‘I’ve been talking to your lawyer.” Cow-
perwood was intensely gratified by the Mr. So that was the
way the wind was blowing. Well, then, within reason, things
might not prove so bad here. He would see. He would sound
this man out.

“T don’t want to be asking anything, Warden, which you can-
not reasonably give,’ he now returned politely. “But there
are a few things, of course, that I would change if I could. I
wish I might have sheets for my bed, and I could afford betterTHE FINANCIER 447

underwear if you would let me wear it. This that I have on
annoys me a great deal.”

“They're not the best wool, that’s true enough,” replied
Desmas, solemnly. ‘“They’re made for the State out here in
Pennsylvania somewhere. I suppose there’s no objection to your
wearing your own underwear if you want to. I’ll see about
that. And the sheets, too. We might let you use them if you
have them. We'll have to go a little slow about this. ‘There
are a lot of people that take a special interest in showing the
warden how to tend to his business.”

“T can readily understand that, Warden,” went on Cowper-
wood briskly, ‘‘and I’m certainly very much obliged to you. You
may be sure that anything you do for me here will be appre-
ciated, and not misused, and that I have friends on the outside
who can reciprocate for me in the course of time.” He-talked,
slowly and emphatically, looking Desmas directly in the eye all
of the time. Desmas was very much impressed.

“That’s all right,” he said, now that he had gone so far as
to be friendly. “I can’t promise much. Prison rules are prison
rules. But there are some things-that-can be done, because it’s
the‘rule-to-de-them for other men when.they behave themselves.
You can have a better chair than_that, if you want it, and some-
If you’re in business yet, I wouldn’t want to
do anything to stop that. We can’t have people running in and
out of here every fifteen minutes, and you can’t turn a cell into
hat’s not possible. It would break up the

a business office—tl
. ’ y . ?
order of the place. Still, theres no reason why you shouldn't
As for your mail—

see some of your friends now and then.
well, that will have to be opened in the ordinary way for the
time being, anyhow. I'll have to see about that. I can’t promise
too much. You'll have to wait until you come out of this block
Some of the cells have a yard there; if there
are any empty—” ‘The warden cocked his eye wisely, and Cow-
perwood saw that his lot was not to be as bad as he had antici-
pated—though bad enough. The warden spoke to him about
the different trades he might follow, and asked him to think
about the one he would prefer. “You.want to have something to
keep your hands busy, whatever else you want. Youll find
you'll need that. Every body here wants to work after a time.

I notice that.”

thing to read too.

and down-stairs.448 Te Be Rly ARN Ce

Cowperwood understood and thanked Desmas profusely. The
horror of idleness in silence and in a cell scarcely large enough
to turn around in comfortably had already begun to creep over
him, and the thought of being able to see Wingate and Steger
frequently, and to have his mail reach him, after a time, un-
tampered with, was a great relief. He was to have his own
underwear, silk and wool—thank God!—and perhaps they
would let him take off these shoes after a while. With these
modifications and a trade, and perhaps the little yard which
Desmas had referred to, his life would be, if not ideal, at least
tolerable. The prison was still a prison, but it looked as though
it might not be so much of a terror to him as obviously it must
be to many.

During the two weeks in which Cowperwood was in the
“manners squad,” in care of Chapin, he learned nearly as much
as he ever learned of the general nature of prison life; for this
was not an ordinary penitentiary in the sense that the prison
yard, the prison squad, the prison lock-step, the prison dining-
room, and prison associated labor make the ordinary penitentiary.
There was, for him and for most of those confined there, no
general prison life whatsoever. The large majority were sup-
posed to work silently in their cells at the particular tasks as-
signed them, and not to know anything of the remainder of the
life which went on around them, the rule of this prison being
solitary confinement, and few being permitted to work at the
limited number of outside menial tasks provided. Indeed, as he
sensed and -as-old-Chapin soon informed him, not more than
seventy-five of the four hundred prisoners confined here were
so employed, and not all of these regularly—cooking, gardening
in season, milling, and general cleaning being the only avenues
of escape from solitude. Even those who so worked were strictly
forbidden to talk, and although they did~not have to wear the
objectionable hood when actually employed, they were supposed
to wear it in going to and from their work. Cowperwood saw
them occasionally tramping by his cell door, and it struck him
as strange, uncanny, grim. He wished_sincerely at times_since
old Chapin was so genial and talkative that he were to be under
him permanently; but it was not to be.

His two weeks soon passed—drearily enough in all conscience
but they passed, interlaced with his few commonplace tasks ofTHE FINANCIER 449

bed-making, floor-sweeping, dressing, eating, undressing, rising
at five-thirty, and retiring at nine, washing his several dishes
after each meal, etc. He thought he would never get used to
the food. Breakfast, as has been said, was at six-thirty, and
consisted of coarse black bread made of bran and some white
flour, and served with black coffee. Dinner was at eleven-thirty,
and consisted of bean or vegetable soup, with some coarse meat
in it, and the same bread. Supper was at six, of tea and bread,
very strong tea and the same bread—no butter, no milk, no
sugar. Cowperwood did not smoke, so the small allowance of
tobacco which was permitted was without value to him. Steger
called in every day for two or three weeks, and after the second
day, Stephen Wingate, as his new business associate, was per-
mitted to see him also—once every day, if he wished, Desmas
stated, though the latter felt he was stretching a point in permit-
ting this so soon. Both of these visits rarely occupied more than
an hour, or an hour and a half, and after that the day was long.
He was taken out on several days on a court order, between nine
and five, to testify in the bankruptcy proceedings against him,
which caused the time in the beginning to pass quickly.

It was curious, once he was in prison, safely shut from the
world for a period of years apparently, how quickly all thought
of assisting him departed from minds of those who had been
He was done, so most of them thought. The
only thing they could do now would be to use their influence
to get him out some time; how soon, they could not guess. Be-
yond that there was nothing. He would really never be of any
great importance to any one any more, OF so they thought. It
was very sad, very tragic, but he was gone—his place knew him

most friendly.

not.

“A bright young man, that,’
the Girard National, on reading of Cow
Pecarceration. ‘“Too-bad!__Tco bad! He made a great mis-
take.”

Only his parents,
gled feelings of resentment and s
Aileen, because of her great passion for him, was suffering most
of all. Four years and three months; she thought. If he did not
1e would be nearing twenty-nine and he
Would he-want her then? Vould she

> observed President Davison of
perwood’s sentence and

Aileen, and his wife—the latter with min-
orrow—treally missed him.

get out before then sk
would be nearing forty.450 LEE PEN A heli

be-so-attractive? And would nearly five years change his point
of view? He would have to wear a convict suit all that time,
and be known as a convict forever after. It was hard to think
about, but only made her more than ever determined to cling te
him, whatever happened, and to help him all she could.

Indeed the day after his incarceration she drove out and
looked at the grim, gray walls of the penitentiary. Knowing
nothing absolutely of the vast and-complicatedprocesses of law
and. penal servitude, it seemed especially terrible to.her. What
might not they be doing to her Frank?” Was he suffering much?
Was he thinking of her as she was of him? Oh, the pity of it
all! The pity! The pity of herself—her great love for him!
She drove home, determined to see him; but as he had originally
told her that visiting days were only once in three months, and
that he would have to write her when the next one was, or
when she could come, or when he could see her on the outside,
she scarcely knew what to do. Secrecy was the thing.

The next-day, however, she wrote him just the same, describ-
ing the drive she had taken on the stormy afternoon before—the
terror of the thought that he was behind those grim gray walls
and declaring her determination td see him soon.* And this
letter, under the new arrangement, he received at once. He
wrote her in reply, giving the letter to Wingate to mail. It
ran:

 

My Sweet Girt:—I fancy you are a little downhearted to think I can-
not be with you any more soon, but you mustn’t be. I suppose you read
all about the sentence in the paper. I came out here the same morning—
nearly noon. If I had time, dearest, I’d write you a long letter de-
scribing the situation so as to ease your mind; but I haven’t. It’s against
the rules, and I am really doing this secretly. I’m here, though, safe
enough, and wish I were out, of course. Sweetest, you must be careful
how you try to see me at first. You can’t do-me—much service-outside
of cheering>me-—up, and you~may do yourself great harm. Besides,
I think I have done you far more harm than I~can~ever make up to
you and that you had best give me up, although I know you do not
think so, and I would be sad, if you did. I am to be in the Court of
Special Pleas, Sixth and Chestnut, on Friday at two o’clock; but you
cannot see me there. Ill be out in charge of my counsel. You must
be careful. Perhaps you'll think better, and not come here.

This last touch was one of pure gloom, the first Cowperwood
had ever introduced into their relationship but conditions hadDHE HUNAN CPER 451

changed him. Hitherto he had been in the position of the su/
perior being, the one who was being sought—although Aileen
was and had been well worth seeking—and he had thought that
he might escape unscathed, and so grow in dignity and power
until she might not possibly be worthy of him any longer. He
had had that thought. But here, in stripes, it was a different
matter. Aileen’s position, reduced in value as it was by her
long, ardent relationship with him, was now, nevertheless, supe-
tior-to-his—apparently so. For after all, was she not Edward
Butler’s daughter, and might she, after she had been away
from him a while, wish to become a convict’s bride. She
ought not to want to, and she might not want to, for all he
knew; she might change her mind. She ought not to wait
for him. Her life was not yet ruined. The public did
not generally, anyhow—that she had

 

not know, so he thought
been his mistress. She might marry. Why not, and so pass out
of his life forever. And would not that be sad for him? And
yet did he not owe it to her, to a sense of fair play in himself
to ask her to give him up, or at least think over the wisdom
of doing so?

. He did her the justice to believe that she would not. want to
give him up; and in his position, however harmful it might be
to her; it was an advantage, a connecting link with the finest
period of his past life, to have her continue to love him. He
could-not;however, scribbling this note in his cell in Wingate’s
presence, and giving it to him to mail (Overseer Chapin was
kindly keeping a respectful distance, though he was supposed to
be present), refrain from adding, at the last moment, this little
touch of doubt which, when she read it, struck Aileen to the
heart. She read it as gloom on his part—as great depression.
Perhaps, after all, the penitentiary and so soon, was really
breaking his spirit, and he had held up so courageously so long.
Because of this, now she was madly eager to get to him, to
console him, even though it was difficult, perilous. She must,
she said.

In regard to visits from the yarious members of his family—
his mother and father, his brother, his wife, and his sister—
Cowperwood made it plain to them on one of the days on which
he was out attending a bankruptcy hearing, that even providing
it could be arranged he did not think they should come oftener452 THE FINANCIER

 

than once in three months, unless he wrote them or sent word
by Steger. The_truth was that he really did not care_to-see-
much of any of them at present. He was sick of the whole
social scheme of things. In fact he wanted to be rid of the
turmoil he had been in;-seeing~it-had=proved—so—useless. He
had used nearly fifteen thousand dollars thus far in defending
himself—court costs, family maintenance, Steger, etc.; but he
did not mind that. He expected to make some little money
working through Wingate. His family were not utterly with-
out funds, sufficient to live on in a small way. He had advised
them to remove into houses more in keeping with their reduced
circumstances, which they had done—his mother and father and
brothers and sister to a three-story brick house of about the
caliber of the old Buttonwood Street house, and his wife to a
smaller, less expensive two-story one on North Twenty-first
Street, near the penitentiary, a portion of the money saved out
of the thirty-five thousand dollars extracted from Stener under
false pretenses aiding to sustain it. Of course all this was a
terrible descent from the Girard Avenue mansion for the elder
Cowperwood; for here was none of the furniture which char-
acterized the other somewhat gorgeous domicile—merely store-
bought, ready-made furniture, and neat but cheap hangings and
fixtures generally. The assignees, to whom all Cowperwood’s
personal property belonged, and to whom Cowperwood, the
elder, had surrendered all his holdings, would not permit any-
thing of importance to be removed. It had all to be sold for
the benefit of creditors. A few very small things, but only a
few, had been kept, as everything had been inventoried some
time before. One of the things which old Cowperwood wanted
was his own desk which Frank had had designed for him; but
as it was valued at five hundred dollars and could not be relin-
quished by the sheriff except on payment of that sum, or by
auction, and as Henry Cowperwood had no such sum to spare,
he had to let the desk go. There were many things they all
wanted, and Anna Adelaide had literally purloined a few
though she did not admit the fact to her parents until long
afterward.

There came a day when the two houses in Girard Avenue
were the scene of a sheriff’s sale, during which the general public,
without let or hindrance, was permitted to tramp through theTHE FINANCIER 453

rooms and examine the pictures, statuary, and objects of art
generally, which were auctioned off to the highest bidder. Con-
siderable fame had attached to Cowperwood’s activities in this
field, owing in the first place to the real merit of what he had
brought together, and in the next place to the enthusiastic
comment of such men as Wilton Ellsworth, Fletcher Norton,
Gordon Strake—architects and art dealers whose judgment and
taste were considered important in Philadelphia. All of the
lovely things by which he had set great store—small bronzes,
representative of the best period of the Italian Renaissance ;
bits of Venetian glass which he had collected with great care—
a full curio case; statues by Powers, Hosmer, and Thorwaldsen
—things which would be smiled at thirty years later, but which
were of high value then; all of his pictures by representative
American painters from Gilbert to Eastman Johnson, together
with a few specimens of the current French and English schools,
went for asong. Art judgment in Philadelphia at this-time was
net-exceedingly high; and some of the pictures, for lack of
appreciative understanding, were disposed of at much too low
a figure. Strake, Norton, and Ellsworth were all present and
bought liberally.

