"Your interest in--in plutocrats is charitable, then?"
"Why, yes," he said, "my interest in all kinds of people is charitable.
However improbable it may seem, I have no reason to dislike or envy
people who have more than they know what to do with." And the worst of it
was he looked it. He managed somehow simply by sitting there with his
strange eyes fixed upon me--in spite of his ridiculous philosophy--to
belittle my ambitions, to make of small worth my achievements, to bring
home to me the fact that in spite of these I was neither contented nor
happy though he kept his humour and his poise, he implied an experience
that was far deeper, more tragic and more significant than mine. I was
goaded into making an injudicious remark.
"Well, your campaign against Ennerly and Jackson fell through, didn't
it?" Ennerly and Jackson were the city officials who had been tried.
"It wasn't a campaign against them," he answered. "And considering the
subordinate part I took in it, it could scarcely be called mine."
"Greenhalge turned to you to get the evidence."
"Well, I got it," he said.
"What became of it?"
"You ought to know."
"What do you mean?"
"Just what I say, Paret," he answered slowly. "You ought to know, if
anyone knows."
I considered this a moment, more soberly. I thought I might have counted
on my fingers the number of men cognizant of my connection with the case.
I decided that he was guessing.
"I think you should explain that," I told him.
"The time may come, when you'll have to explain it."
"Is that a threat?" I demanded.
"A threat?" he repeated. "Not at all."
"But you are accusing me--"
"Of what?" he interrupted suddenly.
He had made it necessary for me to define the nature of his charges.
"Of having had some connection with the affair in question."
"Whatever else I may be, I'm not a fool," he said quietly. "Neither the
district attorney's office, nor young Arbuthnot had brains enough to get
them out of that scrape. Jason didn't have influence enough with the
judiciary, and, as I happen to know, there was a good deal of money
spent."
"You may be called upon to prove it," I retorted, rather hotly.
"So I may."
His tone, far from being defiant, had in it a note of sadness. I looked
at him. What were his potentialities? Was it not just possible that I
should have to revise my idea of him, acknowledge that he might become
more formidable than I had thought?
There was an awkward silence.
"You mustn't imagine, Paret, that I have any personal animus against you,
or against any of the men with whom you're associated," he went on, after
a moment. "I'm sorry you're on that side, that's all,--I told you so once
before. I'm not calling you names, I'm not talking about morality and
immorality. Immorality, when you come down to it, is often just the
opposition to progress that comes from blindness. I don't make the
mistake of blaming a few individuals for the evils of modern industrial
society, and on the other hand you mustn't blame individuals for the
discomforts of what you call the reform movement, for that movement is
merely a symptom--a symptom of a disease due to a change in the structure
of society. We'll never have any happiness or real prosperity until we
cure that disease. I was inclined to blame you once, at the capital that
time, because it seemed to me that a man with all the advantages you have
had and a mind like yours didn't have much excuse. But I've thought about
it since; I realize now that I've had a good many more 'advantages' than
you, and to tell you the truth, I don't see how you could have come out
anywhere else than where you are,--all your surroundings and training
were against it. That doesn't mean that you won't grasp the situation
some day--I have an idea you will. It's just an idea. The man who ought
to be condemned isn't the man that doesn't understand what's going on,
but the man who comes to understand and persists in opposing it." He rose
and looked down at me with the queer, disturbing smile I remembered. "I
get off at this corner," he added, rather diffidently. "I hope you'll
forgive me for being personal. I didn't mean to be, but you rather forced
it on me."
"Oh, that's all right," I replied. The car stopped, and he hurried off. I
watched his tall figure as it disappeared among the crowd on the
sidewalk....
I returned to my office in one of those moods that are the more
disagreeable because conflicting. To-day in particular I had been aroused
by what Tom used to call Krebs's "crust," and as I sat at my desk warm
waves of resentment went through me at the very notion of his telling me
that my view was limited and that therefore my professional conduct was
to be forgiven! It was he, the fanatic, who saw things in the larger
scale! an assumption the more exasperating because at the moment he made
it he almost convinced me that he did, and I was unable to achieve for
him the measure of contempt I desired, for the incident, the measure of
ridicule it deserved. My real animus was due to the fact that he had
managed to shake my self-confidence, to take the flavour out of my
achievements,--a flavour that was in the course of an hour to be
completely restored by one of those interesting coincidences occasionally
occurring in life. A young member of my staff entered with a telegram; I
tore it open, and sat staring at it a moment before I realized that it
brought to me the greatest honour of my career.
