beyond his reach.
“That’s not my signature,” said Loring.
Gallatin handed the checks to Tooker.
“You’re not convinced?”
“No. It’s a forgery.”
“Then I’ll find other means of convincing you. Perhaps, if I produced a
man who saw you sign those checks----”
Loring had risen to his feet and spoke but one word. It was the popular
one for the infernal regions.
Gallatin smiled. And then to the chief clerk, “Tooker, show Mr. Markham
in, please.”
The situation had gotten beyond the control of Mr. Leuppold, who was
completely nonplused by Mr. Gallatin’s rapidity, succinctness and
damnable accuracy; but he made one desperate effort to regain his lost
ground.
“Markham, a broken man, a drunkard, a gambler----”
“But once Mr. Loring’s secretary,” Gallatin broke in significantly.
“Wait, Mr. Leuppold.”
In a moment Mr. Markham entered. He was a tall man, with keen eyes,
hawklike nose and a weak mouth. As he entered Loring turned toward the
door and the eyes of the two men met, Loring’s curious, the newcomer’s
eager and unflinching.
“Mr. Markham,” asked Gallatin, “do you know this gentleman?”
“Yes. He is Henry K. Loring.”
“Have you ever seen these checks?”
“Yes. I drew them and saw Mr. Loring sign them.”
“And this affidavit?”
“I wrote it.”
“And this abstract of the books of the Sanborn Company?”
“I have seen it.”
“Is it correct?”
“In every particular.”
“All right. That will be all for the present. Will you remain outside?”
“Wait, sir!” Leuppold’s voice rang out. “I haven’t finished with Mr.
Markham yet.”
“You’ll have the opportunity of questioning him at the proper time and
place,” said Gallatin smoothly. “That will be all, Mr. Markham.”
“I protest, Mr. Gallatin, against your methods of conducting this
meeting,” said Leuppold, rising and extending a quavery arm. “You
bring as your chief evidence a man once in the employ of my client, a
discredited clerk, a man discharged for drunkenness, for incompetence,
for dishonesty.”
“No--for _honesty_, Mr. Leuppold,” Gallatin broke in hotly. “That was
why he was discharged. He was too honest to understand the ethics of
big business and his utility was at an end. So Mr. Loring let him go.
That was a mistake. He knew too much, Mr. Leuppold.”
“You’ll have a chance to prove what he knows, sir. There won’t be much
difficulty in discrediting his testimony----”
“You’re making a mistake, Mr. Leuppold,” broke in Gallatin, his voice
now thundering. “The question here isn’t so much one of law as it
is one of morals. That injunction may be dissolved by the Court of
Appeals; but I give you my word that, if you insist on carrying through
that sale of the Sanborn Mines to the Pequot Coal Company, I propose
to charge your client and the directors of the Sanborn Company with
_conspiracy_, and I’ll convict them--just as sure as the Lord made
little apples!”
He dominated the situation and felt it in the short hush that followed
his concluding remarks, and in the rapid revolution of Leuppold’s watch
charm. Loring had sunk back in his chair, both of his great hands
clasping its arms, his gaze on Gallatin’s face, critical but smiling.
What he saw there evidently brought a realization that Mr. Gallatin
held the whip hand; for as Leuppold began speaking again, he moved one
of his hands through the air and rose.
“Wait!” he said. He took two or three paces across the room, between
window and door and then stood, his hands in his trousers pockets,
fumbling at his keys. It was at least five minutes before he spoke
again. But at last he stopped in front of Gallatin and looked at him
from head to toe, and suddenly to every one’s surprise, broke out into
a loud laugh.
“Mr. Gallatin, you’ve beaten me.”
Success had come so quickly and the end of the case so suddenly that
Gallatin looked at his adversary, not certain whether to believe his
own ears, and half suspecting some kind of a ruse or trick, the art of
which Henry K. Loring, as he knew, was past grand master, when he went
on again.
“I don’t propose to ask you how you found Mr. Markham out in Illinois,
or to try and learn what your methods were in getting together all this
evidence. I know it’s there and that’s enough. I did write those checks
and the abstracts from the books are doubtless correct. I suppose,”
he laughed again, “your evidence of my connection with the Lehigh and
Pottsville is quite tangible?”
“Quite tangible,” repeated Gallatin, scarcely concealing a smile.
“Then all I have to say, sir, is that you are a very extraordinary young
man, a very useful young man to your clients, a very disappointing one
to your adversaries.” And then turning to Leuppold: “_You_ may contest,
if you like, Mr. Leuppold. _I won’t._ This case is one for settlement.”
