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THE HARRIS-INGRAM EXPERIMENT
By CHARLES E. BOLTON, M.A.
AUTHOR OF "A MODEL VILLAGE AND OTHER PAPERS," "TRAVELS IN EUROPE AND
AMERICA," ETC.
CLEVELAND
THE BURROWS BROTHERS COMPANY
1905
TO MY WIFE
SARAH KNOWLES BOLTON
AND MY SON
CHARLES KNOWLES BOLTON
INTRODUCTION
This volume was ready for publication when my husband died, October 23,
1901. In it, in connection with a love story and some foreign travel, he
strove to show how necessary capital and labor are to each other. He had
always been a friend to labor, and there were no more sincere mourners at
his funeral than the persons he employed. He believed capital should be
conciliatory and helpful, and co-operate with labor in the most friendly
manner, without either party being arrogant or indifferent.
Mr. Bolton took the deepest interest in all civic problems, and it is a
comfort to those who loved him that his book, "A Model Village and Other
Papers," came from the press a few days before his death. He had hoped
after finishing a book of travel, having crossed the ocean many times and
been in many lands, and doing some other active work in public life, to
take a trip around the world and rest, but rest came in another way.
Sarah K. Bolton
Cleveland, Ohio.
PREFACE
Mr. W.D. Howells, in reply to a literary society in Ashtabula County,
Ohio, said that most people had within their personal experience one
book.
I have often quoted Howells's words to my best friend, who has written a
score of books, and the answer as frequently comes, "Why not write a book
yourself?" Encouraged by Howells's belief, and stimulated by the accepted
challenge of my friend, to whom I promised a completed book in twelve
months, I found time during a very busy year to pencil the chapters that
follow. Most of the book was written while waiting at stations, or on the
cars, and in hotels, using the spare moments of an eight-months' lecture
season, and the four months at home occupied by business.
I am aware that some critics decry a novel written with a purpose. Permit
me therefore in advance to admit that this book has a double purpose: To
test the truth of Howells's words as applied to myself; and to describe a
journey, both at home and abroad, which may possibly be enjoyed by the
reader, the inconveniences of travel being lessened by incidentally
tracing a love story to a strange but perhaps satisfactory conclusion;
the whole leading to the evolution of a successful experiment, which in
fragments is being tried in various parts of the civilized world.
CONTENTS
Chapter I
The Harrises in New York
Chapter II
Mr. Hugh Searles of London Arrives
Chapter III
A Bad Send-off
Chapter IV
Aboard the S.S. Majestic
Chapter V
Discomfitures at Sea
Chapter VI
Half Awake, Half Asleep
Chapter VII
Life at Sea a Kaleidoscope
Chapter VIII
Colonel Harris Returns to Harrisville
Chapter IX
Capital and Labor in Conference
Chapter X
Knowledge is Power
Chapter XI
In Touch with Nature
Chapter XII
The Strike at Harrisville
Chapter XIII
Anarchy and Results
Chapter XIV
Colonel Harris Follows his Family Abroad
Chapter XV
Safe Passage, and a Happy Reunion
Chapter XVI
A Search for Ideas
Chapter XVII
The Harrises Visit Paris
Chapter XVIII
In Belgium and Holland
Chapter XIX
Paris, and the Wedding
Chapter XX
Aboard the Yacht "Hallena"
Chapter XXI
Two Unanswered Letters
Chapter XXII
Colonel Harris's Big Blue Envelope
Chapter XXIII
Gold Marries Gold
Chapter XXIV
The Magic Band of Beaten Gold
Chapter XXV
Workings of the Harris-Ingram Experiment
Chapter XXVI
Unexpected Meetings
Chapter XXVII
The Crisis
THE HARRIS-INGRAM EXPERIMENT
CHAPTER I
THE HARRISES IN NEW YORK
It was five o'clock in the afternoon, when a bright little messenger boy
in blue touched the electric button of Room No. ---- in Carnegie Studio,
New York City. At once the door flew open and a handsome young artist
received a Western Union telegram, and quickly signed his name, "Alfonso
H. Harris" in the boy's book.
"Here, my boy, is twenty-five cents," he said, and tore open the message,
which read as follows:--
Harrisville,--.
_Alfonso H. Harris,
Carnegie Studio, New York._
We reach Grand Central Depot at 7:10 o'clock tomorrow evening in our
new private car Alfonso. Family greetings; all well.
Reuben Harris.
Alfonso put the telegram in his pocket, completed packing his steamer
trunk, wrote a letter to his landlord, enclosing a check for the last
quarter's rent, and ran downstairs and over to the storage company, to
leave an order to call for two big trunks of artist's belongings, not
needed in Europe.
A hansom-cab took him to the Windsor Hotel, where he almost forgot to pay
his barber for a shave, such was his excitement. A little dry toast, two
soft boiled eggs, and a cup of coffee were quite sufficient, since his
appetite, usually very good, somehow had failed him.