The Banker-Personality in New York had summoned me for consultation. To
be recognized by him conferred indeed an ennoblement, the Star and
Garter, so to speak, of the only great realm in America, that of high
finance; and the yellow piece of paper I held in my hand instantly
re-magnetized me, renewed my energy, and I hurried home to pack my bag in
order to catch the seven o'clock train. I announced the news to Maude.
"I imagine it's because he knows I have made something of a study of the
coal roads situation," I added.
"I'm glad, Hugh," she said. "I suppose it's a great compliment."
Never had her inadequacy to appreciate my career been more apparent! I
looked at her curiously, to realize once more with peculiar sharpness how
far we were apart; but now the resolutions I had made--and never carried
out--on that first Christmas in the new home were lacking. Indeed, it was
the futility of such resolutions that struck me at this moment. If her
manner had been merely one of indifference, it would in a way have been
easier to bear; she was simply incapable of grasping the significance of
the event, the meaning to me of the years of unceasing, ambitious effort
it crowned.
"Yes, it is something of a recognition," I replied. "Is there anything I
can get for you in New York? I don't know how long I shall have to
stay--I'll telegraph you when I'm getting back." I kissed her and hurried
out to the automobile. As I drove off I saw her still standing in the
doorway looking after me.... In the station I had a few minutes to
telephone Nancy.
"If you don't see me for a few days it's because I've gone to New York,"
I informed her.
"Something important, I'm sure."
"How did you guess?" I demanded, and heard her laugh.
"Come back soon and tell me about it," she said, and I walked,
exhilarated, to the train.... As I sped through the night, staring out of
the window into the darkness, I reflected on the man I was going to see.
But at that time, although he represented to me the quintessence of
achievement and power, I did not by any means grasp the many sided
significance of the phenomenon he presented, though I was keenly aware of
his influence, and that men spoke of him with bated breath. Presidents
came and went, kings and emperors had responsibilities and were subject
daily to annoyances, but this man was a law unto himself. He did exactly
what he chose, and compelled other men to do it. Wherever commerce
reigned,--and where did it not?--he was king and head of its Holy Empire,
Pope and Emperor at once. For he had his code of ethics, his religion,
and those who rebelled, who failed to conform, he excommunicated; a code
something like the map of Europe,--apparently inconsistent in places.
What I did not then comprehend was that he was the American Principle
personified, the supreme individual assertion of the conviction that
government should remain modestly in the background while the efficient
acquired the supremacy that was theirs by natural right; nor had I
grasped at that time the crowning achievement of a unity that fused
Christianity with those acquisitive dispositions said to be inherent in
humanity. In him the Lion and the Lamb, the Eagle and the Dove dwelt
together in amity and power.
New York, always a congenial place to gentlemen of vitality and means and
influential connections, had never appeared to me more sparkling, more
inspiring. Winter had relented, spring had not as yet begun. And as I sat
in a corner of the dining-room of my hotel looking out on the sunlit
avenue I was conscious of partaking of the vigour and confidence of the
well-dressed, clear-eyed people who walked or drove past my window with
the air of a conquering race. What else was there in the world more worth
having than this conquering sense? Religion might offer charms to the
weak. Yet here religion itself became sensible, and wore the garb of
prosperity. The stonework of the tall church on the corner was all lace;
and the very saints in their niches, who had known martyrdom and poverty,
seemed to have renounced these as foolish, and to look down complacently
on the procession of wealth and power.. Across the street, behind a sheet
of glass, was a carrosserie where were displayed the shining yellow and
black panels of a closed automobile, the cost of which would have built a
farm-house and stocked a barn.
At eleven o'clock, the appointed hour, I was in Wall Street. Sending in
my name, I was speedily ushered into a room containing a table, around
which were several men; but my eyes were drawn at once to the figure of
the great banker who sat, massive and preponderant, at one end, smoking a
cigar, and listening in silence to the conversation I had interrupted. He
rose courteously and gave me his hand, and a glance that is
unforgettable.
"It is good of you to come, Mr. Paret," he said simply, as though his
summons had not been a command. "Perhaps you know some of these
gentlemen."