Then he turned to Gallatin again, and offered his huge hand, while the
younger man, still doubtful, eyed him keenly.
“You and I had words some time ago. I’m sorry for them. Will you
forgive me?”
There was no doubt about the genuineness of his contrition.
“Willingly, Mr. Loring,” he said.
Their fingers clasped and their eyes met.
“I underestimated you, Mr. Gallatin,” he went on again slowly. “I don’t
often make a mistake in my judgment of men, but I did of you. I’m a
self-made man and people will tell you I’m a little proud of the job.
But I’m not too proud to tell you that you’ve been a little too clever
for me. I know when I’m beaten and I’m not afraid to say so. We’ll fix
this thing up. I don’t want all the coal in Pennsylvania. I own sixty
per cent. of the Sanborn stock. Sanborn’s crowd owns the rest. I’ll
sell out twenty per cent. to some man agreed on and we’ll make him
president.”
“At the present market figure, Mr. Loring?” asked Gallatin shrewdly.
Loring rubbed his head and smiled.
“We’ll see about that,” he muttered at last. But there was a twinkle in
his eyes as he asked. “How would you like that job, Mr. Gallatin?”
Gallatin grinned.
“I’d take it, if I could get enough cars to make it profitable.”
“I reckon you can make it profitable enough, for everybody,” he growled
jovially. “We’ve got to have you in with us, and that’s all there is
about it. Will you accept?”
“With Sanborn’s consent, yes.”
“We’ll fix Sanborn, all right,” he finished. “Come to my office some
time, Mr. Gallatin, I want to talk to you.”
Gallatin followed the two men to the elevator, while Tooker, after the
door was closed, moved from one leg to the other in what he fondly
believed to be a dance of joy.
XXVII
MR. LORING REFLECTS
Henry K. Loring sat back in his machine, homeward bound, his head
deep in the collar of his overcoat, his eyes under their shaggy brows
peering out of the windows of the limousine. His heavy hands, one over
the other, grasped the handle of his cane, which stood upright between
his firmly planted feet. He looked out of the windows at the quickly
changing scene, but his eyes saw nothing. There was a frown at his
brow, his lips were drawn firmly together and a casual glance might
have lent to the belief that the great operator was weighted with a
more than usually heavy financial burden. But a closer inspection would
have shown a slight upward twist of his lips and scarcely perceptible
puckering of the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. For a man whose
business affairs had on that day been subjected to the searching
inquisition that Mr. Gallatin had put them to, he seemed to be taking
life rather good-naturedly.
To tell the truth he was thinking of the futile efforts of the elder
Leuppold in trying to stem the tide which had set so strongly against
him. He had gone over Mr. Gallatin’s evidence at the conference point
by point, and the hours had only confirmed him in the realization that
this young man, whom he had scorned, had given the oily and ingenious
Leuppold a very unpleasant morning; for wriggle as Leuppold might,
there had been no escaping the young man’s clear-headed statements,
and the dangerous nature of his evidence. Henry K. Loring was a good
fighter, a shrewd judge of men, and the thing that most bothered him at
the present moment was, not that he had been obliged to compromise the
Sanborn case, but that he should have been so mistaken in the character
and abilities of Philip Gallatin. He couldn’t understand it at all, and
it hurt his pride in his own judgment. Was this sharp young man with
the lean face, the keen eye and the quick incisive tones of confidence
in himself, was this brilliant hard-working young lawyer who had been
clever enough to outwit Henry Loring at his own game, was _this_ Phil
Gallatin, the club loafer, at whose name men had wagged their heads or
shrugged their shoulders in pity or contempt? It didn’t seem possible.
There was a mistake somewhere. Was this the young man who----?
He sat straight up suddenly as the thought came to him. By George! This
was Jane’s young man! The fellow who had found Jane up in the woods!
Who had followed her around and made love to her! The fellow Jane had
been in love with until he, Loring, had opened her eyes and packed
him out of the house about his business. That was too bad. Loring
was sorry about that now. He had done Gallatin an injustice. Curious
that he should have made such a mistake. He would have to rectify it
somehow--with Jane.
What was the trouble? Oh, yes, a woman--that was what had turned Jane
against him. A woman--well? It wasn’t the first time a man had been
led off by a woman. What of it? The Gallatin with whom he had recently
become acquainted wasn’t the kind of a fellow who would let any woman
get the best of him. That was his own affair, anyway. He, Loring, would
have to talk to Jane. Gallatin was all right. He had quit drinking,
too, the younger Leuppold had said. Any young fellow who could work up
a case like that under cover and drive a man like Henry K. Loring to
the wall was good enough for him! That was the kind of a man he wanted
for Jane, just the kind of man to take up the game where he would leave
it and hold the great Loring interests together. What did Jane want
anyhow? She had loved Phil Gallatin once. Her mother had told him so.
