It was in the days when drawing-rooms were dark, and filled with bric-
a-brac. The darkness enabled the half-blinded visitor, coming in out of
the bright light, to knock over gracefully a $200 vase that had come
from Japan to meet disaster in New York.
In a corner of the room was seated, in a deep and luxurious armchair, a
most beautiful woman. She was the wife of the son of the richest man in
America; she was young; her husband was devotedly fond of her; she was
mistress of a palace; anything that money could buy was hers did she
but express the wish; but she was weeping softly, and had just made up
her mind that she was the most miserable creature in all the land.
If a stranger had entered the room he would first have been impressed
by the fact that he was looking at the prettiest woman he had ever
seen; then he would have been haunted by the idea that he had met her
somewhere before. If he were a man moving in artistic circles he might
perhaps remember that he had seen her face looking down at him from
various canvases in picture exhibitions, and unless he were a stranger
to the gossip of the country he could hardly help recollecting the
dreadful fuss the papers made, as if it were any business of theirs,
when young Ed. Druce married the artists' model, celebrated for her
loveliness.
Every one has read the story of that marriage; goodness knows, the
papers made the most of it, as is their custom. Young Ed., who knew
much more of the world than did his father, expected stern opposition,
and, knowing the unlimited power unlimited wealth gave to the old man,
he did not risk an interview with his parent, but eloped with the girl.
The first inkling old man Druce had of the affair was from a vivid
sensational account of the runaway in an evening paper. He was pictured
in the paper as an implacable father who was at that moment searching
for the elopers with a shot gun. Old Druce had been too often the
central figure of a journalistic sensation to mind what the sheet said.
He promptly telegraphed all over the country, and, getting into
communication with his son, asked him (electrically) as a favour to
bring his young wife home, and not make a fool of himself. So the
errant pair, much relieved, came back to New York.
Old Druce was a taciturn man, even with his only son. He wondered at
first that the boy should have so misjudged him as to suppose he would
raise objections, no matter whom the lad wished to marry. He was
bewildered rather than enlightened when Ed. told him he feared
opposition because the girl was poor. What difference on earth did
_that_ make? Had he not money enough for all of them? If not, was
there any trouble in adding to their store? Were there not railroads to
be wrecked; stockholders to be fleeced; Wall Street lambs to be shorn?
Surely a man married to please himself and not to make money. Ed.
assured the old man that cases had been known where a suspicion of
mercenary motives had hovered round a matrimonial alliance, but Druce
expressed the utmost contempt for such a state of things.
At first Ella had been rather afraid of her silent father-in-law, whose
very name made hundreds tremble and thousands curse, but she soon
discovered that the old man actually stood in awe of her, and that his
apparent brusqueness was the mere awkwardness he felt when in her
presence. He was anxious to please her, and worried himself wondering
whether there was anything she wanted.
One day he fumblingly dropped a cheque for a million dollars in her
lap, and, with some nervous confusion, asked her to run out, like a
good girl, and buy herself something; if that wasn't enough, she was to
call on him for more. The girl sprang from her chair and threw her arms
around his neck, much to the old man's embarrassment, who was not
accustomed to such a situation. She kissed him in spite of himself,
allowing the cheque to flutter to the floor, the most valuable bit of
paper floating around loose in America that day.
When he reached his office he surprised his son. He shook his fist in
the young fellow's face, and said sternly--
"If you ever say a cross word to that little girl, I'll do what I've
never done yet--I'll thrash you!"
The young man laughed.
"All right, father. I'll deserve a thrashing in that case."
The old man became almost genial whenever he thought of his pretty
daughter-in-law. "My little girl," he always called her. At first, Wall
Street men said old Druce was getting into his dotage, but when a nip
came in the market and they found that, as usual, the old man was on
the right side of the fence, they were compelled reluctantly to admit,
with emptier pockets, that the dotage had not yet interfered with the
financial corner of old Druce's mind.