One of them was our United States Senator, Theodore Watling. He, as it
turned out, had been summoned from Washington. Of course I saw him
frequently, having from time to time to go to Washington on various
errands connected with legislation. Though spruce and debonnair as ever,
in the black morning coat he invariably wore, he appeared older than he
had on the day when I had entered his office. He greeted me warmly, as
always.
"Hugh, I'm glad to see you here," he said, with a slight emphasis on the
last word. My legal career was reaching its logical climax, the climax he
had foreseen. And he added, to the banker, that he had brought me up.
"Then he was trained in a good school," remarked that personage, affably.
Mr. Barbour, the president of our Railroad, was present, and nodded to me
kindly; also a president of a smaller road. In addition, there were two
New York attorneys of great prominence, whom I had met. The banker's own
special lieutenant of the law, Mr. Clement T. Grolier, for whom I looked,
was absent; but it was forthwith explained that he was offering, that
morning, a resolution of some importance in the Convention of his Church,
but that he would be present after lunch.
"I have asked you to come here, Mr. Paret," said the banker, "not only
because I know something personally of your legal ability, but because I
have been told by Mr. Scherer and Mr. Barbour that you happen to have
considerable knowledge of the situation we are discussing, as well as
some experience with cases involving that statute somewhat hazy to lay
minds, the Sherman anti-trust law."
A smile went around the table. Mr. Watling winked at me; I nodded, but
said nothing. The banker was not a man to listen to superfluous words.
The keynote of his character was despatch....
The subject of the conference, like many questions bitterly debated and
fought over in their time, has in the year I write these words come to be
of merely academic interest. Indeed, the very situation we discussed that
day has been cited in some of our modern text-books as a classic
consequence of that archaic school of economics to which the name of
Manchester is attached. Some half dozen or so of the railroads running
through the anthracite coal region had pooled their interests,--an
extremely profitable proceeding. The public paid. We deemed it quite
logical that the public should pay--having been created largely for that
purpose; and very naturally we resented the fact that the meddling Person
who had got into the White House without asking anybody's leave,--who
apparently did not believe in the infallibility of our legal Bible, the
Constitution,--should maintain that the anthracite roads had formed a
combination in restraint of trade, should lay down the preposterous
doctrine--so subversive of the Rights of Man--that railroads should not
own coal mines. Congress had passed a law to meet this contention, suit
had been brought, and in the lower court the government had won.
As the day wore on our numbers increased, we were joined by other lawyers
of renown, not the least of whom was Mr. Grolier himself, fresh from his
triumph over religious heresy in his Church Convention. The note of the
conference became tinged with exasperation, and certain gentlemen seized
the opportunity to relieve their pent-up feelings on the subject of the
President and his slavish advisers,--some of whom, before they came under
the spell of his sorcery, had once been sound lawyers and sensible men.
With the exception of the great Banker himself, who made few comments,
Theodore Watling was accorded the most deference; as one of the leaders
of that indomitable group of senators who had dared to stand up against
popular clamour, his opinions were of great value, and his tactical
advice was listened to with respect. I felt more pride than ever in my
former chief, who had lost none of his charm. While in no way minimizing
the seriousness of the situation, his wisdom was tempered, as always,
with humour; he managed, as it were, to neutralize the acid injected into
the atmosphere by other gentlemen present; he alone seemed to bear no
animus against the Author of our troubles; suave and calm, good natured,
he sometimes brought the company into roars of laughter and even
succeeded in bringing occasional smiles to the face of the man who had
summoned us--when relating some characteristic story of the queer genius
whom the fates (undoubtedly as a practical joke) had made the chief
magistrate of the United States of America. All geniuses have weaknesses;
Mr. Wading had made a study of the President's, and more than once had
lured him into an impasse. The case had been appealed to the Supreme
Court, and Mr. Wading, with remarkable conciseness and penetration,
reviewed the characteristics of each and every member of that tribunal,
all of whom he knew intimately. They were, of course, not subject to
"advice," as were some of the gentlemen who sat on our state courts; no
sane and self-respecting American would presume to "approach" them.
Nevertheless they were human, and it were wise to take account, in the
conduct of the case, of the probable bias of each individual.
The President, overstepping his constitutional, Newtonian limits, might
propose laws, Congress might acquiesce in them, but the Supreme Court,
after listening to lawyers like Grolier (and he bowed to the attorney),
made them: made them, he might have added, without responsibility to any
man in our unique Republic that scorned kings and apotheosized lawyers. A
Martian with a sense of humour witnessing a stormy session of Congress
would have giggled at the thought of a few tranquil gentlemen in another
room of the Capitol waiting to decide what the people's representatives
meant--or whether they meant anything....