Senator Simpson, Mollenhauer, and Strobik came to see what
they could see. The small-fry politicians were there, en masse.
But Simpson, calm judge of good art, secured practically the best
of u.. chat was offered. To him went the curio case of Venetian
glass; one pair of tall blue-and-white Mohammedan cylindrical
vases; fourteen examples of Chinese jade, including several
artists’? water-dishes and a pierced window-screen of the faintest
tinge of green. To Mollenhauer went the furniture and deco-
rations of the entry-hall and reception-room of Henry Cowper-
wood’s house, and to Edward Strobik two of Cowperwood’s
sedroom suites for the most modest of prices.
Adam Davis was present and secured the secrétaire of buhl which
the elder Cowperwood prized so highly. To Fletcher Norton
went the “our Greek vases—a kylix, a water-jar, and two
amphore-—which he had sold to Cowperwood and which he
valued highly. Various objects of art, including a Sevres
dinner set, a Gobelin tapestry, Barye bronzes and pictures by
Detaille, Fortuny, and George Inness, went to Walter Leigh,
Arthur Rivers, Joseph Zimmerman, Judge Kitchen, Harper

 

bird’s-eye maple |454 ee hy SEN AUN Cit Er

Steger, Terrence Relihan, Trenor Drake, Mr. and Mrs. Simeon
Jones, W. C. Davison, Frewen Kasson, Fletcher Norton, and
Judge Rafalsky.

Within four days after the sale began the two houses were
bare of their contents. Even the objects in the house at 931
North Tenth Street had been withdrawn from storage where
they had been placed at the time it was deemed advisable to
close this institution, and placed on sale with the other objects
in the two homes. It was at this time that the senior Cowper-
woods first learned of something which seemed to indicate a
mystery which had existed in connection with their son and
his wife. No one of all the Cowperwoods was present during
all this gloomy distribution; and Aileen, reading of the dis-
position of all the wares, and knowing their value to Cowper-
wood, to say nothing of their charm for her, was greatly de-
pressed ; yet she-was fot long despondent, for she.was_convinced
that Cowperwood would-some day regain his liberty and_attain
a_position of even-greater.significance-in_ the»financial—world.
She could not have said why but she-was sure of it.CHAPTER LV

N the meanwhile Cowperwood had been transferred to a new
overseer and a new cell in Block 3 on the ground floor, which

was like all the others in size, ten by sixteen, but to which was
attached the small yard previously mentioned. Warden Des-
mas came up two days before he was transferred, and had
another short conversation with him through his cell door.

“You'll be transferred on Monday,” he said, in his reserved,
slow way. ‘“They’ll give you a yard, though it won’t be much
good to you—we only allow a half-hour a day in it. I’ve told
the overseer about your business arrangements. He'll treat
you right in that matter. Just be careful not to take up too
much time that way, and things will work out. [ve decided
to let you learn caning chairs. That'll be the best for you. It’s
easy, and it’ll occupy your mind.”

The warden and some allied politicians made a good thing
out of this prison industry. It was really not hard labor—the
tasks set were simple and not oppressive, but all of the products
were promptly sold, and the profits pocketed. It was good,
therefore, to see all the prisoners working, and it did them good.
Cowperwood was glad of the chance to do something, for he
really~did_not-care so much for books, and his connection with
Wingate and his old affairs were not sufficient to employ his mind
in a satisfactory way. At~the-same—time, he could not help
thinking,if he seemed. strange to himself, now,—how—much
stranger-he would seem then,behind these narrow bars working
at-_so-commonplace-a task -as caning chairs. Nevertheless, he now
thanked Desmas for this, as well as for the sheets and the toilet
articles which had just been brought in.

“That’s all right,’”’ replied the latter, pleasantly and softly,
“T know that there are

If a man knows how
I wouldn’t be one to

by now much intrigued by Cowperwood.
men and men here, the same as anywhere.
to use these things and wants to be clean,
put anything in his way.”
The new overseer with whom Cowperwood had to deal was
'a very different person from Elias Chapin. His name was Wal-
455456 Been FIN AUN CAFE R

ter Bonhag, and he was not more than thirty-seven years of
age—a big, flabby sort of person with a crafty mind, whose
principal object in life was to see that this prison situation
as he found it should furnish him a better income~than _his
normal salary. provided. A close study of Bonhag would have
seemed to indicate that he was a stool-pigeon of Desmas, but
this was really not true except in a limited way. Because Bon-
hag was-shrewd-and-sycophantic,.quick to_see.a_point—in—his~or
anybody~else’s-favor;~Desmas instinctively realized that he was
the kind of man who could be trusted to be lenient on order o1
suggestion... That is, if Desmas had the least interest in a pris-
oner he need scarcely say so much to Bonhag; he might merely
suggest that this man was used to a different kind of life, or
that, because of some past experience, it might go hard with him
if he were handled roughly; and Bonhag would strain himself
to be pleasant. The trouble was that to a shrewd man of any
refinement his attentions were objectionable, being obviously
offered for a purpose, and to a poor or ignorant man they were
brutal and contemptuous. He had built up an extra income for
himself inside the prison by selling the prisoners extra allow-
ances of things which he secretly brought into the prison. I
was strictly-against-the rules, in theory-at least, to bring in
anything which was not sold in the store-room—tobacco, writing
paper, pens, ink, whisky, cigars, or delicacies of any kind. On
the other hand, and excellently well for him, it was true that
tobacco of an inferior grade was provided, as well as wretched
pens, ink and paper, so that no self-respecting man, if he could
help it, would endure them. Whisky was not allowed at all, and
delicacies were.abherred-as-indicating rank~favoritism ; neverthe-
less, they were brought in. If a prisoner had the money and was
willing to see that Bonhag secured something for his trouble,
almost anything would be forthcoming. Also the privilege of
being sent into the general yard as a “trusty,” or being allowed to
stay in the little private yard which some cells possessed, longer
than the half-hour ordinarily permitted, was sold.

One of the things, curiously enough at this time, which worked
in Cowperwood’s favor, was the fact that Bonhag was friendly
with the overseer who had Stener in charge, and Stener, because
of his political friends, was being liberally treated, and Bonhag

He was not a careful reader of newspapers, not

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
     

knew of this.THE FINANCIER 457

had he any intellectual grasp of important events; but he knew
by now that both Stener and Cowperwood were, or had been,
mdividuals of great importance in the community; also that
Cowperwood had been the more important of the two. Better
yet, as Bonhag now heard, Cowperwood still had money. Some
prisoner, who was permitted to read the paper, told him so.
And so, entirely aside from Warden Desmas’s recommendation,
which was given in a very quiet, noncommittal way, Bonhag
was interested to see what he could do for Cowperwood for a
price.

The day Cowperwood was installed in his new cell, Bonhag
lolled up to the door, which was open, and said, in a semi-
patronizing way, ‘Got all your things over yet?” It was his
business to lock the door once Cowperwood was inside it.

“Yes, sir,” replied Cowperwood, who had been shrewd enough
to get the new overseer’s name from Chapin; ‘‘this is Mr.
Bonhag, I presume?”

“That’s me,” replied Bonhag, not a little flattered by the
recognition, but still purely interested by the practical side of
this encounter. He was anxious to study Cowperwood, to see ‘
what type of man he was.

“You'll find it a little different down here from up there,”
observed Bonhag. “It ain’t so stuffy. “These doors out in the
yards make a difference.”

“Oh, yes,”’ said Cowperwood, observantly and shrewdly, “that
is the yard Mr. Desmas spoke of.”

At the mention of the magic name, if Bonhag had been a
horse, his ears would have been seen to lift. For, of course, if
Cowperwood was so friendly with Desmas that the latter had
described to him the type of cell he was to have beforehand, it
behooved Bonhag to be especially careful.

“Yes, that’s it, but it ain’t much,” he observed. ‘“They only
allow a half-hour a day in it. Still it would be all right if a
person could stay out there longer.”

This was his first_hint_at graft, favoritism; and Cowperwood
distinctly caught the sound of it in-his voice.

‘“That’s too bad,” he said. “I~don’t suppose good conduct
helps a person to get more.” He waited to hear a reply, but
instead Bonhag continued with: “T’d better teach you your new

‘trade now. You've got to learn to cane chairs, so the warden458 THE FINANCIER

 

says. If you want, we can begin right away.” But without
waiting for Cowperwood to acquiesce, he went off, returning
after a time with three unvarnished frames of chairs and a bundle
of cane strips or withes, which he deposited on the floor. Having
so done—and with a flourish—he now continued: “Now I'll
show you if you’ll watch me,” and he began showing Cowper-
wood how the strips were to be laced through the apertures on
either side, cut, and fastened with little hickory pegs. This
done, he brought a forcing awl, a small hammer, a box of pegs,
and a pair of clippers. After several brief demonstrations with
different strips, as to how the geometric forms were designed,
he allowed Cowperwood to take the matter in hand, watching
over his shoulder. The financier,quick-at anything,_manual_or
mental, went-at—it-in his-customary energetic fashion, and in
five minutes demonstrated to Bonhag that, barring skill and
speed; which-could-only come with practice, he could do. it as
well as another. ‘You'll make out all right,’ said Bonhag.
“You're supposed to do ten of those a day. We won't count the
next few days, though, until you get your hand in. After that
V’ll come around and see how you're getting along. You under-
stand about the towel on the door, don’t you?” he inquired.

“Yes. Mr. Chapin explained that to:me,” replied Cowper-
wood. “I think I know what most of the rules.are now. Pl
try not to break any of them.”

The days which followed brought a number of modifications
of his prison lot, but not sufficient by any means to make it
acceptable to him. Bonhag, during the first few days in which
he trained Cowperwood in the art of caning chairs, managed
to make it perfectly clear that there were a number of things
he would be willing to do for him. One of the things that
moved him to this, was that already he had been impressed
by the fact that Stener’s friends were coming to see him in
larger numbers than Cowperwood’s, sending him an occasional
basket of fruit, which he gave to the overseers, and that his
wife and children had been already permitted to visit him out:
side the regular visiting-day. “This-was-a~cause for jeatousy
on Bonhag’s part. His fellow-overseer was lording it over him
—telling him, as it were, of the high jinks in Block 4. Bonhag
really wanted Cowperwood to spruce up and show what He
could do, socially or otherwise.TH EY ELENA N CLE R 459

And so now he began with: “I see you have your lawyer and
your partner here every day. ‘There ain’t anybody else you'd
like to have visit you, is there? Of course, it’s against the
rules to have your wife or sister or anybody like that, except
on visiting days—’ And here he paused and rolled a large
and informing eye on Cowperwood—such an eye as was sup-
posed _to convey dark and mysterious things. ““But-all_the rules
ain't kept around here by a long shot.”

Cowperwood=was_not the man-to~lose a chance of this kind.
He smiled a littl—enough to relieve himself, and to convey
to Bonhag that he was gratified by the information, but vocally
he observed: “‘I’ll tell you how it is, Mr. Bonhag. I believe
you understand my position better than most-men would, and
that I can talk to you. “There are people who would like to come
here, but I have been afraid to let them come. I did not know
that it could be arranged. If it could be, I would be very grate-
ful. You and I are practical men—I know that if any favors
are extended some of those who help to bring them about must be
looked after. If you can do anything to make it a little more
comfortable-for-me-here I will show you that I appreciiwoua,
I haven’t any money on my person, but I-can alwavse with me.”
I will see that you are properly looked after,iis corridor he was

Bonhag’s short, thick ears tingled. ven though he could not
talk he liked to hear. “I can fix antag in accordance with what
perwood,” he replied, servilely. ‘“* A man who could steal five
any one you want to see at atset a whole city by the ears must
course I have to be very carsf all kinds, and Aileen looked like
right, too. If you want te her to the little room where he kept
in the mornings or get ositors, and then bustled down to Cow-
now on, why, go aheache financier was working on one of his
door open. If the wan the door with his key, called: ‘“’There’s
I'll just scratch on to see you. Do you want to let her come
and shut it. If
I can get it for yes,” replied Cowperwood; and Bonhag hurried
like that. Yoytionally forgetting, in his boorish incivility, to
Way.” ell door, so that he had to open it in Aileen’s pres-

“Tm certs long corridor, with its thick doors, mathematically
perwood intings and gray-stone pavement, caused Aileen to feel
but he kepneart. A prison, iron cells! And he was in one of
“In regt<chilled her usually courageous spirit. What a ter-THE FINANCIER

 

460

ring to the matter of extra visitors, “I can fix that any time you
want to. I know the men out at the gate. If you want any-
body to come here, just write "em a note and give it to me, and
tell ’em to ask for me when they come. That'll get ’em in all
right. When they get here you can talk to ’em in your cell.
See! Only when I tap they have to come out. You want to
remember that. So just you let me know.”

Cowperwood was exceedingly grateful. He said so in direct,
choice language. It occurred to him at once that this was Aileen’s
opportunity, and that he could now notify her to come. If she
veiled herself sufficiently she would probably be safe enough.
He decided to write her, and when Wingate came he gave him
a letter to mail.