It was now fifteen minutes to seven o'clock. In less than half an hour
Alfonso was to meet his father, mother, and sisters, and after a few days
in the metropolis, join them in an extended journey over the British
Isles, and possibly through portions of Europe.
Alfonso was the only son of Reuben Harris, a rich manufacturer of iron
and steel. His father, a man naturally of very firm will, had earnestly
longed that his only son might succeed him in business, and so increase
and perpetuate a fortune already colossal. It was a terrible struggle for
Harris senior to yield to his son's strong inclination to study art, but
once the father had been won over, no doubt in part by the mother's
strong love for her only boy, he assured Alfonso that he would be loyal
to him, so long as his son was loyal to his profession. This had given
the boy courage, and he had improved every opportunity while in New York
to acquaint himself with art, and his application to study had been such
that he was not only popular with his fellow artists, but they recognized
that he possessed great capacity for painstaking work.
Alfonso jumped into a coupé, having ordered a carriage to follow him to
the Grand Central Station. It was ten minutes yet before the express was
due. Nervously he puffed at his unlighted cigar, wishing he had a match;
in fact, his nerves were never more unstrung. It was a happy surprise,
and no doubt his youthful vanity was elated, that his father should have
named his new palace car "Alfonso." At least it convinced him that his
father was loyal.
As the coupé stopped, he rushed into the station, just in time to see the
famous engine No. 999 pull in. She was on time to a second, as indicated
by the great depot clock. A ponderous thing of life; the steam and air
valves closed, yet her heavy breathing told of tremendous reserve power.
What a record she had made, 436-1/2 miles in 425-3/4 minutes! Truly,
man's most useful handiwork, to be surpassed only by the practical dynamo
on wheels! It was not strange that the multitude on the platform gazed in
wonder.
There at the rear of the train was the "Alfonso," and young Harris in
company with his artist friend, Leo, who by appointment had also hastened
to the station, stepped quickly back to meet the occupants of the new
car.
First to alight was Jean, valet to the Harris family. Jean was born near
Paris and could speak French, German, and several other languages. His
hands and arms were full to overflowing of valises, hat boxes, shawls,
canes, etc., that told of a full purse, but which are the very things
that make traveling a burden.
By this time Alfonso had climbed the car steps and was in his mother's
arms. Mrs. Harris was more fond, if possible, of her only son than of her
beautiful daughters. She was a handsome woman herself, loved dress and
was proud of the Harris achievements. Alfonso kissed his sisters, Lucille
and Gertrude, and shook hands warmly with his father, who was busy giving
instructions to his car conductor.
Alfonso in his joy had almost forgotten his friend Leo, but apologizing,
he introduced him, first to his mother, then to Gertrude and finally to
his sister Lucille, and their father. All seemed glad to meet their son's
friend, as he was to take passage in the same steamer for his home near
Rome.
Leo Colonna was connected with the famous Colonna family of Italy. From
childhood he had had access to the best schools and galleries of his
peninsular country. He also had studied under the best masters in Paris
and Berlin, and was especially fond of flesh coloring and portrait
painting. He had studied anatomy, and had taken a diploma as surgeon in
the best medical college in Vienna, merely that he might know the human
form. Alfonso, aware of all this, had invited Leo to join their party in
making the tour over Ireland, England, and through the Netherlands.
As Lucille left the car, Leo offered aid, taking her blue silk umbrella
with its wounded-oak handle, the whole rolled as small as a cane. Lucille
never appeared to better advantage. She was tall, slender, and graceful.
Excitement had tinged her cheeks and lips, and her whole face had a
child's smooth, pink complexion. Wavy black hair and blue eyes revealed
the Irish blood that had come from the mother's veins. She wore a
traveling suit of navy-blue serge. Her hat, of latest style, was made of
black velvet, steel ornaments, and ostrich tips. What artist could resist
admiring a woman so fair and commanding! The dark eyes of Leo had met
those of Lucille, and he at once had surrendered. In fact, a formidable
rival had now conquered Leo's heart.
Together they led the way to the front entrance of the station, while
Harris senior delayed a moment to exhibit the car "Alfonso" to his son.
"I had this private car built," said the father, "that the Harris family
might be exclusive. Napoleon once said:--'Let me be seen but three times
at the theatre, and I shall no longer excite attention.' Our car is
adapted for service on any standard gauge road, so that we can travel in
privacy throughout the United States. You notice that this observation
room is furnished in quartered English oak, and has a luxurious sofa and
arm chairs. Let us step back. Here on the right are state and family
rooms finished in mahogany; each room has a connecting toilet room,
with wash stand and bath room, hot and cold water being provided, also
mirrors, wardrobe and lockers. The parlor or dining room is eighteen feet
long and the extension table will seat twelve persons. Here also is a
well selected library and writing desk."
"But where is the kitchen?" asked Alfonso.
"Beyond," said the father. "The pantry, china closet, and kitchen are
finished in black walnut. Blankets, linen, and tableware are of best
quality. Here are berths for attendants and porter's room for baggage.