And now she had settled on Coleman Van Duyn! Hell!
He got down at his own door with a sudden resolve to find out just how
things stood with Jane and Coley Van Duyn. Mrs. Loring had wanted that
match. It wasn’t any of Loring’s choosing. She had wanted an old Dutch
ancestry. She’d be getting it with Coley and that was about all she
would get. Jane had been expected back with the Ledyards from Virginia
this morning. Perhaps it wasn’t too late for her father to step into
the breach and repair the damage he had done.
In reply to his question of the man in the hall, he learned that Miss
Loring had returned from the South during the morning, but that she had
been in her room all day. Henry K. Loring climbed the marble stairs and
went along the landing to Mrs. Loring’s room. He found her lying on
the divan, a handkerchief crumpled in her hands, her face stained with
tears. A look of resignation that was half a frown came into Loring’s
face. Like many another man, big in his walks abroad, he lost some
stature in the presence of a tearful wife.
At his entrance she straightened and said irritably, “I thought you
were never coming.”
“I was detained.” He looked at his watch. “Aren’t you going to dress?”
“No. I’m going to have my dinner brought up.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Oh, what _isn’t_ the matter? Jane, of course!”
“Jane!”
“I can’t make her out at all. She came back from Warrenton this morning
and went immediately to her room. I went in this afternoon again. She
was looking miserably unhappy, and when I began talking to her she
burst into tears----”
“Nerves?” he queried.
“Oh, I don’t know. She hasn’t been herself for some time. She’s looking
very badly.”
“Yes, I noticed that. What do you think the trouble is?”
Mrs. Loring sank back with a sigh.
“Oh, I don’t know. I never did understand Jane, and I don’t suppose I
ever shall. She says she isn’t going to anything this spring--that she
wants to go abroad, away from everybody. And, finally, when I pressed
her--she told me that she had given Coleman Van Duyn his congé. Think
of it!”
The poor lady rattled on while Loring turned his back and walked the
length of the room to hide a smile which grew suddenly at his lips.
When she had finished speaking, he returned and questioned again.
“Why did she change her mind? Do you know?”
“I don’t think she _has_ changed her mind. I don’t believe that she
has ever cared for Mr. Van Duyn. It was all a mask to hide her real
feelings. I’m sure she still loves that worthless Gallatin!”
Loring’s eyebrows lifted, his gaze roved and his lips were quickly
compressed. Then his brows tangled.
“What makes you think that?” he asked.
“Everything makes me think it--everything--from the manner in which
she first confessed her love for him to me to the curious way she has
been treating Mr. Van Duyn. He spoke about the matter only last week.
Poor fellow! He’s beginning to look very badly. Jane hasn’t treated him
fairly.”
“That depends. They were never engaged.”
Mrs. Loring raised herself on one elbow, her eyes searching her
husband’s face in surprise.
“There was an understanding.”
“Between you and Van Duyn. Jane never consented.”
“Henry, I don’t understand you. You’ve let this thing go on without
speaking. You approved----”
“No, I didn’t approve,” he said quickly. “I merely acquiesced.”
Mrs. Loring showed signs of inward agitation.
“Oh, I give her up. I’ve done the best I could. She has behaved very
badly and I--I don’t know what to think of her.” She began sobbing into
her handkerchief and renewed her familiar plaint. “I do the best I can
for her--for you, but you’re always going against me--both of you. I’ve
tried so hard this winter--kept going when my nerves were on the ragged
edge of collapse, just because I thought it was my duty----”
“There, there, Mother, don’t be foolish,” said Loring soothingly. “Jane
is young, too young to marry anyway. She’ll decide some day.”
“No. I know her. She makes up her mind to a thing and she’ll cling
to it until death. She’s like you in that way. She would rather die
than change. I ought to have realized that. If she can’t marry Phil
Gallatin, she won’t marry any one. Phil Gallatin,” she cried, “the
least desirable young man in New York, a man without a character,
without friends, the last of a tainted stock, a fortune hunter,
dissolute----”
He let her go on until she had exhausted both her adjectives and her
nerves while he listened thoughtfully, and then asked,
“You’re sure she still loves Mr. Gallatin?”