Two days later, at three o’clock in the afternoon—the time
appointed by him—Aileen came to see him. She was dressed in
gray broadcloth with white-velvet trimmings and cut-steel but-
tons which glistened like silver, and wore, as additional orna-
ments, as well as a protection against the cold, a cap, stole, and
muff of snow-white ermine. Over this rather striking costume
phe had slipped a long\ dark circular cloak, which she meant to
Sand aboumediately upon her arrival. She had made a very

“Yes, Mr. Chge. her shoes, gloves, hair, and the gold orna-
ero Comehinic i enad Her face was concealed by a thick green
try not to break any of ";suggested ; and she arrived at an hour

The days which followed Bi able to prearrange, he would be

of his prison lot, but not suffi¢, four, after business, and Steger
t all. She was very nervous
g

acceptable to him. Bonhag, during

he trained Cowperwood in the art the street-car in which she
to make it perfectly clear that there WW@Y and walking up 4
he would be willing to do for him. the gray walls under a
moved him to this, was that already If she had _worked_very
by the fact that Stener’s friends were coi2VEt UP- She_knew
larger numbers than Cowperwood’s, sending 1 her beauty when
basket of fruit, which he gave to the oversee.
wife and children had been already permitted to’
side the regular visiting-day. “[his-was-a~cause
on Bonhag’s part. His fellow-overseer was lording

de his cell as
had swept it
had shaved

—telling him, as it were, of the high jinks in Block ights. The
really wanted Cowperwood to spruce up and showut in the
re washed

could do, socially or otherwise.THE FINANCIER 461

and hung up, and his clogs brushed with a brush which he
now kept for the purpose. Never--before, he thoughtto—him-
self, with a peculiar feeling of artistic degradation, had Aileen
seen him_like this. She had always admired his good. taste in
clothes, and the way he carried himself in them; and now she
was to see him in garments which no dignity of body could
make presentable. Only a stoic sense of his own soul-dignity
aided him here. After all, as he now thought, he was Frank
A. Cowperwood, and that was something, whatever he wore.
And Aileen knew it. Again, he might be free and rich some|,
day, and he knew that she believed that. Best of all, his looks
under these or any other circumstances, as he knew, would make
no difference to Aileen. She would only love him the more.
It was her ardent sympathy that he was afraid of. He was so
glad that Bonhag had suggested that she might enter the cell,
for it would be a grim procedure talking to her through a
barred door.

When Aileen arrived she asked for Mr. Bonhag, and was
permitted to go to the central rotunda, where he was sent for.
When he came she murmured: “I wish to see Mr. Cowperwood,
if you please”; and he exclaimed, “Oh, yes, just come with me.”
As he came across the rotunda floor from his corridor he was
struck by the evident youth of Aileen, even though he could not
see her face. This now was something in accordance with what
he had expected of Cowperwood. A man who could steal five
hundred thousand dollars and set a whole city by the ears must
have wonderful adventures of all kinds, and Aileen looked like
a true adventure. He led her to the little room where he kept
his desk and detained visitors, and then bustled down to Cow-
perwood’s cell, where the financier was working on one of his
chairs and scratching on the door with his key, called: “There’s
a young lady here to see you. Do you want to let her come
inside ?”

“Thank you, yes,” replied Cowperwood; and Bonhag hurried
away, unintentionally forgetting, in his boorish incivility, to
unlock the cell door, so that he had to open it in Aileen’s pres-
ence. The long corridor, with its thick doors, mathematically
spaced gratings and gray-stone pavement, caused Aileen to feel
faint at heart. A prison, iron cells! And he was in one of
them. It<chilled her usually courageous spirit. What a ter-462 The BINA NCEE

 

rible place for her Frank to be! What a horrible thing to have
put him here! Judges, juries, courts, laws, jails seemed like
so many foaming ogres ranged about the world, glaring down
upon her and her love-affair. The clank of the key in the lock,
and the heavy outward swinging of the door, completed her sense
of the untoward. And then she saw Cowperwood.

Because of the price he was to receive, Bonhag, after admit-
ting her, strolled discreetly away. Aileen looked at Cowper-
wood from behind her veil, afraid to speak until she was sure
Bonhag had gone. And Cowperwood, who was retaining his
self-possession by an effort, signaled her but with diffeulty after
a moment.or two.. “It’s all right,” he said. ‘‘He’s gone away.’
She lifted her veil, removed her cloak, and took in, without
seeming to, the stuffy, narrow thickness of the room, his wretched
shoes, the cheap, misshapen suit, the iron door behind him lead-
ing out into the little yard attached to his cell. Against such a
background, with his partially caned chairs visible at the end of
the bed, he seemedunnatural, weird even,_Her Frank|__And
in this condition, ~She.trembled-and-it~was_useless for her to
try to speak. She could only put her arms around him and
stroke his head, murmuring: “My poor boy—my darling. Is
this what they have done to you? Oh, my poor darling. » She
held his head while Cowperwood, anxious to retain his com-
posure, winced and trembled, too. Her love was~so full—so
genuine. It was~so~soothing at the same time that it was
unmanning, as now he could see, making of him a child again.
And for the first time in his life, some inexplicable trick of
chemistry—that chemistry of the body, of blind forces which
so readily supersedes reason at times—he lost his self-control.

he depth of Aileen’s feelings, the cooing sot und of her voice, the
velvety tenderness of her hands, that beauty that had drawn him
all the time—more-radiant here perhaps within these hard walls,
and in the face of his physical misery, than it had ever been
before—completely unmanned him. He did not understand how
it could; he tried to defy the moods, but he could not. When
she held his head close and caressed it, of a sudden, in spite of
himself, his breast felt thick and stuffy, and his throat hurt him,
He felt, for him, an astonishingly strange feeling, a desire to
cry, which he did his best to overcome; it shocked him so. There
then combined -and conspired to defeat him a strange, rich pic-THE FINANCIER 463

ture of the great world he had so recently lost, of the lovely,
@maegnificent world which he hoped some day to regain. He
felt more poignantly at this moment than ever he had before
the-degradation of the clog shoes, the cotton shirt, the striped
suit, the reputation of a convict, permanent and not to be laid
aside. He drew himself quickly~away from her, turned his
back, clinched his hands, drew his muscles taut; but it was too
late. He was crying, and he could not stop.

“Oh, damn it!” he exclaimed, half angrily, half self-com-
miseratingly, in combined rage and shame. “Why should I
cry? What the devil’s the matter with me, anyhow?’

Aileen saw it. She fairly flung herself in front of him, seized
his head with one hand, his shabby waist with the other, and
held him tight in a grip that he could not have readily re-
leased.

“Oh, honey, honey, honey!” she exclaimed, pityingly, fever-
ishly. “I love you, I adore you. They could cut my body into
bits if it would do you any good. To think that they should
make you cry! Oh, my sweet, my sweet, my darling boy!”

She pulled his still shaking body tighter, and with her free
hand caressed his head. She kissed his eyes, his hair, his cheeks.
He pulled himself loose again after a.moment, exclaiming,
“What the devil’s got into me?” but she drew him back.

“Never mind, honey darling, don’t you be ashamed to cry.
Cry here on my shoulder. Cry here with me. My baby—my

”
t!

   

honey pe

He quieted down after a few moments, cautioning her against
Bonhag, and regaining his former composure, which he was so
ashamed to have lost.

“You’re a great girl, pet,” he said, with a tender and yet
apologetic smile. ‘‘You’re all right—all that I need—a great
help to me; but don’t worry any longer about me, dear. I’m
all right. It isn’t as bad as you think. How are you Me

Aileen on her part was not to be soothed so easily. His
many woes, including his wretched position here, outraged her
sense of justice and decency. To think her fine, wonderful
Frank should be compelled to come to this—to cry. She stroked
his head, tenderly, while wild, deadly, unreasoning opposition to
life and chance and untoward opposition surged in her brain.
Her father—damn him! Her family—pooh! What did she464 THE BINANCTE R

care? Her Frank—her Frank. How little all else mattered
where he was concerned. Never, never, never would she desert
him—never—come what might. And now she‘clung to him in
silence while she fought in her brain an awful battle with life
and law and fate and circumstance. Law—nonsense! People
—they were brutes, devils, enemies, hounds! She was delighted,
eager, crazy to make a sacrifice of herself. She would go any-
where for or with her Frank now. She would do anything for
him. Her family was nothing—life nothing, nothing, nothing.
She would do anything he wished, nothing more, nothing less;
anything she could do to save him, to make his life happier,
but nothing for any one else,CHAPTER LVI

HE days passed. Once the understanding with Bonhag

was reached, Cowperwood’s wife, mother and sister were
allowed to appear on occasions. His wife and the children were
now settled in the little home for which he was paying, and his
financial obligations to her were satisfied by Wingate, who paid
her one hundred and twenty-five dollars a month for him. He
realized that he owed her more, but he was sailing rather close
to the wind financially, these days. The-final collapse of his old
interests had come in March, when-he-had_been legally declared
a bankrupt;-and all his properties forfeited to satisfy the claims
against him. The city’s claim of five hundred thousand dollars
would have eaten up more than could have been realized at the
time, had not a pro rata payment of thirty cents on the dollar
been declared. Even-then-the city never received its due, for-by
some hocus-pocus it was declared to have forfeited its rights.
Its claims had not been made at the proper time in the proper
way. This left larger portions of real money for the others.

Fortunately by now Cowperwood had begun to see that by
a little experimenting his business relations with Wingate were
likely to prove profitable. The broker had made it clear
that he intended to be perfectly straight with him. He had
employed Cowperwood’s two brothers, at very moderate sal-
aries—one to take care of the books and look after the office, and
the other to act on ’change with him, for their seats in that
organization had never been sold. And also, by considerable
effort, he had succeeded in securing Cowperwood, Sr., a place
as a clerk in a bank.

For the latter, since the day of his resignation from the Third
National had been in a deep, sad quandary as to what further
to do with his life. His son’s disgrace! The horror of his trial
and incarceration. Since the day of Frank’s indictment, and
more so, since his sentence and commitment to the Eastern Peni-
tentiary, he was as one who walked in a dream. ‘That trial!
| That charge against Frank! His own son, a convict—in stripes
465466 THE FINANCIER

 

and after he and Frank had walked so proudly in the front
rank of the successful and respected here. Like so many others
in his hour of distress, he had taken to reading the Bible, looking
into its pages for something of that mind consolation that always,
from youth up, although rather casually in these latter years,
he had imagined was to be found there. The Psalms, Isaiah,
the Book of Job, Ecclesiastes. And for the most part, because
of the fraying nature of his present ills, not finding it.

But-day_after_day-secreting-himselfin~his_room—a little hall-
bedroom office in his newest home, where to his wife, he pre-
tended that he had some commercial matters wherewith he was
still concerned—and_once_ inside, the—door_locked,sitting and
brooding on all that had befallen him—his losses; his good name.
Or, after months of this, and because of the new position se-
cured for him by Wingate—a bookkeeping job in one of the
outlying banks—slipping away early in the morning, and re-
turning late at night, his-mind a.gloomy epitome of all that had
been or yet might be. a

To see him bustling off from his new but very much reduced
home at half after seven in the morning in order to reach the
small bank, which was some distance away and not accessible
by street-car line, was_one—of—those—pathetie—sights..which the
fortunes..of.trade_so.frequéntly-offer: He carried his lunch in
a small box because it was inconvenient to return home in the
time allotted for this purpose, and because his new salary did
not permit the extravagance of a purchased one. It was_his
one ambition now to eke out a respectable but unseen existence
until--he..should-.die, which he hoped would-not be long-—He
was a pathetic figure with his thin legs and body, his gray hair,
and his snow-white side-whiskers. He was very lean and angu-
lar, and, when confronted by a difficult problem, a little uncer-
tain or vague in his mind. An old habit which had grown on
him in the years of his prosperity of putting his hand to his
mouth and of opening his eyes in an assumption of surprise,
which had no basis in fact, now grew upon him. He really
degenerated, although he did not know it, into a mere autom-
aton. Life strews its shores with such interesting and pathetic
wrecks.

One of the things that caused Cowperwood no: little thought
at this time, and especially in view of his present extreme in-THE FINANCIER 467

difference to her, was how he would bring up this matter of his |
indifference to his wife and his desire to end their relationship.
Yet apart from the brutality of the plain truth, he saw no way.
As he could plainly see, she was now persisting in her pretense
of devotion, uncolored, apparently, by any suspicion of what had
happened. Yet since his trial and conviction, she had been
hearing from one source and another that he was still intimate
with Aileen, and it was only her thought of his concurrent woes,
and the fact that he might possibly be spared to a successful
financial life, that now deterred her from speaking. He was
shut up in a cell, she said to herself, and she was really very
sorry for him, but she did not love him as she once had. He
was really too deserving of reproach for his general unseemly
conduct, and no doubt this was what was intended, as well
as being enforced, by the Governing Power of the world.
One can imagine how much such an attitude as this would
appeal to Cowperwood, once he had detected it. By a dozen
little signs, in spite of the fact that she brought him delicacies,
and commiserated on his fate, he could see that she felt not
only sad, but reproachful, and if there was one thing that Cow?
perwood objected to at all times it was the moral as well as the
ffnereal air. Contrasted with the cheerful combative hopeful-
ness and enthusiasm of Aileen, the wearied uncertainty of Mrs.
Cowperwood was, to say the teast,-a-little tame. Aileen, after
hér first burst of rage over his fate, which really did not develop
any tears on her part, was apparently convinced that he would
get out and be very successful again. She talked success and
his future all the time because she believed in it. Instinctively
she seemed to realize that prison walls could not make a prison
“tor him. Indeed, on the first day she left she handed Bonhag
ten dollars, and after thanking him in her attractive voice—
without showing her face, however—for his obvious kindness
to her, bespoke his further favor for Cowperwood—'a_very great
man,”—as-she-described him, which sealed that ambitious _mate-
rialist’s fate-completely.. There was nothing the overseer would
rot-de-for the young lady in the dark cloak. She might have
stayed in Cowperwood’s cell for a week if the visiting-hours of
the penitentiary had not made it impossible.
The day that Cowperwood decided to discuss with his wife
arried state and his desire to be

