by Theodore Dreiser 34 страница

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, 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

plased 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 mean 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. I 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 is 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, interested 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. Cowperwood 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 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 remaining in Philadelphia, for

one thing; and for another, I should like you to stop your attacks

on me." Cowperwood smiled in 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, unless 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. I 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.

"I'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 anything else when you're a free man. More

than that I'll 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 to 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 going 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 the time 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 not 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. "Two or 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

Although it was nearly eleven o'clock when he arrived at the Calligans',

Aileen was not yet in bed. In her bedroom 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, taking 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, raising 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 Cowperwood 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 Cowperwood.

"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. Aileen'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 relations as before

uninterrupted, once this was settled, she decided to return. In a way,

her father's surrender was a great triumph. She made her farewells to

the Calligans, saying, with a smile, that they could not do without her

at home, and that she would send for her belongings later, and returned

with Cowperwood to his own door. There he asked her to wait in the

runabout while he sent her father down.

"Well?" said Butler, turning on him when he opened the door, and not

seeing Aileen.

"You'll find her outside in my runabout," observed Cowperwood. "You may

use that if you choose. I will send my man for it."

"No, thank you; we'll walk," said Butler.

Cowperwood called his servant to take charge of the vehicle, and Butler

stalked solemnly out.

He had to admit to himself that the influence of Cowperwood over his

daughter was deadly, and probably permanent. The best he could do would

be to keep her within the precincts of the home, where she might still,

possibly, be brought to her senses. He held a very guarded conversation

with her on 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 knew ye were gone.

She doesn't know yet. Ye'll have to say ye stayed somewhere to dinner."

"I was at the Calligans," replied Aileen. "That's easy enough. Mama

won't think anything about it."

"It's a sore heart I have, Aileen. I hope ye'll think over your ways and

do better. I'll not say anythin' more now."

Aileen returned to her 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 Cowperwood are mistaken.

In the meanwhile between the day of his temporary release and the

hearing of his appeal which was two months off, Cowperwood was going on

doing his best to repair his shattered forces. He took up his work

where he left off; but the possibility of reorganizing his business

was distinctly modified since his conviction. 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 partakes largely of the

quality of the thing in which it deals. There was no use trying 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 acceptance

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. Certain 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 all those who knew him and were interested

in his welfare, but of course there were many who were not.

In these days also, he and Steger were constantly to be met with in

courts of law, for he was constantly being reexamined in some petition

in bankruptcy. They were heartbreaking days, but he did not flinch. He

wanted to stay in Philadelphia and fight the thing to a finish--putting

himself where he had been before the fire; rehabilitating himself in

the eyes of the public. He felt that he could do it, too, if he were

not actually sent to prison for a long term; and even then, so naturally

optimistic was his mood, when he got out again. But, in so far as

Philadelphia was concerned, distinctly he was dreaming vain dreams.

One of the things militating against him was the continued opposition

of Butler and the politicians. Somehow--no one could have said exactly

why--the general political feeling was that the financier and the former

city treasurer would lose their appeals and eventually be sentenced

together. Stener, in spite of 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

not guilty and claim that his offense had been due to custom, rather

than to admit his guilt outright and so seem not to have had

any justification whatsoever. This he did, but he was convicted

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 originating with

the girl who had written Butler and Cowperwood's wife, there was at this

time a growing volume of gossip relating to 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

practical, financial world, criticism was now rather against Cowperwood

than his enemies. For, was it not a fact, that at the 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" attitude which so regulated Cowperwood's conduct. He was

a strong man, surely--and a brilliant one. Never had Third Street seen a

more pyrotechnic, and yet fascinating and financially 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 business 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--"to 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 imagined 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 complications, 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 on '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 that

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, whatever 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

partnership 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

unprepossessing, and rather intelligent and active, but not too forceful

and 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 so 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 conversation 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.

"I'll 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

By the time the State Supreme Court came to pass upon Cowperwood'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 Cowperwood 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

practiced 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 conservative point of view; but when taken in

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