“I’ve tried to believe that she would forget him--that she would learn
to care for Mr. Van Duyn. But she hasn’t. She has never been the same
girl since you told her about that dreadful Jaffray woman. I’m afraid
she’ll be sick--really sick. But I can’t do anything. What _can_ I do?”
The poor lady looked up plaintively, but her husband had walked to the
window and was looking out into the Avenue.
“Humph!” he grunted. “Lovesick, eh? There ought to be a cure for that.”
“What?”
“Let her marry him.”
“Henry!” Mrs. Loring sat bolt upright on her couch, her eyes wide with
incomprehension. “What do you mean?”
“What I say,” he returned calmly.
“That--Jane--should--marry Phil Gallatin?”
He nodded.
“You’re mad!” she said, getting up and facing him. “Stark mad! When you
learned about them, you told me you’d rather see her dead than married
to him.”
“Now I’d rather see her married to him than dead. It’s simple enough.
I’ve changed my mind.”
“Am I taking leave of my senses--or are you?”
“Neither, Mother,” he went over to her, his huge frame towering above
her small body as his mind towered over hers, and took her gently by
the elbows. “I’ve made a mistake. So have you. But it’s not too late to
mend it. I say that if Jane wants Phil Gallatin, she shall have him.”
“No, no. What has happened, Henry?”
“I’ve opened my eyes, that’s all, or rather Gallatin has opened them
for me. I’m glad he did. And now I’m going to open yours. Phil Gallatin
is a full-sized _man_. I found that out to-day--a man, every inch of
one. I don’t care about his past. _I_ wasn’t anything to brag about
when I was a kid, and you know that, too. I didn’t amount to a hill of
beans until my father died and I went up against it good and hard. I
was down to bedrock, as Phil Gallatin was, until I got kicked once too
often, and then I learned to kick back, and I’ve been kicking back ever
since. I don’t care about Phil Gallatin’s past. That belongs to him.
The only thing that matters about the man Jane marries is his future.
That’s hers.”
Loring put his hands in his pockets and walked up and down the rug, his
bulk, physical and mental, dominating Mrs. Loring’s tears.
“Listen to me. I’ve let you go on with your plans for Jane and I
haven’t said anything, because I knew that when the time came for Jane
to marry, your plans wouldn’t amount to much and mine wouldn’t either.
Oh, I’ve been looking on. I’ve been watching this Van Duyn affair. I’ve
never thought Jane would ever marry a nonentity like Van Duyn. If I had
thought so, I guess I might have worried. But I didn’t worry because I
never thought she _did_ want to marry him. It seems I was right,” he
chuckled.
He waited a moment as though expecting an interruption from his wife,
but she made none, and only sat in hopeless uncertainty listening
dumbly.
“For all her inexperience, Jane has an old head, Mother. This splendor
we’re living in, her success in society, the flattery and compliments
haven’t changed her any. And she’s not going to let anybody make a fool
of her. She sees through people better than you do and she doesn’t
make many mistakes. I ought to have known she wouldn’t have fallen in
love with Phil Gallatin if there hadn’t been something to him. I’ll
give her credit for that----”
“What makes you think he’s worthy of her?” Mrs. Loring broke in. “You
talk of his future. What future can there be for a man with a habit----”
“Wait!” he commanded. “As to that--he’s quit, do you understand? Quit
it altogether. I’m just as sure of that as I am that Jane’s judgment
was better than mine, so sure that I’m willing to stake Jane’s future
on it. You needn’t ask me why I know it, but I do. He’s made good--with
me and he’s made good with himself.”
And while she listened he told her of the events of the morning which
had resulted in the failure of his financial project and of Gallatin’s
share in it.
“And is this a reason? You’re willing to forgive him his sins, his evil
reputation, and take him into your house as the husband of your only
child, because he stands in the way of your making a lot of money? I
don’t understand.”
“There’s a lot you don’t understand. You and I don’t use the same kind
of mental machinery. But I want you to know that any boy of his age
who’s got the nerve to tackle a big game the way he did that one and
win out against a man of _my_ caliber is the kind of a young man I want
on my side. He’s the kind of a young man I’ve been looking for ever
since I went into the coal business, and I’m not going to let him go if
I can help it.”
“But his morals! You must know what people say about him, that he’s----”
“I don’t care what they say about him,” growled Loring. “Half of the
world is lying, and the other half listening. I’m glad he isn’t a
willy-boy. It’s the fellow who has to fight temptations that learns
the meaning of victory. There are no airholes in the steel that’s been
through the blast, and that boy has been through the blast. I can read
it in his face. He couldn’t square up to me the way he did if there
was any weakness in him. He’s suffered, but it hasn’t hurt him any.