 

the weariness of his present mTLHE FUNANCTIER

 

468

free of it was some four months after he had entered the prison.
By-that time he-had-become inured to his convict life. The
silence of his cell and the menial tasks he was compelled to per-
form, which had at first been so distressing, banal, maddening,
in their pointless iteration, had now become merely common-
place—dull, but not painful. . Furthermore he had learned many
ofthe little resources of the solitary convict;.such as-that of
using his lamp to warm up some delicacy which he had saved
from a previous meal or from some basket which had been sent
him by his wife or Aileen. He had partially gotten rid of the
sickening odor of his cell by persuading Bonhag to bring him
small packages of lime, which he used with great freedom. Also
he succeeded in defeating some of the more venturesome rats
with traps; and with Bonhag’s permission, after his cell door
had been properly locked at night, and sealed with the outer
wooden door, he would take his chair, if it were not too cold,
out into the little back yard of his cell and look at the sky,
where, when the nights were clear, the stars were to be seen.
He had never taken any interest in astronomy as a scientific
study, but now the Pleiades, the belt of Orion, the Big Dipper
and the North Star, to which one of its lines pointed, caught
his attention, almost his fancy. He wondered why the stars
of the belt of Orion came to assume the peculiar mathematical
relation to each other which they held, as far as distance and
arrangement were concerned, and_whether_ that —could_pos-
sibly -have-any intellectual significance. “The nebulous con}
glomeration of the suns in Pleiades suggested a soundless depth
of space, and he thought of the earth floating like a little ball
in immeasurable reaches of ether. His own life appeared very
trivial in view of these things, and he found himself asking
whether it was all really of any significance or importance. He
shook these moods off with ease, however, for the man was
possessed of a sense of grandeur, largely in relation to himself and
his affairs, and his temperament was essentially material and
vital. Something kept telling him that whatever his present state
he must yet grow to be a significant personage, one whose fame
would be heralded the world over—who must try, try, try. It
was not given all men to see far or to do brilliantly; but to him
it was given, and he must be what he was cut out to be. There
was no more escaping the greatness that was inherent in himTHE FINANCIER 469

than there was for so many others the littleness that was in them.
Mrs. Cowperwood came in that afternoon quite solemnly, bear-
ing several changes of linen, a pair of sheets, some potted meat
and apie. She was-not exactly doleful, but Cowperwood. thought
that she was tending toward it, largely because of her brooding
over his relationship to Aileen, which he knew that she knew!
Something in her manner decided him to speak before she left;
and after asking her how the children were, and listening to
her inquiries in regard to the things that he needed, he said to
her, sitting on his single chair while she sat on his bed:
“Lillian, there’s something I’ve been wanting to talk with
you about for some time. I should have done it before, but it’s
better late than never. I know that you know that there is
something between Aileen Butler and me, and we might as well
have it open and aboveboard. It’s true I am very fond of her
and she is very devoted to me, and if ever I get out of here I
want to arrange it so that I can marry her. That means that
you will have to give me a divorce, if you will; and I want
to talk to you about that now. This can’t beso very much of
a surprise to you, because you must have seen this long while
that our relationship hasn’t been all that it might have been,
afd under the circumstances this can’t prove such a very great
hardship to you—I am sure.” He paused, waiting, for Mrs.
Cowperwood at first said nothing.
Her thought, when he first broached this, was that she ought
to make some demonstration of astonishment or wrath; but
when she looked into his steady, examining eyes, so free from the
‘Jlusion of or interest in demonstrations of any kind, she realized
how useless it would be. He was so utterly matter-of-fact in
what seemed to her quite private and secret affairs—very shame-
less. She had never been able to understand quite how he could
take the subtleties of life as he did, anyhow. Certain things
which she always fancied should be hushed up he spoke of with
the greatest nonchalance. Her ears tingled sometimes at his
frankness in disposing of a social situation; but she thought this
must be characteristic of notable men, and so there was nothing
to be said about it. Certain men did as they pleased; society
did not seem to be able to deal with them in any way. Perhaps
God would, later—she was not sure. Anyhow, bad as he was,
direct as he was, forceful as he was, he was far more interesting470 THE FINANCIER

than most of the more conservative types in whom the social
virtues of polite speech and modest thoughts were seemingly
predominate.

“I know,” she said, rather peacefully, although with a touch
of anger and resentment in her voice. “I’ve known all about it
all this time. I expected you would say something like this to
me some day. It’s-a_nice reward for all-my~devotion to—you;
but it’s just like you, Frank>~When-you~are.set_on_something,
nothing can stop-you. It wasn’t enough that you were getting
along so nicely and had two children whom you ought to love,
but you had to take up with this Butler creature until her name
and yours are a by-word throughout the city. I know that she
comes to this prison. I saw her out here one day as I was
coming in, and I suppose every one else knows it by now. _She
has no sense of decency and she does not care—the wretched,
vain thing—but I would have thought that you would be
ashamed, Frank, to go on the way that you have, when you still
have me and the children and your father and mother and when
you are certain to have such a hard fight to get yourself on your
feet, as it is. If she had any sense of decency she would not
have anything to do with you—the shameless thing.”

Cowperwood looked at his wife with unflinching eyes. He
read in her remarks just what his observation had long since
confirmed—that she was sympathetically out of touch with him.
She was no longer so attractive physically, and intellectually
she was not Aileen’s equal. Also that contact with those women
who had deigned to grace his home in his greatest hour of pros-
perity had proved to him conclusively she was lacking in certain
social graces. Aileen was by no means so vastly better, still she
was young and amenable and adaptable, and could still be im-
prowed. Opportunity as he now chose to think, might make
Aileen, whereas for Lillian—or at least, as he now saw it—it
could do nothing.

“Tl tell you how it is, Lillian,” he said; “I’m not sure that
you are going to get what I mean exactly, but you and IJ are
not at all well suited to each other any more.”

“You didn’t seem to think that three or four years ago,”
interrupted his wife, bitterly.

“T married you when I was twenty-one,’ went on Cowper-
wood, quite-brutally, not paying any attention to her interrup-

>THE FINANCIER 471

tion, “and—-was-really_too-young to know- what-I was doing,
I was.a-mere boy. It doesn’t make so much difference about
that. I am not using that as an excuse. The point that I am
trying to make is this—that right or wrong, important or not
important, I have changed my mind since. I don't love you
any more, and I don’t feel that I want to keep up a relation-
ship, however it may look to the public, that is not satisfactory
to me. You have one point of view about life, and I have
another. You think your point of view is the right one, and
there are thousands of people who will agree with you; but I
don’t think so. We have never quarreled about these things,
because I didn’t think it was important to quarrel about them.
I don’t see under the circumstances that I am doing you any
great injustice when I ask you to let me go. I don’t intend to
desert you or the children—you will get a good living-income
from me as long as I have the money to give it to you—but I
want my personal freedom when I come out of here, if ever I
do, and I want you to let me have it. The money that you had
and a great deal more, once I am out of here, you will get back
when I am on my feet again. But not if you oppose me—only
if you help me. I want, and intend to help you always—but
in my way.”

He smoothed the leg of his prison trousers in a thought-
ful way, and plucked at the sleeve of his coat. Just now he
looked very much like a highly intelligent workman as he sat
here, rather than like the important personage that he was.

Mrs. Cowperwood was very resentful.

“That’s a nice way to talk to me, and a nice way to treat me!”
she exclaimed dramatically, rising and walking the short space—
some two steps—that lay between the wall and the bed. “I
might have known that you were too young to know your own
mind when you married me. Money, of-course, that’s_all you
think of and your own gratification. 1 don’t believe you_have
apy-sense of justice-in-you. 1 don’t believe you ever_had. You
only-think of yourself, Frank. I never-saw-such a man as you.
You have treated me-like a dog all through this affair ; and all
the while you have been running with that little snip of an
Irish thing, and telling her all about your affairs, 1 suppose.
You let me go on believing that you cared for me up to the
last moment, and then you suddenly step up and tell me that472

 

   

THE FINANCIER

you want a divorce. I'll not do it. Ill not give you a divorce,
and you needn’t think it.”

Cowperwood listened in silence. His position, in so far as
this marital tangle was concerned, as he saw, was very advan-
tageous. He was a convict, constrained by the exigencies of his
position to be out of personal contact with his wife for a long
period of time to come, which should naturally tend to school her
to do without him. When he came out, it would be very easy for
her to get a divorce from a convict, particularly if she could al-
lege misconduct with another woman, which he would not deny.
At the same time, he hoped to keep Aileen’s name out of it. Mrs.
Cowperwood, if she would, could give any false name if he
made no contest. Besides, she was _not-~a~very~strong—person,
~intellectually speaking. ~He ‘could»bend-her to~his~will. There
was no need of saying much more now; the ice had been broken,
the situation had been put before her, and time should do the rest.

“Don’t be dramatic, Lillian,” he commented, indifferently.
“T’m not such a loss to you if you have enough to live on. I
don’t think I want to live in Philadelphia if ever I come out of
here. My idea now is to go west, and I think I want to go
alone. I sha’n’t get married right away again even if you do
give me a divorce. I don’t care to take anybody along. It would
be better for the children if you would stay here and divorce me.
The public would think better of them and you.”

“T’ll not do it,” declared Mrs. Cowperwood, emphatically.
“Tl never-do it, never; so there! You can say what you choose.
You owe it to me to stick by me and the children after all I’ve
done for you, and I'll not do it. You needn’t ask me any more;
I'll not do it.”

“Very well,” replied Cowperwood, quietly, getting up. “We
needn’t talk about it any more now. Your time is nearly up,

”
anyhow.

(Twenty minutes was supposed to be the regular

allotment for visitors.) “Perhaps you'll change your mind

sometime.”

She gathered up her muff and the shawl-strap in which she
had carried her gifts, and turned to go. It had been her custom
to kiss Cowperwood in a make-believe way up to this time, but
now she was too angry to make this pretense. And yet-she was
sorry, too—sorry for herself and, she thought, for him.

“Frank,”

she declared, dramatically, at-the-last moment, “ITHE FINANCIER 473

never saw such a man as you. I don’t believe you have any

heart. You’re not worthy of a good wife. You're worthy of *
just such a woman as you're getting. ‘The idea!’ Suddenly

tears came to her eyes, and she flounced scornfully and yet sor-

rowfully out.

Cowperwood stood there. At least there would be no more
useless kissing between them, he congratulated himself. It was
hard_in_a way, but purely from an emotional point of view.
He was not doing her any essential injustice, he reasoned—not an
economic one—which was the important thing. She was angry
to-day, but she would get over it, and in time might come to see
his_point of view. Who could tell? At any rate he had made
it plain to her what he intended to do and that was something
as he saw it. He reminded one of nothing so much, as he-stood
there, as of a young chicken picking its way out of the shell of an
old estate. Although he was in a cell of a penitentiary, with
nearly four years more to serve, yet obviously he felt, within
himself, that the whole world was still before him. He could go
west if he could not reéstablish himself in Philadelphia; but he
must stay here long enough to win the approval of those who
had known him formerly—to obtain, as it were, a letter of credit
which he could carry to other parts.

“Hard words break no bones,” he said to himself, as his
wife went out. “A man’s never done till he’s done. Tl show
some_of these people yet.” Of Bonhag, who came to close
the cell door, he asked whether it was going to rain, it looked
so dark in the hall.

“Tt’s sure to before night,” replied Bonhag, who was always
wondering over Cowperwood’s tangled affairs as he heard them
retailed here and there.CHAPTER LVII

 

HE time that Cowperwood spent in the Eastern Peniten-
tiary of Pennsylvania was exactly thirteen months from
the day of his entry to his discharge. The influences which
brought about this result were partly of his willing,and-partly
not. For one thing, some six months after his incarceration,
Edward Malia Butler died, expired sitting in his chair in his
private office at his home. “The conduct of Aileen had been a
great strain on him. From the time Cowperwood had been sen=
tenced, and more particularly after the time he had cried on
Aileen’s shoulder in prison, she had turned on her father in an
almost_brutal way. Her attitude, unnatural for a child, was
quite explicable as that of a tortured sweetheart. Cowperwood
had told her that he thought Butler was using his influence to
withhold a pardon for him, even though one were granted to
Stener, whose life in prison he had been following with consid-
erable interest; and this had enraged her beyond measure. She
lost no chance of being practically insulting to her father, ig-
noring him on every occasion, refusing as often as possible to eat
at the same table, and when she did, sitting next her mother in
the place of Norah, with whom she managed to exchange. She
refused to sing or play any more when he was present, and per-
sistently ignored the large number of young political aspirants
who came to the house, and whose presence in a way had been en-
couraged for her benefit. Old Butler realized, of course, what
it was all about. He said nothing. He could not placate her.
Her mother and brothers did not understand it at all at first.
(Mrs. Butler never-understood.) But not long after Cowper-
wood’s incarceration Callum and Owen became aware of what
the trouble was. Once, when Owen was coming away from
a reception at one of the houses where his growing financial
importance made him welcome, he heard one of two men whom
he knew casually, say to the other, as they stood at the door
adjusting their coats, “You saw where this fellow Cowperwood
got four years, didn’t you?”
474THE FINANCIER 475

“Yes,” replied the other. “A clever devil that—wasn’t he?
I knew that girl he was in with, too—you know who I mean—
Miss Butler—wasn’t that her name?”

Owen was not sure that he heard right. He did not get the
connection until the other guest, opening the door and stepping
out, remarked: “Well, old Butler got even, apparently. ‘They
say he sent him up.”