For the first time since I had known Theodore Watling, however, I saw him
in the shadow of another individual; a man who, like a powerful magnet,
continually drew our glances. When we spoke, we almost invariably
addressed him, his rare words fell like bolts upon the consciousness.
There was no apparent rift in that personality.
When, about five o'clock, the conference was ended and we were dismissed,
United States Senator, railroad presidents, field-marshals of the law,
the great banker fell into an eager conversation with Grolier over the
Canon on Divorce, the subject of warm debate in the convention that day.
Grolier, it appeared, had led his party against the theological liberals.
He believed that law was static, but none knew better its plasticity;
that it was infallible, but none so well as he could find a text on
either side. His reputation was not of the popular, newspaper sort, but
was known to connoisseurs, editors, financiers, statesmen and judges,--to
those, in short, whose business it is to make themselves familiar with
the instruments of power. He was the banker's chief legal adviser, the
banker's rapier of tempered steel, sheathed from the vulgar view save
when it flashed forth on a swift errand.
"I'm glad to be associated with you in this case, Mr. Paret," Mr. Grolier
said modestly, as we emerged into the maelstrom of Wall Street. "If you
can make it convenient to call at my office in the morning, we'll go over
it a little. And I'll see you in a day or two in Washington, Watling.
Keep your eye on the bull," he added, with a twinkle, "and don't let him
break any more china than you can help. I don't know where we'd be if it
weren't for you fellows."
By "you fellows," he meant Mr. Watling's distinguished associates in the
Senate....
Mr. Watling and I dined together at a New York club. It was not a dinner
of herbs. There was something exceedingly comfortable about that club,
where the art of catering to those who had earned the right to be catered
to came as near perfection as human things attain. From the great,
heavily curtained dining-room the noises of the city had been carefully
excluded; the dust of the Avenue, the squalour and smells of the brown
stone fronts and laddered tenements of those gloomy districts lying a
pistol-shot east and west. We had a vintage champagne, and afterwards a
cigar of the club's special importation.
"Well," said Mr. Watling, "mow that you're a member of the royal council,
what do you think of the King?"
"I've been thinking a great deal about him," I said, and indeed it was
true. He had made, perhaps, his greatest impression when I had shaken his
hand in parting. The manner in which he had looked at me then had puzzled
me; it was as though he were seeking to divine something in me that had
escaped him. "Why doesn't the government take him over?" I exclaimed.
Mr. Watling smiled.
"You mean, instead of his mines and railroads and other properties?"
"Yes. But that's your idea. Don't you remember you said something of the
kind the night of the election, years ago? It occurred to me to-day, when
I was looking at him."
"Yes," he agreed thoughtfully, "if some American genius could find a way
to legalize that power and utilize the men who created it the worst of
our problems would be solved. A man with his ability has a right to
power, and none would respond more quickly or more splendidly to a call
of the government than he. All this fight is waste, Hugh, damned waste of
the nation's energy." Mr. Watling seldom swore. "Look at the President!
There's a man of remarkable ability, too. And those two oughtn't to be
fighting each other. The President's right, in a way. Yes, he is, though
I've got to oppose him."
I smiled at this from Theodore Watling, though I admired him the more for
it. And suddenly, oddly, I happened to remember what Krebs had said, that
our troubles were not due to individuals, but to a disease that had
developed in industrial society. If the day should come when such men as
the President and the great banker would be working together, was it not
possible, too, that the idea of Mr. Watling and the vision of Krebs might
coincide? I was struck by a certain seeming similarity in their views;
but Mr. Watling interrupted this train of thought by continuing to
express his own.
"Well,--they're running right into a gale when they might be sailing with
it," he said.
"You think we'll have more trouble?" I asked.
"More and more," he replied. "It'll be worse before it's better I'm
afraid." At this moment a club servant announced his cab, and he rose.
"Well, good-bye, my son," he said. "I'll hope to see you in Washington
soon. And remember there's no one thinks any more of you than I do."
I escorted him to the door, and it was with a real pang I saw him wave to
me from his cab as he drove away. My affection for him was never more
alive than in this hour when, for the first time in my experience, he had
given real evidence of an inner anxiety and lack of confidence in the
future.