As young Mrs. Druce sat disconsolately in her drawing-room, the
curtains parted gently, and her father-in-law entered stealthily, as if
he were a thief, which indeed he was, and the very greatest of them.
Druce had small, shifty piercing eyes that peered out from under his
grey bushy eyebrows like two steel sparks. He never seemed to be
looking directly at any one, and his eyes somehow gave you the idea
that they were trying to glance back over his shoulder, as if he feared
pursuit. Some said that old Druce was in constant terror of
assassination, while others held that he knew the devil was on his
track and would ultimately nab him.
"I pity the devil when that day comes," young Sneed said once when some
one had made the usual remark about Druce. This echoed the general
feeling prevalent in Wall Street regarding the encounter that was
admitted by all to be inevitable.
The old man stopped in the middle of the room when he noticed that his
daughter-in-law was crying.
"Dear, dear!" he said; "what is the matter? Has Edward been saying
anything cross to you?"
"No, papa," answered the girl. "Nobody could be kinder to me than Ed.
is. There is nothing really the matter." Then, to put the truth of her
statement beyond all question, she began to cry afresh.
The old man sat down beside her, taking one hand in his own. "Money?"
he asked in an eager whisper that seemed to say he saw a solution of
the difficulty if it were financial.
"Oh dear no. I have all the money, and more, that anyone can wish."
The old man's countenance fell. If money would not remedy the state of
things, then he was out of his depth.
"Won't you tell me the trouble? Perhaps I can suggest----"
"It's nothing you can help in, papa. It is nothing much, any way. The
Misses Sneed won't call on me, that's all."
The old man knit his brows and thoughtfully scratched his chin.
"Won't call?" he echoed helplessly.
"No. They think I'm not good enough to associate with them, I suppose."
The bushy eyebrows came down until they almost obscured the eyes, and a
dangerous light seemed to scintillate out from under them.
"You must be mistaken. Good gracious, I am worth ten times what old
Sneed is. Not good enough? Why, my name on a cheque is----"
"It isn't a question of cheques, papa," wailed the girl; "it's a
question of society. I was a painter's model before I married Ed., and,
no matter how rich I am, society won't have anything to do with me."
The old man absent-mindedly rubbed his chin, which was a habit he had
when perplexed. He was face to face with a problem entirely outside his
province. Suddenly a happy thought struck him.
"Those Sneed women!" he said in tones of great contempt, "what do
_they_ amount to, anyhow? They're nothing but sour old maids. They
never were half so pretty as you. Why should you care whether they
called on you or not."
"They represent society. If they came, others would."
"But society can't have anything against you. Nobody has ever said a
word against your character, model or no model."
The girl shook her head hopelessly.
"Character does not count in society."
In this statement she was of course absurdly wrong, but she felt bitter
at all the world. Those who know society are well aware that character
counts for everything within its sacred precincts. So the unjust remark
should not be set down to the discredit of an inexperienced girl.
"I'll tell you what I'll do," cried the old man, brightening up. "I'll
speak to Gen. Sneed to-morrow. I'll arrange the whole business in five
minutes."
"Do you think that would do any good?" asked young Mrs. Druce,
dubiously.
"Good? You bet it'll do good! It will settle the whole thing. I've
helped Sneed out of a pinch before now, and he'll fix up a little
matter like that for me in no time. I'll just have a quiet talk with
the General to-morrow, and you'll see the Sneed carriage at the door
next day at the very latest." He patted her smooth white hand
affectionately. "So don't you trouble, little girl, about trifles; and
whenever you want help, you just tell the old man. He knows a thing or
two yet, whether it is on Wall Street or Fifth Avenue."
Sneed was known in New York as the General, probably because he had
absolutely no military experience whatever. Next to Druce he had the
most power in the financial world of America, but there was a great
distance between the first and the second. If it came to a deal in
which the General and all the world stood against Druce, the average
Wall Street man would have bet on Druce against the whole combination.