Owen’s brow clouded. A hard, contentious look came into his
eyes. He had much of his father’s force. What in the devil
were they talking about? What Miss Butler did they have in
mind? Could this be Aileen or Norah, and how could Cowper-
wood come to be in with either of them? It could not possibly
be Norah, he reflected; she was very much infatuated with a
young man whom he knew, and was going to marry him. Aileen
had been most friendly with the Cowperwoods, and had often
spoken well of the financier. Could it be she? He could not
believe it. He thought once of overtaking the two acquaintances
and demanding to know what they meant, but when he came out
on the step they were already some distance down the street and
in the opposite direction from that in which he wished to go.
He decided to ask his father about this.

On demand, old Butler confessed at once, but insisted that his
son keep silent about it.

“T wish I’d have known,” said Owen, grimly. “I’d have shot
the dirty dog.”

“Nisy, aisy,” said Butler. “Yer own life’s worth more than
his, and ye’d only be draggin’ the rest of yer family in the dirt
with him. He’s had somethin’ to pay him for his dirty trick,
Just ye say nothin’ to no one. Wait.

and he’ll have more.
Say nothin’ to her

He'll be wantin’ to get out in a year or two.
aither. Talkin’ won’t help there. She’ll come to her sinses
when he’s been away long enough, I’m thinkin’.”

Owerrhad tried to be-civil to his sister after th
a stickler for social perfection and advancement, and so
d not understand

at, but since he
was
eager to get up in the world himself, he coul
how she could possibly have done any such thing. ~ He resented
bitterly the stumbling-block she had put in his path. Now,
among other things, his enemies would have this to throw in his
face if they wanted to—and they would want to, trust life for

that.THE FINANCIER

 

 

476

Callum reached his knowledge of the matter in quite another
manner, but at about the same time. He was a member of an
athletic club which had an attractive building in the city, and a
fine country club, where he went occasionally to enjoy the
swimming-pool and the Turkish bath connected with it. One
of his friends approached him there in the billiard-room one
evening and said, “Say, Butler, you know I’m a good friend
of yours, don’t you?”

“Why, certainly, I know it,” replied Callum. “What’s the
matter?”

“Well, you know,” said the young individual, whose name
was Richard Pethick, looking at Callum with a look of almost
strained affection, “I wouldn’t come to you with any story that
I thought would hurt your feelings or that you oughtn’t to know
about, but I do think you ought to know about this.” He pulled
at a high white collar which was choking his neck.

“T know you wouldn’t, Pethick,” replied Callum, very much
interested. ‘‘What is it? What’s the point?”

“Well, I don’t like to say anything,” replied Pethick, “but
that fellow Hibbs is saying things around here about your sister.”

“What’s that?” exclaimed Callum, straightening up in the
most dynamic way and bethinking him~ofthe-approved_social
procedure-in—allsuch cases...He should be very angry. He
should demand and exact proper satisfaction in some form or
other—by blows very likely if-his-honor -had_been_in any way
impugned. “‘What is it he says about my sister? What right
has he to mention her name here, anyhow? He doesn’t know
her.”

Pethick affected to be greatly concerned lest he cause trouble
between Callum and Hibbs. He protested that he did not want
to, when, in reality, he was dying to tell. At last he came out
with, ‘“‘Why, he’s circulated the yarn that your sister had some-
thing to do with this man Cowperwood, who was tried here
recently, and that that’s why he’s just gone to prison.”

“What’s that?” exclaimed Callum, losing the make-believe of
the unimportant, and taking on the serious mien of some one who
feels desperately. ‘‘He says that, does he? Where is he? I
want to see if he’ll say that to me.”

Some of the stern fighting ability of his father showed in his
slender, rather refined young face.477

 

THE FINANCIER

“Now, Callum,” insisted Pethick, realizing-the genuifie storm
he had-raised, and being a little fearful of the result, “do be
careful what you say. You mustn’t have a row in here. You
know it’s against the rules. Besides he may be drunk. It’s
just some foolish talk he’s heard, I’m sure. Now, for goodness’
sake, don’t get so excited.” Pethick,—having_ evoked the_storm,
was not a little nervous as to its results in his own case. He, too,
as well as Callum, himself as the tale-bearer, might now be
involved.

But Callum by now was not so easily restrained. His face
was quite pale, and he was moving toward the old English grill-
room, where Hibbs happened to be, consuming a brandy-and-
soda with a friend of about his own age. Callum entered and

called him.

“Oh, Hibbs!” he said.

Hibbs, hearing his voice and seeing him in the door, arose
and came over. He was an interesting youth of the collegiate
type, educated at Princeton. He had heard the rumor concern-
ing Aileen from various sources—other members of the club,
for one—and had ventured to repeat it in Pethick’s presence.

“What's that you were just saying about my sister?” asked
Callum, grimly, looking Hibbs in the eye.

“Why—I—” hesitated Hibbs, who sensed trouble and was
He was not exceptionally brave and looked
it. His hair was straw-colored, his eyes blue, and his cheeks
pink. ‘“Why—nothing in particular. Who said I was talking
about her?” He looked at Pethick, whom he knew to be

the tale-bearer, and the latter exclaimed, excitedly:
“Now don’t you try to deny it, Hibbs. You know I heard

you?”
“Well, what did I say?” asked Hibbs, defiantly.

“Well, what did you say >” interrupted Callum, grimly, trans-
“That’s just what I want

eager to avoid it.

ferring the conversation to himself.

to know.”
“Why,” stammered Hibbs, nervously, “I don’t think I’ve said

anything that anybody else hasn’t said. I just repeated that
some one said that your sister had been very friendly with Mr.
Cowperwood. I didn’t say any more than I have heard other

people say around here.”

“Oh, you didn’t, did you?” exclaimed Callum, withdrawing478 THE FINANCTER

his hand from his pocket and slapping Hibbs in the face.
He repeated the blow with his left hand, fiercely. ‘Perhaps
that’ll teach you to keep my sister’s name out of your mouth,
you pup!”

Hibbs’s arms flew up. He was not without pugilistic train-
ing, and he struck back vigorously, striking Callum once in the
chest and once in the neck. In an instant the two rooms of
this suite were in an uproar. Tables and chairs were overturned
by the energy of men attempting to get to the scene of action.
The two combatants were quickly separated; sides were taken
by the friends of each, excited explanations attempted and defied.
Callum was examining the knuckles of his left hand, which were
cut from the blow he had delivered. He maintained a gentle-
manly calm. Hibbs, very much flustered and excited, insisted
that he had been most unreasonably used. The idea of attacking
him here. And, anyhow, as he maintained now, Pethick had been
both eavesdropping and lying about him. Incidentally, the latter
was protesting to others that he had done the only thing which an
honorable friend could do. It was a nine days’ wonder in the
club, and was only kept out of the newspapers by the most
strenuous efforts on the part of the friends of both parties. Cal-
lum was so outraged on discovering that there was some founda-
tion for the-rumor at the club in a general rumor which pre-
vailed that he tendered his resignation, and never went there
again.

“T wish to heaven you hadn’t struck that fellow,” counseled
Owen, when the incident was related to him. “It. will only
make-more-talk. She ought to leave this place; but she won’t.
She’s struck on that fellow yet, and we can’t tell Norah and
mother. We will never hear the last of this, you and I—be-
lieve me.”’

“Damn it, she ought to be made to go,” exclaimed Callum.

“Well, she won’t,” replied Owen. ‘Father has tried making
her, and she won’t go. Just let things stand. He’s in the peni-
tentiary now, and that’s probably the end of him. ‘The public
seem to think that father put him there, and that’s something.
Maybe we can persuade her to go after a while. I wish to God
we had never had sight of that fellow. If ever he comes out,
I’ve a good notion to kill him.” ‘

“Oh, I wouldn’t do anything like that,” replied Callum. “It’s

,THE FINANCIER 479

useless. It would only stir things up afresh. He’s done for,
anyhow.”

=They planned to urge Norah to marry as soon as possible.
And as for their feelings toward Aileen, it was a very chilly
atmosphere which Mrs. Butler contemplated from now on, much
to her confusion, grief, and astonishment.

In this divided world it was that Butler eventually found him;
self, all at sea as to what to think or what to do. He had brooded
so long now, for months, and as yet had found no solution. And
finally, in a form of religious despair, sitting at his desk, in his
business chair, he had collapsed—a weary and disconsolate man
of-seventy. A lesion of the left ventricle was the immediate
physical cause, although brooding over Aileen was in part the
His death could not-have~been laid to his grief
ly, for he was-a-very large man—apoplectic and
with sclerotic veins and arteries. For a great many years now
he had taken very little exercise, and his digestion had been con-
siderably impaired thereby. He was past seventy, and his time
had been reached. They found him there the next morning, his
hands folded in his lap, his head on his bosom, quite cold.

He was buried with honors out of St. Timothy’s Church, the
funeral attended by a large body of politicians and city officials,
who discussed secretly among themselves whether his grief over
his| daughter had anything to do with his end. All his good
deeds were remembered, of course, and Mollenhauer and Simp-
son sent great floral emblems in remembrance. “They were very
sorry that he was gone, for they had been a cordial three. -But
gone-he was, and that ended. their—interest in-the-matter.. He
left all of his property to his wife in one of the shortest wills
ever recorded locally.

“T give and bequeat
erty of whatsoever kind t

There was no misconstruing this.

cretly for her sometime before by
property should be disposed of by her at her death. It was But-
ler’s real will masquerading as hers, and she would not have
changed it for worlds; but he wanted her left in undisturbed
possession of everything until she should die. Aileen’s originally
assigned portion had never been changed. According to her
father’s will, which no power under the sun could have made

mental one.
over Aileen exact

h to my beloved wife, Norah, all my prop-
o be disposed of as she may see fitee

A private paper drawn se-
Butler, explained how the480 THE FINANCIER

   

Mrs. Butler alter, she was left $250,000 to be paid at Mrs. But-
ler’s death. Neither this fact nor any of the others contained in
the paper were communicated by Mrs. Butler, who retained it to
be left as her will. Aileen often wondered, but never sought to
know, what had been left her. Nothing, she fancied—but felt
that she could not help this.

Butler’s death led at once to a great change in the temper of
the home. After the funeral the family settled down to a seem=
ingly peaceful continuance of the old life; but it was a matter
of seeming merely. ‘The situation stood with Callum and Owen
manifesting a certain degree of contempt for Aileen, which she,
understanding, reciprocated. She was very haughty. Owen had
plans of forcing her to leave after Butler’s death, but he finally
asked himself what was the use. Mrs. Butler, who did not want
to leave the old home, was very fond of Aileen, so therein lay a
reason for letting her remain. Besides, any move to force her
out would have entailed an explanation to her mother, which was
not deemed advisable. Owen himself was interested in Caroline
Mollenhauer, whom he hoped some day to marry—as much for
her prospective wealth as for any other reason, though he was
quite fond of her. In the January following Butler’s death,
which occurred in August, Norah was married very quietly, and
the following spring Callum embarked on a similar venture.

In the meanwhile, with Butler’s death, the control of the
political situation had shifted considerably. A certain Tom
Collins, formerly one of Butler’s henchmen, but latterly a power
in the First, Second, Third, and Fourth Wards, where he had
numerous saloons and control of other forms of vice, appeared
as a Claimant for political recognition. Mollenhauer and Simp-
son had to consult him, as he could make very uncertain the
disposition of some hundred and fifteen thousand votes, a large
number of which were fraudulent, but which fact did not modify
their deadly character on occasion. Butler’s sons disappeared as
possible political factors, and were compelled to confine them-
selves to the street-railway and contracting business. ‘The par-
don of Cowperwood and Stener, which Butler would have op-
posed, because by keeping Stener in he kept Cowperwood in,
became ‘a much easier matter. “[he~scandal ofthe treasury de-
falcation was gradually dying down; the newspapers had ceased
to refer to it in-any way. Through Steger and Wingate, aTHE FINANCIER 481

large petition signed by all important financiers and brokers had
been sent to the Governor pointing out that Cowperwood’s trial
and conviction had been most unfair, and asking that he be
pardoned. ‘There was no need of any such effort, so far as Stener
was concerned; whenever_the_time seemed ripe the politicians
were quite ready to say to the Governor_that he ought to-let him
go. It was only because Butler had opposed Cowperwood’s re-
fease that they had hesitated. It was really not possible to let
out the one and ignore the other; and-this-petition,-coupled-with
Butler’s death, cleared the way very nicely.

Nevertheless, nothing was done until the March following
Butler’s death, when both Stener and Cowperwood had been in-
carcerated thirteen months—a length of time which seemed quite
sufficient to appease the anger of the public at large. In this
period Stener had undergone a considerable change physically
and mentally. In spite of the fact that a number of the minor
aldermen, who had profited in various ways by his largess, called
to see him occasionally, and that he had been given, as it were,
almost the liberty of the place, and that his family had not been
allowed to suffer, nevertheless he realized that his political and
social days were over. Somebody might now occasionally send
him a basket of fruit and assure him that he would not be com-
pelled to suffer much longer; but when he did get out, he knew
that he had nothing to depend on save his experience as an in-
surance agent and real estate dealer. That had been precarious
enough in the days when he was trying to get some small political
foothold. How would it be when he was known only as the
man who had looted the treasury of five hundred thousand dol-
lars and been sent to the penitentiary for five years? Who would
lend him the money wherewith to get a little start, even so much
as four or five thousand dollars? The people who were calling
to pay their respects now and then, and to assure him that he
had been badly treated? Never. All of them could honestly
claim that they had not so much to spare. If he had good se-
but if he had good security he would not
need to go to them at all. ‘The-man who would-have-actually
helped him if he had only known was Frank A. Cowperwood.
Stener could have confessed his-mistake, as Cowperwood.saw
it; and Cowperwood would have given him the money gladly,
without any thought of return. But by his poor understanding

curity to offer—yes;482 THE FINANCIER

   

of human nature, Stener considered that Cowperwood must be
an enemy of his, and he would not have had either the courage
or the business judgment to approach him.