He’s found himself. I’m going to help him. See here, Janet, I’m getting
older, and so are you. I’ve been thinking about it some lately. I’m a
pretty rich man and I’m going to be richer. But do you think I want to
turn the money I leave over to a man like Coley Van Duyn or Dirwell De
Lancey to make ducks and drakes of? Have it turned into an amusement
fund for the further debauching of debauched gentility? Make a Trust
Fund of it to perpetuate the Pink Tea? I reckon not. I haven’t worked
all these years for nothing, and I’m going to see that Jane doesn’t
make the mistakes of other rich men’s children. I don’t think she wants
to anyway. I’ve always told her that she wouldn’t find the man she’s
going to marry walking up and down Fifth Avenue. The man to keep my
estate together has got to be made of different stuff. I’ve found him.
He’s an ace that I dropped into the discard by mistake, but I’m going
to play him just the same. I want him, and if Jane wants him, too, I’m
going to get him for her.”
“I don’t know what to think of you. I can’t see yet----” Mrs. Loring
wailed.
Loring stopped beside her and patted her on the shoulder.
“Don’t you worry, Janet. I know what I’m about. You leave this to me.
Is Jane in her room? I want to see her.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Loring in tones of resignation. “She’s there, but I
don’t think she’d see you, even if she knew what you wanted to talk
about. To-morrow, perhaps.”
Loring shrugged his massive shoulders. “Oh, all right,” he growled,
and made his way to his own dressing-room. He held the keys to the
situation in his hand, and manlike wanted to use them without delay, to
unlock the door that barred the way to happiness for Jane, to act at
once upon the inspiration that had come to him and settle for all time
the problem of the future. But he took his wife’s advice and postponed
the talk with his daughter, wondering at the ways of women. He dined
alone and went to his study early, sat at his desk and wrote the
following note to Philip Gallatin.
DEAR MR. GALLATIN:
Our meeting this morning was so brief and so public that I
was prevented from speaking to you as freely as I would have
liked. I’ve done you a wrong--an injustice, and I want to do
what I can to set the matter right, with respect to your future
relations with me and with my family. I have already done what
I can and I am sure that both Mrs. Loring and my daughter will
gladly welcome you as a guest to our house whenever you may
call.
I hope this will be soon, Mr. Gallatin. I only wanted to put
myself on record with you that you may be assured that there
will be no further misunderstandings on your part of our
intentions toward you.
Very sincerely yours,
HENRY K. LORING.
The note written, he sealed it and rang for Hastings.
“Have this note delivered at once. Try the Cosmos Club and, if Mr.
Gallatin is not there, find him.”
This burden off his broad shoulders, Loring smiled, turned on his
reading lamp, took some newly acquired snuff boxes out of a cabinet
and under his magnifying glass, proceeded to enjoy them. It was in
the midst of this pleasant occupation that some time later, he was
interrupted by the entrance of his daughter. She was dressed in a pale
blue lounging robe, and her bedroom slippers made no sound on the heavy
floor covering, but the rustle of her draperies caused him to look up.
“Hello, Jane!” he said, kissing her. “Glad to see you, child. You
slipped in like a ghost. Feeling any better?”
“Oh, I’m all right,” she said wearily. “Mother said you wanted to see
me.”
Loring put down his magnifying glass and turned toward her.
“Yes, I did. Natural, isn’t it? I haven’t had a chance to for a month.”
He made her turn so that he could look into her face. “You’re not
looking right. Your eyes are big as saucers. What’s the matter? Too
much gayety?”
“Yes, I think so, Daddy. I’m a little tired, that’s all. I need a rest.”
Her father examined her in silence for a moment, and then drew her down
on a chair near him.
“Jane, I’ve been thinking about you lately. We’ve all been so busy this
winter, you and mother, with your dances and the opera, and I with
business, that I’m afraid we’ve been drifting apart. I don’t like it.
You don’t ever come in here to see me the way you used to.”
“I haven’t had time,” she evaded.
“That isn’t it, daughter. I know. It’s something else. Something has
come between us. I’ve felt it and I feel it still.”
She opened her eyes wide and looked at him and then looked away.
“That’s the truth and you know it, daughter. Something has come
between us. I’ve missed those talks with you. They used to keep me in
touch with the gentler side of life, sort of humanized me somehow,
made me a little softer, a little gentler the next day. I’ve wanted
you often, Jane, but I didn’t know how to say so. And so I got along
without you. You’ve never quite forgiven me, Jane?”