by Theodore Dreiser 21 страница

gloved as usual, and her little feet daintily shod. There was a look

of girlish distress in her eyes, which, however, she was trying hard to

conceal.

"Honey," she exclaimed, on seeing him, her arms extended--"what 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 do that. He can't prove anything

now. But he knows. You can't deceive him."

"How do you know he knows?"

"I 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!"

"I know you are. So am I. But it can't be helped now. We should have

thought of that in the first place."

"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 affection; the volume and danger of

his rage. There were so many, many things as he saw it now converging to

make a dramatic denouement.

"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?"

"I think I am going to fail, dear."

"Oh, no!"

"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?"

"Yes."

"Could you be there at four?"

"Yes."

"Look 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't 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 determination

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.

"I 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."

"I won't."

"And don't worry about me. I'll be all right."

He barely had time to straighten his tie, to assume a nonchalant

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 presenting 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, as 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, because 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, crestfallen, 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.

"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 anything 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.

"He 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."

"He's out of his mind," Cowperwood, Sr., commented, laconically.

"It'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."

"It'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 can before

three. I've been taking eight and ten days to deposit them in the past.

In a storm like this I'm entitled to move my pawns as best I can."

Cowperwood, the father, put his hand over his mouth again. He felt very

disturbed about this. He saw no way out, however. 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.

"I'd take them up if I were you and I could," he added.

"I will if I can."

"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. 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.

"I 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 jail."

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

There was one development in connection with all of this of which

Cowperwood was as yet unaware. The same day that brought Edward Butler

the anonymous communication 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 morning. 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 see to harm him.

"Lay 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

frightened; 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

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 regime, 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 down into the mighty

ocean of fact and circumstance; but it uses so little, pumps so faintly,

that the immediate contiguity of the vast mass is not disturbed. Nothing

of the subtlety of life is perceived. No least inkling of its storms

or terrors is ever discovered 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

beginning 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 Cowperwood 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. Certainly things looked very black. The

city-treasurership deal would make a great fuss. Those hypothecated city

loan certificates, 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

committee 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 there 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-treasury 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 a trap,

and was fighting for his life.

In this crisis, for the moment, she forgot about the note as to his

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