During his incarceration Cowperwood had been slowly ac-
cumulating a little money through Wingate. He had paid
Steger considerable sums from time to time, until that worthy
finally decided that it would not be fair to take any more.

“If ever you get on your feet, Frank,” he said, “you can remem-
ber me if you want to, but I don’t think you’ll want to. _It’s
been.nothing but lose, Jose, lose for you through me. I’ll under-
take this matter of getting that appeal to the Governor without
any charge on my part. Anything.I_can_do-for_you_from—noyw
on is free gratis for nothing.”

“Oh, don’t talk nonsense, Harper,” replied Cowperwood. “I
don’t know of anybody that could have done better with my case.
Certainly there isn’t anybody that_I_would have trusted as much.
I don’t like-lawyers, you know.”

“Yes—well,” said Steger, “they've got nothing on financiers,
so we'll call it even.” And they shook hands.

So when it was finally decided to pardon Stener, which was in
the early part of March, 1873—Cowperwood’s pardon was nec-
essarily but gingerly included. A delegation, consisting of Stro-
bik, Harmon, and Winpenny, representing, as it was intended to
appear, the unanimous wishes of the council and the city adminis-
tration, and speaking for Mollenhauer and Simpson, who had
given their consent, visited the Governor at Harrisburg and made
the necessary formal representations which were intended to im-
press the public. At the same time, through the agency of
Steger, Davison, and Walter Leigh, the appeal in behalf of Cow-
perwood was made. The Governor, who had had instructions
beforehand from sources quite superior to this committee, was
very solemn about the whole procedure. He would take the mat-
ter under advisement. He would look into the history of the
crimes and the records of the two men. He could make no
promises—he would see. But in ten days, after allowing the
petitions to gather considerable dust in one of his pigeonholes and
doing absolutely nothing toward investigating anything, he issued
two separate pardons in writing. One, as a matter of courtesy,
he gave into the hands of Messrs. Strobik, Harmon, and Win-
penny, to bear personally to Mr. Stener, as they desired that heTH Eh ab GNEAgN © Pig 483

should. The other, on Steger’s request, he gave to him. ‘The
two committees which had called to receive them then departed ;
and the afternoon of that same day saw Strobik, Harmon, and
Winpenny arrive in one group, and Steger, Wingate, and Walter
Leigh in another, at the prison gate, but at different hours.CHAPTER LVIII

HIS matter of the pardon of Cowperwood, the exact time

of it, was kept a secret from him, though the fact that
he was to be pardoned soon, or that he had a very excellent
chance of being, had not been denied—rather had been made
much of from time to time. Wingate had kept him accurately
informed as to the progress being made, as had Steger; but
when it was actually ascertained, from the Governor’s private
secretary, that a certain day would see the pardon handed over
to them, Steger, Wingate, and Walter Leigh had agreed between
themselves that they would say nothing, taking Cowperwood
by surprise. They even went so far—that is, Steger and Win-
gate did—as to indicate to Cowperwood that there was some
hitch to the proceedings and that he might not now get out so
soon. Cowperwood was somewhat depressed, but properly
stoical ; he assured himself that he could wait, and-that he would
be all right sometime. He was rather surprised therefore, one
Friday afternoon, to see Wingate, Steger, and Leigh appear at
his cell door, accompanied by Warden Desmas.

The warden was quite pleased to think that Cowperwood
should finally be going out—he admired him_so much—and
decided to come along to the cell, to see how he would take his
liberation. On the way Desmas commented on the fact that
he had-always-been-a.model prisoner. “‘He kept a little garden
out there in that yard of his,’ he confided to Walter Leigh.
‘He had violets and pansies and geraniums out there, and they
did very well, too.”

Leigh smiled. It was like Cowperwood to be industrious and
tasteful, even in prison. Such a man could not be conquered.
“A very remarkable man, that,” he remarked to Desmas.

“Very,” replied the warden. ‘You can tell that by looking
at him.”

The four looked in through the barred door where he was
working, without being observed, having come up quite silently.

“Hard at it, Frank?” asked Steger.

484THE FINANCIER 485

Cowperwood glanced over his shoulder and got up. He had
been thinking, as always these days, of what he would do when
iae did get out.
“What is this,” he asked—“a political delegation?”
He suspected something on the instant. All four smiled cheer-
ingly, and Bonhag unlocked the door for the warden.
“Nothing very much, Frank,” replied Stezer, gleefully, ‘only
you're a free man. You can gather up your traps and come
right along, if you wish.”
Cowperwood surveyed his friends with a level gaze. He had
not expected this so soon aftei what had been told him. He was
not one to be very much, interested in the practical joke or the
surprise, but this pleased him—the sudden realization that he
was free. Still, he-had anticipated 1t~so long that the charm
of.it had been discounted toa certain extent. He had been. un-
happy here, and he had not. The shame and humiliation of it,
to begin with, had been much. Latterly, as he had become
inured to it /all, the sense of narrowness and humiliation had
worn off. /Only the consciousness of incarceration and delay
irked him/ Barring his intense desire for certain things—success
and vindication, principally—he found that he could live in his
narrow (cell and be fairly comfortable. He had long since
become jused to the limy smell (used to defeat a more sickening
one), and to the numerous rats which he quite regularly trapped.
He had learned to take an interest in chair-caning, having
becomé¢ so proficient that he could seat twenty in a day if he
chose,/and in working in the little garden in spring, summer,
and fall. Every evening he had studied the sky from his narrow
yard, which resulted curiously in the gift in later years of a
great} reflecting telescope to a famous university. He _had not
) looke'd-upon himself as an ordinary prisoner, by any means—had

not felt himself to be sufficiently punished if areal crime-had
From Bonhag he had learned the history of
arcerated, from murderers up and down,
and/many had been pointed out to him from time to time. He
had! been escorted into the general yard by Bonhag, had seen the
general food of the place being prepared, had heard of Stener’s
modified life here, and so forth. It_had finally struck him that
‘t Wwas not so bad, only that the delay to an individual like him-
He could do so much-now.if he were out and

beer, involved.
many criminals here inc

self was wasteful.486 THEI N AN Cl ER

did not have to fight court proceedings. Courts and jails! He
shook his head when he thought of the waste involved in them.

“That’s all right,” he said, looking around him in an uncertain
way. “I’m ready.”

He stepped out into the hall, with scarcely a farewell glance,
and to Bonhag, who was grieving greatly over the loss of so
profitable a customer, he said: “I wish you would see that some
of these things are sent over to my house, Walter. You're
welcome to the chair, that clock, this mirror, those pictures—
all of these things in fact, except my linen, razors, and so forth.”

The last little act of beneficence soothed Bonhag’s lacerated
soul a little. They went out into the receiving overseer’s office,
where Cowperwood laid aside his prison suit and the soft shirt
with a considerable sense of relief. The clog shoes had long
since been replaced by a better pair of his own. He put on the
derby hat and gray overcoat he had worn the year before, on
entering, and expressed himself as ready. At the entrance of
the prison he turned and looked back—one last glance—at the
iron door leading into the garden.

“You don’t regret leaving that, do you, Frank?” asked Steger,
curiously.

“T do not,” replied Cowperwood. “It wasn’t that I was
thinking of. It was just the appearance of it, that’s all.”’

In another minute they were at the outer gate, where Cowper-
wood shook the warden finally by the hand. ‘Then entering
a carriage outside the large, impressive, Gothic entrance, the
gates were locked behind them and they were driven away.

‘Well, there’s an end of that, Frank,” observed Steger, zayly;
“that will never bother you any more.”

“Yes,” replied Cowperwood. “It’s worse to see it coming
than going.”

“Tt seems to me we ought to celebrate this occasion in some
way,” observed Walter Leigh. “It won’t do just to take Frank
home. Why don’t we all go down to Green’s? That’s a ;red.
idea.”

“T’d rather not, if you don’t mind,” replied Cowperwood, fing
ingly. “I'll get together with you all, later. Just now I’d
to go home and change these clothes.” vas

He was thinking of Aileen and his children and his mot LY:
and father and of his whole future. Life was going to broadTHE FINANCIER 487

out for him considerably from now on, he was sure of it. He
had learned so much about taking care of himself in those
thirteen months. He was going to see Aileen, and find how
she felt about things in general, and then he was going to
resume some such duties as he had had in his own concern, with
Wingate & Co. He was going to secure a seat on change again,
through his friends; and, to escape the-effect of the-prejudice-of
those who might not care to do business with an ex-convict,-he
was going to act as general outside man, and floor man onchange,
for Wingate & Co. His practical control of--that~could not
be publicly proved. Now for Some important development in
the market—some slump or something. He would show the
world whether he was a failure or not.

They let him down in front of his wife’s little cottage, and
he entered briskly in the gathering gloom.

On September 18, 1873, at twelve-fifteen of a brilliant autumn
day, in the city of Philadelphia, one of the most startling finan-
cial tragedies that the world has ever seen had its commence-
ment. The banking house of Jay Cooke & Co., the foremost
financial organization of America, doing business at Number
114 South Third Street in Philadelphia, and with branches in
New York, Washington, and London, closed its doors. “Those
who know anything about the fnancial crises of the United States
know well the significance of the panic which followed. It
histories as the panic of 1873, and the wide-

is spoken of in all
hich followed was practically unpre-

spread ruin and disaster w
cedented in American history.

At this time Cowperwood, once more a br
broker’s agent—was doing business ‘1 South Third Street, and
representing Wingate & Co. on ’change. During the six months
which had elapsed since he had emerged from the Eastern Peni-
tentiary he had been quietly resuming financial, if not social, re-
ho had known him-~before:
ate & Co. were prospering, and had been
hich redounded to his credit with those
o knew. Ostensibly he lived with his wife in a small house
North Twenty-first Street. In reality he occupied a bachelor
North Fifteenth Street, to which Aileen occa-
d. he difference between himself and his wife

oker—ostensibly a

man ns with those w
and urthermore, Wing
had some time, a fact w

geni

mo:
it wartment on

se] nally repaire488 RHE WI NAN CLER

had now become a matter of common knowledge in the family,
and, although there were some faint efforts made to smooth
the matter over, no good resulted. The difficulties of the past
two years had so inured his parents to expect the untoward and
exceptional that, astonishing as this was, it did not shock them so
much as it would have years before. “They were too.much
frightened by life to quarrel with its weird developments. “They
could only hope and pray for the best.

The Butler family, on the other hand, what there was of it,
had become indifferent to Aileen’s conduct. She was ignored
by her brothers and Norah, who now knew all; and her mother
was so taken up with religious devotions and brooding contem-
plation of her loss that she was not as active in her observa-
tion of Aileen’s life as she might have been. Besides, Cowper-
wood and his mistress were more circumspect in their conduct
than they had ever been before. “Their.moyements_were.more
carefully guarded, though the result-wasthe’same. Cowperwood
was thinking of the West—of reaching some slight local stand-
ing here in Philadelphia, and then, with perhaps one hundred
thousand dollars in capital, removing to the boundless prairies of
which he had heard so much—Chicago, Fargo, Duluth, Sioux
City, places then heralded in Philadelphia and the East as coming
centers of great life—and taking Aileen with him. Although
the problem of marriage with her was insoluble unless Mrs.
Cowperwood should formally agree to give him up—a possibility
which was not manifest at this time, neither he nor Aileen were
deterred by that thought. They were going to build.a future
together—or so they thought, marriage or no.marriage. ‘The
only thing which Cowperwood could see to do was to take Aileen
away with him, and to trust to time and absence to modify his
wife’s point of view.

This particular panic, which was destined to mark a notable
change in Cowperwood’s career, was one of those peculiar things
which spring naturally out of the optimism of the American
people and the irrepressible progress of the country. It was
the result, to be accurate, of the prestige and ambition of Jay
Cooke, whose early training and subsequent success had all been
acquired in Philadelphia, and who had since become the foremost
financial figure of his day. It would be useless to attempt to
trace here the rise of this man to distinction; it need only bePe tes rt be

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
     

THE FINANCIER 489

said’ that by suggestions which he made and methods which he
devised the Union government, in its darkest hours, was able
‘o| raise the money wherewith to continue the struggle against
the South. After the Civil War this man, who had built up
a tremendous banking business in Philadelphia, with great
branches in New York and Washington, was at a loss for some
time for some significant thing to do, some-constructive work
which would be worthy of his -genius..-[he war was over; the
only thing which remained was the finances of peace, and the
greatest things in American financial enterprise were those
related to the construction’ of transcontinental railway lines.
The Union Pacific, authorized in 1860, was already building;
the Northern Pacific and the Southern Pacific were already
dreams in various pioneer minds. The great thing was to con-
nect the Atlantic and the Pacific by steel, to bind up the ter-
ritorially perfected and newly solidified Union, or to enter upon
some vast project of mining, of which gold and silver were the
most important. Actually railway-building was the most sig-
nificant of all, and railroad stocks were far and away the most
valuable and important on every exchange in America. Here in
Philadelphia, New York Central, Rock Island, Wabash, Cen-
tral Pacific, St. Paul, Hannibal & St. Joseph, Union Pacific,
and Ohio & Mississippi were freely traded in. There were
men who were getting rich and famous out of handling these
things; and such towering figures as Cornelius Vanderbilt,
Jay Gould, Daniel Drew, James Fish, and others in the East,
and Fair, Crocker, W. R. Hearst, and Collis P. Huntington,
in the West, were already raising their heads like vast mountains
in connection with these enterprises. Among those who dreamed
most ardently on this score was Jay Cooke, who without the
wolfish-cunning of a Gould or the practical knowledge of a
Vanderbilt, was ambitious to thread the northern reaches of
America with a band of steel which should be a permanent
memorial to his name.