Besides this, the General had the reputation of being a "square" man,
and that naturally told against him, for every one knew that Druce was
utterly unscrupulous. But if Druce and Sneed were known to be together
in a deal, then the financial world of New York ran for shelter.
Therefore when New York saw old Druce come in with the stealthy tread
of a two-legged leopard and glance furtively around the great room,
singling out Sneed with an almost imperceptible side nod, retiring with
him into a remote corner where more ruin had been concocted than on any
other spot on earth, and talking there eagerly with him, a hush fell on
the vast assemblage of men, and for the moment the financial heart of
the nation ceased to beat. When they saw Sneed take out his note-book,
nodding assent to whatever proposition Druce was making, a cold shiver
ran up the financial backbone of New York; the shiver communicated
itself to the electric nerve-web of the world, and storm signals began
to fly in the monetary centres of London, Paris, Berlin, and Vienna.
Uncertainty paralysed the markets of the earth because two old gamblers
were holding a whispered conversation with a multitude of men watching
them out of the corners of their eyes.
"I'd give half a million to know what those two old fiends are
concocting," said John P. Buller, the great wheat operator; and he
meant it; which goes to show that a man does not really know what he
wants, and would be very dissatisfied if he got it.
"Look here, General," said Druce, "I want you to do me a favour."
"All right," replied the General. "I'm with you."
"It's about my little girl," continued Druce, rubbing his chin, not
knowing just how to explain matters in the cold financial atmosphere of
the place in which they found themselves.
"Oh! About Ed.'s wife," said Sneed, looking puzzled.
"Yes. She's fretting her heart out because your two girls won't call
upon her. I found her crying about it yesterday afternoon."
"Won't call?" cried the General, a bewildered look coming over his
face. "_Haven't_ they called yet? You see, I don't bother much about that
sort of thing."
"Neither do I. No, they haven't called. I don't suppose they mean
anything by it, but my little girl thinks they do, so I said I would
speak to you about it."
"Well, I'm glad you did. I'll see to that the moment I get home. What
time shall I tell them to call?" The innocent old man, little
comprehending what he was promising, pulled out his note-book and
pencil, looking inquiringly at Druce.
"Oh, I don't know. Any time that is convenient for them. I suppose
women know all about that. My little girl is at home most all
afternoon, I guess."
The two men cordially shook hands, and the market instantly collapsed.
It took three days for the financial situation to recover its tone.
Druce had not been visible, and that was all the more ominous. The
older operators did not relax their caution, because the blow had not
yet fallen. They shook their heads, and said the cyclone would be all
the worse when it came.
Old Druce came among them the third day, and there was a set look about
his lips which students of his countenance did not like. The situation
was complicated by the evident fact that the General was trying to
avoid him. At last, however, this was no longer possible, the two men
met, and after a word or two they walked up and down together. Druce
appeared to be saying little, and the firm set of his lips did not
relax, while the General talked rapidly and was seemingly making some
appeal that was not responded to. Stocks instantly went up a few
points.
"You see, Druce, it's like this," the General was saying, "the women
have their world, and we have ours. They are, in a measure----"
"Are they going to call?" asked Druce curtly.
"Just let me finish what I was about to say. Women have their rules of
conduct, and we have----"
"Are they going to call?" repeated Druce, in the same hard tone of
voice.
The General removed his hat and drew his handkerchief across his brow
and over the bald spot on his head. He wished himself in any place but
where he was, inwardly cursing woman-kind and all their silly doings.
Bracing up after removing the moisture from his forehead, he took on an
expostulatory tone.
"See here, Druce, hang it all, don't shove a man into a corner. Suppose
I asked you to go to Mrs. Ed. and tell her not to fret about trifles,
do you suppose she wouldn't, just because you wanted her not to? Come
now!"
Druce's silence encouraged the General to take it for assent.
"Very well, then. You're a bigger man than I am, and if you could do
nothing with one young woman anxious to please you, what do you expect
me to do with two old maids as set in their ways as the Palisades. It's
all dumb nonsense, anyhow."
