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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, 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
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