The project which fascinated him most was one that related
to the development of the territory then lying almost unexplored
between the extreme western shore of Lake Superior, where
Duluth now stands, and that portion of the Pacific Ocean into
which the Columbia River empties—the extreme northern one-

i third of the United States. Here, if a railroad were built,490 re EENAN Gah R

 

would spring up great cities and prosperous towns. ‘There were,
it was suspected, mines of various metalsein the region of the
Rockies which this railroad would traverse, and untold wealth
to be reaped from the fertile corn and wheat lands. Products
brought only so far east as Duluth could then be shipped
to the Atlantic, via the Great Lakes and the Erie Canal, at
a greatly reduced cost. It was a vision of empire, not unlike
the Panama Canal project of the same period, and one that
bade fair apparently to be as useful to humanity. It had
aroused the interest and enthusiasm of Cooke. Because of
the fact that the government had made a grant of vast areas
of land on either side of the proposed track to the corporation
that should seriously undertake it and complete it within a
reasonable number of years, and because of the opportunity it
gave him of remaining a distinguished public figure, he had
eventually shouldered the project. It was open to many objec-
tions and criticisms; but the genius which had been sufficient
to finance the Civil War was considered sufficient to finance the
Northern Pacific Railroad. Cooke undertook it with the idea
of being able to put the merits of the proposition before the
people direct—not through the agency of any great financial
corporation—and of selling to the butcher, the baker, and the
candlestick-maker the stock or shares that he wished to dis-
pose of.

It was a brilliant chance. His genius had worked out the
sale of great government loans during the Civil War to the
people direct in this fashion. Why not Northern Pacific cer-
tificates? For several years he conducted a pyrotechnic cam-
paign, surveying the territory in question, organizing great rail-
way-construction corps, building hundreds of miles of track
under most trying conditions, and selling great blocks of his
stock, on which interest of a certain percentage was guaranteed.
If it had not been that he knew little of railroad-building, per-
sonally, and that the project was so vast that it could not well
be encompassed by one man, even so great a man, it might
have proved successful, as under subsequent management it did.
However, hard times, the war between France and Germany,
which tied up European capital for the time being and made it
indifferent to American projects, envy, calumny, a certain per-
centage of mismanagement, all conspired to wreck it. On Sep-THE BINANCTER 491

vember 18, 1873, at twelve-fifteen noon, Jay Cooke & Co. failed
for approximately eight million dollars and the Northern Pacific
for all that had been invested in it—some fifty million dollars
more.

One can imagine what the result was—the most important
fnancier and the most distinguished railway enterprise collapsing
at one and the same time. “A financial thunderclap in a clear
sky,” said the Philadelphia Press. “No one could have been
more surprised,” said the Philadelphia Inquirer, “if snow had
fallen amid the sunshine of a summer noon.” ‘The public, which
by Cooke’s previous tremendous success had been lulled into
believing him invincible, could not understand it. It was be-
yond belief. Jay Cooke fail? Impossible, or anything con-
nected with him. Nevertheless, he had failed; and the New
York Stock Exchange, after witnessing a number of crashes imme-
diately afterward, closed for eight days. The Lake Shore Rail-
road failed to pay a call-loan of one million seven hundred and
fifty thousand dollars; and the Union Trust Company, allied to
the Vanderbilt interests, closed its doors after withstanding a
prolonged run. The National Trust Company of New York
had eight hundred thousand dollars of government securities
in its vaults, but not a dollar could be borrowed upon them;
and it suspended. Suspicion was universal,.rumor-—affected
every one.

In Philadelphia, when the news reached the stock exchange,
it came first in the form of a brief despatch addressed to the
stock board from the New York Stock Exchange—“Rumor on
street of failure of Jay Cooke & Co. Answer.” It was not
believed, and so not replied to. Nothing was thought of it.
The world of brokers paid scarcely.any attention to_it. Cow-
perwood, who had followed the fortunes of Jay Cooke & Co.
with considerable suspicion of its president’s brilliant theory of
vending his wares direct to the people—was perhaps the only one
who had suspicions. He had once written a brilliant criticism to
some inquirer, in which he had said that no enterprise of such
magnitude as the Northern Pacific had ever before been entirely
dependent upon one house, or rather upon one man, and that he
did not like it. ‘I am not sure that the lands through which
the road runs are so unparalleled in climate, soil, timber, minerals,
etc., as Mr. Cooke and his friends would have us believe.492 THE FINANCIER

Neither do I think that the road can at present, or for many
years to come, earn the interest which its great issues of stock
call for. ‘There is-great-danger-and-risk-there.”

So when the notice was posted, he looked at it, wondering
what the effect would be if by any chance Jay Cooke & Co.
should fail.

He was not long in wonder. A second despatch posted on
‘change read: ‘New York, September 18th. Jay Cooke & Co.
have suspended.”

Cowperwood could not» believe it...He was beside himself
with the thought of a great opportunity. In company with
every other broker, he hurried into Third Street and up to
Number 114, where the famous old banking house was located,
in order to be sure. Despite his natural. dignity.and reserve,
he did not hesitate to run. If this were true, a great hour had
struck. “There would be wide-spread panic and disaster. There
would be a terrific slump in prices of all stocks. He must be
in the thick of it. Wingate must be on hand, and his two
brothers. He must tell them how to sell and when and what to
buy. His great hour had come!CHAPTER LIX
HE banking house of Jay Cooke & Co., in spite of its

tremendous significance as a banking and promoting, con-

cern, was a most unpretentious affair, four stories and a half
in height, of gray stone and red brick. It had never been deemed
a handsome or comfortable banking house. Cowperwood had
been there often. Wharf-rats as long as the forearm of a man
crept up the culverted channels of Dock Street to run through
the apartments at will. Scores of clerks worked under gas-jets,
where light and air were not any too abundant, keeping track
of the firm’s vast accounts. It was next door to the Girard
National Bank, where Cowperwood’s friend Davison still
flourished, and where the principal financial business of the street
converged. As Cowperwood ran he met his brother Edward,
who was coming to the stock exchange with some word for him
from Wingate.

“Run and get Wingate and Joe,” he said. ‘“There’s some-
thing big on this afternoon. Jay Cooke has failed.”

Edward waited for no other word, but hurried off as directed.

Cowperwood reached Cooke & Co. among the earliest. To
his utter astonishment, the solid brown-oak doors, with which he
was familiar, were shut, and a notice posted on them, which
he quickly read, ran:

September 18, 1873.

To THE Purric—We regret to be obliged to announce that, owing to
unexpected demands on us, our firm has been obliged to suspend pay-
ment. In a few days we will be able to present a statement to our
creditors. Until which time we must ask their patient consideration.

We believe our assets to be largely in excess of our liabilities.
Jay Cooke & Co.

eam of triumph sprang into Cowperwood’s
eye. In company with many others he turned and ran back
toward the exchange, while a reporter, who had come for infor-
mation, knocked at the massive doors of the banking house, and
was told by a porter, who peered out of a diamond-shaped
493

A magnificent gl494 TH FINAN ClER

aperture, that Jay Cooke had gone home for the day and was
not to be seen.

“Now,” thought Cowperwood, to whom this panic spelled
opportunity, not ruin, “Ill get my innings. I'll go short of this
—of everything.”

Before, when the panic following the Chicago fire had oc-
curred, he had been long—had been compelled to stay long of
many things in order to protect himself. To-day he had
nothing to speak of—perhaps a paltry seventy-five thousand
dollars which he had managed to scrape together. “Thank God!
he had only the reputation of Wingate’s old house to lose, if
he lost, which was nothing. With it as a trading agency behind
him—with it as an excuse for his presence, his right to buy and
sell—he had everything to gain. Where many men were think-
ing of ruin, he was thinking of success. He would have
Wingate and his two brothers under him to execute his orders
exactly. He could pick up a fourth and a fifth man if neces-
sary. He would give them orders to sell—everything—ten,
fifteen, twenty, thirty points off, if necessary, in order to trap
the unwary, depress the..market, frighten the fearsome who
would think he was too daring; and then he would buy, buy,
buy, below these figures as much as possible, in order to cover
his sales and reap a profit.

His instinct told him how widespread and enduring this
panic would. be. The Northern Pacific was a hundred-million-
dollar venture. It involved the savings of hundreds of thou-
sands of people—small bankers, tradesmen, preachers, lawyers,
doctors, widows, institutions all over the land, and all resting
on the faith and security of Jay Cooke. Once, not unlike
the Chicago fire map, Cowperwood had seen a grand pro-
spectus and map of the location of the Northern Pacific land-
grant which Cooke had controlled, showing a vast stretch or
belt of territory extending from Duluth—‘“The Zenith City
of the Unsalted Seas,” as Proctor Knott, speaking in the
House of Representatives, had sarcastically called it—through
the Rockies and the headwaters of the Missouri to the Pacific
Ocean. He had seen how Cooke had ostensibly managed to
get control of this government grant, containing millions upon
millions of acres and extending fourteen hundred miles in
length; but it was only a vision of empire. “There might beTHE FINANCIER 495

silver and gold and copper mines there. The land was usable
—would some day be usable. But what of it now? It would
do to fire the imaginations of fools with—nothing more. It
was inaccessible, and would remain so for years to come. No
doubt thousands had subscribed to build this road; but, too,
thousands would now fail if it had failed. Now the crash had
come. ‘The grief and the rage of the public would be intense.
For days and days and weeks and months, normal confidence
and courage would be gone. ‘This was his hour.."Phis..was_his
great moment. Like a wolf prowling under glittering, bitter
stars in the night, he was looking down into the humble folds
of simple men and seeing what their ignorance and their un-
sophistication would cost them.

He hurried back to the exchange, the very same room in which
only two years before he had fought his losing fight, and, find-
ing that his partner and his brother had not yet come, began
to sell everything in sight. Pandemonium had broken loose.
Boys and men were fairly tearing in from all sections with
orders from panic-struck brokers to sell, sell, sell, and later
with orders to buy; the various trading-posts were reeling,
swirling masses of brokers and their agents. Outside in the
street, in front of Jay Cooke & Co., Clark & Co., the Girard
National Bank, and other institutions, immense crowds were
beginning to form. They were hurrying here to learn the trou-
ble, to withdraw their deposits, to protect their interests gen-
erally. A policeman arrested a boy for calling out the failure
of Jay Cooke & Co., but nevertheless the news of the great
disaster was spreading like wild-fire.

Among~these..panic-struck men Cowperwood was perfectly
calm; deadly cold, the same Cowperwood. who. had pegged
solemnly at his ten chairs each day in prison, who had baited
his traps for rats, and worked in the little garden allotted him
“1 utter silence and loneliness. Now he was vigorous and ener-
He had been just sufficiently about this exchange floor once
ave made his personality impressive and distinguished.
into the center of swirling crowds of men
yatever was being

getic.
more to h
He forced his way
already shouting themselves hoarse, offering wl
offered in quantities which were astonishing, and at prices which
allured the few who were anxious to make money out of the

tumbling prices to buy. New York Central had been standing496 THE FINANCIER

at 104%% when the failure was announced; Rhode Island at
1087; Western Union at 921%4; Wabash at 7014; Panama at
1173@; Central Pacific at 995@; St. Paul at 51; Hannibal &
St. Joseph at 48; Northwestern at 63; Union Pacific at 2634 ;
Ohio and Mississippi at 3834. Cowperwood’s house had
scarcely any of the stocks on hand. They were not carrying
them for any customers, and yet he sold, sold, sold, to who-
ever would take, at prices which he felt sure would inspire them.

“Five thousand of New York Central at ninety-nine, ninety-
eight, ninety-seven, ninety-six, ninety-five, ninety-four, ninety-
three, ninety-two, ninety-one, ninety, eighty-nine,” you might
have heard him call; and when his sales were not sufficiently
brisk he would turn to something else—Rock Island, Panama,
Central Pacific, Western Union, Northwestern, Union Pacific.
He saw his brother and Wingate hurrying in, and stopped in
his work long enough to instruct them. “Sell everything you
can,” he cautioned them quietly, “at fifteen points off if you
have to—no lower than that now—and buy all you can below it.
Ed, you see if you cannot buy up some local street-railways at
fifteen off. Joe, you stay near me and buy when IJ tell you.”

The secretary of the board appeared on his little platform.

“EK. W. Clark & Company,” he announced, at one-thirty,
“have just closed their doors.”

“Tighe & Company,” he called, at one-forty-five, ‘announce
that they are compelled to suspend.”

“The First National Bank of Philadelphia,” he called, at two
o'clock, “begs to state that it cannot at present meet its obliga-
tions.”

After each announcement, always, as in the past, when the
gong had compelled silence, the crowd broke into an ominous
“Aw, aw, aw.”

“Tighe & Company,” thought Cowperwood, for a single sec-
ond, when he heard it. ‘““There’s an end of him.” And then
he returned to his task.

When the time for closing came, his coat torn, his collar
twisted loose, his necktie ripped, his hat lost, he emerged sane,
quiet, steady-mannered.