Druce remained silent. After an irksome pause the hapless General
floundered on--
"As I said at first, women have their world, and we have ours. Now,
Druce, you're a man of solid common sense. What would you think if Mrs.
Ed. were to come here and insist on your buying Wabash stock when you
wanted to load up with Lake Shore? Look how absurd that would be. Very
well, then; we have no more right to interfere with the women than they
have to interfere with us."
"If my little girl wanted the whole Wabash System I'd buy it for her
to-morrow," said Druce, with rising anger.
"Lord! what a slump that would make in the market!" cried the General,
his feeling of discomfort being momentarily overcome by the
magnificence of Druce's suggestion. "However, all this doesn't need to
make any difference in our friendship. If I can be of any assistance
financially I shall only be too----"
"Oh, I need your financial assistance!" sneered Druce. He took his
defeat badly. However, in a minute or two, he pulled himself together
and seemed to shake off his trouble.
"What nonsense I am talking," he said when he had obtained control of
himself. "We all need assistance now and then, and none of us know when
we may need it badly. In fact, there is a little deal I intended to
speak to you about to-day, but this confounded business drove it out of
my mind. How much Gilt Edged security have you in your safe?"
"About three millions' worth," replied the General, brightening up, now
that they were off the thin ice.
"That will be enough for me if we can make a dicker. Suppose we adjourn
to your office. This is too public a place for a talk."
They went out together.
"So there is no ill-feeling?" said the General, as Druce arose to go
with the securities in his handbag.
"No. But we'll stick strictly to business after this, and leave social
questions alone. By the way, to show that there is no ill-feeling, will
you come with me for a blow on the sea? Suppose we say Friday. I have
just telegraphed for my yacht, and she will leave Newport to-night.
I'll have some good champagne on board."
"I thought sailors imagined Friday was an unlucky day!"
"My sailors don't. Will eight o'clock be too early for you? Twenty-
third Street wharf."
The General hesitated. Druce was wonderfully friendly all of a sudden,
and he knew enough of him to be just a trifle suspicious. But when he
recollected that Druce himself was going, he said, "Where could a
telegram reach us, if it were necessary to telegraph? The market is a
trifle shaky, and I don't like being out of town all day."
"The fact that we are both on the yacht will steady the market. But we
can drop in at Long Branch and receive despatches if you think it
necessary."
"All right," said the General, much relieved. "I'll meet you at Twenty-
third Street at eight o'clock Friday morning, then."
Druce's yacht, the _Seahound_, was a magnificent steamer, almost
as large as an Atlantic liner. It was currently believed in New York
that Druce kept her for the sole purpose of being able to escape in
her, should an exasperated country ever rise in its might and demand
his blood. It was rumoured that the _Seahound_ was ballasted with
bars of solid gold and provisioned for a two years' cruise. Mr. Buller,
however, claimed that the tendency of nature was to revert to original
conditions, and that some fine morning Druce would hoist the black
flag, sail away, and become a _real_ pirate.
The great speculator, in a very nautical suit, was waiting for the
General when he drove up, and, the moment he came aboard, lines were
cast off and the Seahound steamed slowly down the bay. The morning was
rather thick, so they were obliged to move cautiously, and before they
reached the bar the fog came down so densely that they had to stop,
while bell rang and whistle blew. They were held there until it was
nearly eleven o'clock, but time passed quickly, for there were all the
morning papers to read, neither of the men having had an opportunity to
look at them before leaving the city.
As the fog cleared away and the engines began to move, the captain sent
down and asked Mr. Druce if he would come on deck for a moment. The
captain was a shrewd man, and understood his employer.
"There's a tug making for us, sir, signalling us to stop. Shall we
stop?"
Old Druce rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and looked over the stern of
the yacht. He saw a tug, with a banner of black smoke, tearing after
them, heaping up a ridge of white foam ahead of her. Some flags
fluttered from the single mast in front, and she shattered the air with
short hoarse shrieks of the whistle.
"Can she overtake us?"