“Well, Ed,” he inquired, meeting his brother, “how’d you
make out?”

The latter was equally torn, scratched, exhausted.eye ere ee ere rere Per Pe

  

THE FINANCIER 497

“Christ,” he replied, tugging at his sleeves, “I never saw such
a place as this. ‘They almost tore my clothes off.”

“Buy any local street-railways?”

“About five thousand shares.”

“We'd better go down to Green’s,” Frank observed, referring
to the lobby of the principal hotel. “We're not through yet.
There'll be more trading there.”

He led the way to find Wingate and his brother Joe, and
together they were off, figuring up some of the larger phases of
their purchases and sales as they went.

And, as he predicted, the excitement did not end with the
coming of the night. The crowd lingered in front of Jay
Cooke & Co.’s on Third Street and in front of other insti-
tutions, waiting apparently for some development which would
be favorable to them. For the initiated the center of debate
and agitation was Green’s Hotel, where on the evening of the
eighteenth the lobby and corridors were crowded with bankers,
brokers, and speculators. The stock exchange had practically
adjourned to that hotel en masse. What of the morrow? Who
would be the next to fail? From whence would money be
forthcoming? ‘These were the topics from each mind and upon
each tongue. From New York was coming momentarily more
news of disaster. Over there banks and trust companies were
falling like trees in a hurricane. Cowperwood-in-his perambu-
lations, seeing what he could see and hearing what he could
hear, reaching understandings which were against the rules of
the exchange, but which were nevertheless in accord with what
every..other person was doing, saw about him men known to
him as agents of Mollenhauer and Simpson, and congratulated
himself that he would have something to collect from them
before the week was over. He might not own a street-railway,
but he would have the means to. He learned from hearsay, and

‘nformation which had been received from New York and
elsewhere, that things were as bad as they could be, and that
there was no hope for those who expected a speedy return of
normal conditions. No thought of retiring for the night entered
until the last man was gone. It was then practically morning.

The next day was Friday, and suggested many ominous things.
Would it be another Black Friday? Cowperwood was at his
office before the street was fairly awake. He figured out his498 THE FINANCIER

program for the day to a nicety, feeling strangelydifferent
from the way.he had felt two years before when the-conditions
were not dissimilar. Yesterday, in spite of the sudden onslaught,
he had made one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, and he
expected to make as much, if not more, to-day. “There was no
telling what he could make, he thought, if he could only keep
his small organization in perfect trim and get his assistants to
follow his orders exactly. Ruin for others began early with
the suspension of Fisk & Hatch, Jay Cooke’s faithful lieutenants
during the Civil War. They had calls upon them for one
million five hundred thousand dollars in the first fifteen min-
utes after opening the doors, and at once closed them again, the
failure being ascribed to Collis P. Huntington’s Central Pacific
Railroad and the Chesapeake & Ohio. There was a long-
continued run on the Fidelity Trust Company. News of these
facts, and of failures in New York posted on ’change, strength-
ened the cause Cowperwood was so much interested in; for
he was selling as high as he could and buying as low as he
could on a constantly sinking scale. By twelve o’clock he fig-
ured with his assistants that he had cleared one hundred thou-
sand dollars; and by three o’clock he had two hundred thousand
dollars more. That afternoon between three and seven he
spent adjusting his trades, and between seven and one in the
morning, without anything to eat, in gathering as much addi-
tional information as he could and laying his plans for the fu-
ture. Saturday morning came, and he repeated his perform-
ance of the day before, following it up with adjustments on
Sunday and heavy trading on Monday. By Monday afternoon
at three o’clock he figured that, all losses and_uncertaitities to
one side, he was once more a millionaire, and that now-his future
lay clear and straight before him.

As he sat at his desk late that afternoon in his office looking
out into Third Street, where a hurrying of brokers, messengers,
and anxious depositors still maintained, he had the feeling that
so far as Philadelphia and the life here was concerned, his day
and its day with him was over. He did not care anything about
the brokerage business here any more or anywhere. Failures
such as this, and disasters such as the Chicago fire, that had over-
taken him two years before, had cured him of all love of the
stock exchange and all feeling for Philadelphia. He had beenTHE FINANCIER 499

very unhappy here in spite of all his previous happiness; and his

experience as a convict had made him, he could see quite plainly,

unacceptable to the element with whom he had once hoped to

associate. ‘There was nothing else to do, now that he had re-
established himself as a Philadelphia business man and been
pardoned for an offense which he hoped to make people believe

he had never committed, but.to_ leave Philadelphia to seek a new

world.

“Tf I get out of this safely,” he said to himself, “this is the
end. I am going West, and going into some other line of busi-
ness.” He thought of street-railways, land speculation, some
preat manufacturing project of some kind, even mining, on a
legitimate basis.

“T have had my lesson,” he said to himself, finally getting up
and preparing to leave. “I am as rich as I was, and only a little
older. They caught me once, but they will not catch me again.”
He talked to Wingate about following up the campaign on the
lines in which he had started, and he himself intended to follow
it up with great energy; but all the while his mind was run-
ning with this one rich thought: “T am a millionaire. I am a
free man.—1-am-only thirty-six, and my future is all before me.”

It was with this thought that he went to visit Aileen, and to

plan for the future.

It was only three months later that a train, speeding through
the mountains of Pennsylvania and over the plains of Ohio and
Indiana, bore to Chicago and the West the young financial aspi-
rant who, in spite of youth and wealth and a notable vigor of
body, was a solemn, conservative speculator as to what his future
might be. The West, as he had carefully calculated before
leaving, held much. He had studied the receipts of the New
York Clearing House recently and the disposition of bank-
balances and the shipment of gold, and had seen that vast quanti-
ties of the latter metal were going to Chicago. He understood
The meaning of gold shipments was clear.
—a thriving, developing life.
1is world had to

finance accurately.
Where money was going trade was
He wished to see clearly for himself what tl
offer.

Two years later, following the meteoric appearance of a

young speculator in Duluth, and after Chicago had seen the500 RHE FINANCIER

 

tentative opening of a grain and commission company labeled
Frank A. Cowperwood & Co., which ostensibly dealt in the
great wheat crops of the West, a quiet divorce was granted Mrs.
Frank A. Cowperwood in Philadelphia, because apparently she
wished it. “Time had not seemingly dealt badly with her..-Her
financial affairs, once so bad, were now apparently all straight-
ened out, and she occupied in West Philadelphia, near one of her
sisters, a new and interesting home which was fitted with all the
comforts of an excellent. middle-class-residence. She was now
quite religious-once more. “The two children, Frank and Lillian,
were in private schools, returning evenings to their mother.
“Wash” Sims was once more the negro general factotum. Fre-
quent visitors on Sundays were Mr. and Mrs. Henry Worthing-
ton Cowperwood, no longer distressed financially, but subdued
and wearied, the wind completely gone from their once much-
favored sails. Cowperwood; senior, had sufficient money where-
with to sustain himself, and that without slaving as a petty
clerk, but his social joy in life was gone. He was old, disap-
pointed, sad. He could feel that with his quondam honor and
financial glory, he was the same—and he was not. His courage
and his dreams were gone, and he awaited death.

Here, too, came Anna Adelaide Cowperwood on occasion, a
clerk in the city water office, who speculated much as to the
strange vicissitudes of life. She had great interest in her brother,
who seemed destined by fate to play a conspicuous part in the
world; but she could not understand him. Seeing that all those
who were near to him in any way seemed to rise or fall with his
prosperity, she did not understand how justice and morals
were arranged in this world. “There seemed to be certain gen-
eral principles—or people assumed there were—but apparently
there were exceptions. Assuredly her brother abided by no
known rule, and yet he seemed to be doing fairly well once more.
What did this mean? Mrs. Cowperwood, his former wife, con-
demned his actions, and yet accepted of his prosperity as her due.
What were the ethics of that?

Cowperwood’s every action was known to Aileen Butler, his
present whereabouts and prospects. Not long after his wife’s
divorce, and after many trips to and from this new world in
which he was now living, these two left Philadelphia together
one afternoon in the winter. Aileen explained to her mother,ee oa

  

TH he BE NPA N © EGR 501

who was willing to go and live with Norah, that she had fallen
in love with the former banker and wished to marry him. ‘The
old lady, gathering only a garbled version of it at first, consented.

Thus ended forever for Aileen this long-continued relation-
ship with this older world. Chicago was before her—a much
more distinguished career, Frank told her, than ever they could
have had in Philadelphia.

‘“Tsn’t it nice to be finally going?” she commented.

“Tt is advantageous, anyhow,” he said.

CONCERNING MYCTEROPERCA BONACI

There is a certain fish, the scientific name of which is Mycte-
roperca Bonaci, its common name Black Grouper, which is of
considerable value as an afterthought in this connection, and
which deserves to be better known. It is a healthy crea-
ture, growing quite regularly to a weight of two hundred and
fifty pounds, and liyes..a.comfortable; lengthy~existence..because
of its very remarkable ability to adapt itself to conditions. “That
very subtle thing which we call the creative power, and which
we endow with the spirit of the beatitudes, is supposed to build
this mortal life in such fashion that only honesty and virtue shall
prevail. Witness, then, the significant manner in which it has
fashioned the black grouper. One might go far afield and gather
less forceful indictments—the horrific spider spinning his trap
for the unthinking fly; the lovely Drosera (Sundew) using its
crimson calyx for a smothering-pit in which to seal and devour
the victim of its beauty; the rainbow-colored jellyfish that spreads
its prismed tentacles like streamers of great beauty, only to sting
and torture all that falls within their radiant folds. Man him-
self is busy digging the pit and fashioning the snare, but he will
not believe it. His feet are in the trap of circumstance; his eyes
are on an illusion.

Mycteroperca moving in its dark world of green waters is as
fine an_illustration-of the-constructive-genius_of nature, which is
not beatific, as any which the mind of man may discover. Its
great superiority lies in an almost unbelievable power of simula-
tion, which relates solely to the pigmentation of its skin. In
electrical mechanics we pride ourselves on our ability to make
over one brilliant scene into another in the twinkling of an eye,502 LHEVEINAN CIEE

 

and flash before the gaze of an onlooker picture after picture,
which appear and disappear as we look. ‘The directive control
of Mycteroperca over its appearance is much more significant.
You cannot look at it long without feeling that you are witness-
ing something spectral and unnatural, so brilliant is its power
to deceive. From being black it can become instantly white;
from being an earth-colored brown it can fade into a delightful
water-colored green. Its markings change as the clouds of the
sky. One marvels at the variety and subtlety of its power.

Lying at the bottom of a bay, it can simulate the mud by
which it is surrounded. Hidden in the folds of glorious leaves, it
is of the same markings. Lurking in a ‘flaw of light, it is like the
light itself shining dimly in water. Its power to elude or strike
unseen is of the greatest.

What would you say was the intention of the overruling, in-
telligent, constructive force which gives to Mycteroperca this
ability? To fit it to be truthful? ‘To permit it to present an
unvarying appearance which all honest life-seeking fish may
know? Or would you say that subtlety, chicanery, trickery, were
here at work? An implement of illusion one might readily suspect
it to be, a living lie, a creature whose business it is to appear what
it is not, to simulate that with which it has nothing in common,
“to get its living by great subtlety, the power of its enemies to
forefend against which is little. The indictment is fair.

Would you say, in the face of this, that a beatific, beneficent
creative, overruling power never wills that which is either tricky
or deceptive? Or would you say that this material seeming in
which we dwell is itself an illusion? If not, whence then the
Ten Commandments and the illusion of justice? Why were the
Beatitudes dreamed of and how do they avail?

THE MAGIC CRYSTAL

If you had been a mystic or a soothsayer or a member of that
mysterious world which divines by incantations, dreams, the
mystic bowl, or the crystal sphere, you might have looked into
their mysterious depths at this time and foreseen a world of hap-
penings which concerned these two, who were now apparently so
fortunately placed. In the fumes of the witches’ pot, or the
depths of the radiant crystal, might have been revealed cities,THE FINANCIER 503

cities, cities; a world of mansions, carriages, jewels, beauty; a
vast metropolis outraged by the power of one man; a great State
seething with indignation over a force it could not control; vast
halls of priceless pictures; a palace unrivaled for its magnificence ;
a whole world reading with wonder, at times, of a given name.

And sorrow, sorrow, sorrow.

The three witches that hailed Macbeth upon the blasted heath
might in turn have called to Cowperwood, “Hail to you, Frank
Cowperwood, master of a great railway system! Hail to you,
Frank Cowperwood, builder of a priceless mansion! Hail to
you, Frank Cowperwood, patron of arts and possessor of end-
less riches! You shall be famed hereafter.” But like the
Weird Sisters, they would have lied, for in the glory was also
the ashes of Dead Sea fruit—an understanding that could neither
be inflamed by desire nor satisfied by luxury; a heart that was
long since wearied by experience; a soul that was as bereft of
‘llusion as a windless moon. And to Aileen, as to Macduff, they
might have spoken a more pathetic promise, one that concerned
hope and failure. To have and not to have! All the seeming,
and yet the sorrow of not having! Brilliant society that shone
in a mirage, yet locked its doors; love that eluded as a will-o’-the
wisp and died in the dark. “Hail to you, Frank Cowperwood,
master and no master, prince of a world of dreams whose reality
was disillusion!” So might the witches have called, the bowl
have danced with figures, the fumes with vision, and it would
have been true. What wise man might not read from such a

beginning, such an end?

THE ENDDATE DUE

GAYLORO PRINTEDINY &.ACX O00 272 8by