Carpets, rugs, draperies, and upholstery were especially imported to
harmonize. Nobody amounts to much in these days, Alfonso, unless he owns
a private car or a steam yacht. Henceforth this car, named in your honor,
may play an important part in the history of the Harris family."
Mrs. Harris, Leo, and Lucille, took seats in the carriage; Gertrude and
her mother were on the back seat, while Lucille and her artist friend
faced Mrs. Harris and daughter.
Jean sat upright with the coachman. Colonel Harris and Alfonso rejoined
their friends and together entered the coupé. Reuben Harris once served
on the governor's staff for seven weeks, ranking as colonel, so now all
his friends, even his family, spoke of him as "the Colonel." It was well,
as it pleased his vanity.
The coachmen's whips left their sockets, and coupé and carriage dashed
along 42nd Street and down Fifth Avenue. The ten minutes' drive passed as
a dream to some in the carriage. Mrs. Harris's mind revelled in the
intricate warfare of society. She had often been in New York, and in
the summers was seen at the most fashionable watering places with her
children. Her mind was burdened trying to discover the steps that lead to
the metropolitan and international "four hundred." She was determined
that her children should marry into well regulated families, and that the
colonel should have a national reputation. So absorbed was she that her
eyes saw not, neither did her ears hear what transpired in the carriage.
Gertrude was equally quiet; her thoughts were of dear friends she had
left in Harrisville. The occupants of the front seats had talked in low
tones of recent society events in New York, and a little of art. Lucille
herself had dabbled in color for a term or two in a fashionable school on
the Back Bay in Boston.
The colonel had become enthusiastic in his talk about his own recent
business prosperity. Suddenly coupé and carriage stopped in front of the
main entrance of the Hotel Waldorf. How fine the detail of arch and
columns! How delicate the architect's touch of iron and glass in the
porte-cochère!
The Harris family stepped quickly into the public reception-room to the
left of the main entrance adjoining the office, leaving Jean and the
porter to bring the hand-baggage. The decorated ceiling framed a central
group of brilliant incandescent lights with globes. Leo directed
attention to the paintings on the walls, and furniture and rugs.
The colonel excused himself and passed out and into the main offices. The
sight about him was an inspiring one. The architect's wand had wrought
grace and beauty in floor, ceiling, column, and wall. Gentlemen, old and
young, were coming and going. Professional men, not a few, bankers and
business men jostled each other. Before the colonel had reached the
clerk's desk, he had apologized, twice at least, for his haste. The fact
was that metropolitan activity delighted his heart, but it disturbed just
a little his usual good behavior. Nervously, he wrote in the Waldorf
register plain Reuben Harris, wife and two daughters. He wanted to prefix
colonel. His son added his own name. Colonel Harris, at his request, was
given the best apartments in the Waldorf.
Leo excused himself for the night, Lucille saying the last words in low
tones, and then, liveried attendants conducted the Harris family to their
suite of rooms. It was half past eight when the Harrises sat down to
their first meal in their private dining-room. As Mrs. Harris waited for
her hot clam soup to cool a little, she said, "Reuben, this exclusiveness
and elegance is quite to my liking. After our return from Europe, why
can't we all spend our winters in New York?"
"No, mother," said Gertrude, "we have our duties to the people of
Harrisville, and father, I am sure, will never stay long away from his
mills."
But Lucille approved her mother's plan, and was seconded by her brother.
Colonel Harris was interested in the views expressed, but with judicial
tone, he replied, "The Harrises better wait till the right time comes.
Great financial changes are possible in a day."
The dinner, though late, was excellent. Before ten o'clock all were glad
to retire, except the head of the family, who hoped the night would be
short, as the next day might witness very important business
transactions.
Colonel Harris took the elevator down to the gentlemen's café, adjoining
the beautiful Garden Court. For a moment he stood admiring the massive
fire-place and the many artistic effects, mural and otherwise. The café
was furnished with round tables and inviting chairs. Guests of the hotel,
members of city clubs, and strangers, came and went, but the colonel's
mind was in an anxious mood, so he sought a quiet corner, lighted a
cigar, and accidently picked up the _Evening Post_. Almost the first
thing he read was an item of shipping news:
"No word yet from the overdue steamship 'Majestic;' she is already
forty-eight hours late, and very likely has experienced bad weather."
The "Majestic" is one of the largest and best of the famous White Star
Line fleet. Colonel Harris expected an English gentleman to arrive by
this boat, and he had come on to New York to meet him, as the two had
business of great importance to talk over. "I wonder," thought the
colonel, "if such a thing could happen, that my cherished plan of
retiring with millions, might possibly be frustrated by ship-wreck or any
unlooked-for event?" Whereupon he pulled from his pocket a cablegram, to
make himself doubly sure that his was not a fool's errand, and again read
it in audible tones:
London, May 24, 18--.
_Col. Reuben Harris,
Hotel Waldorf, New York._
Hugh Searles, our agent, sails May twenty-fifth on Majestic. Meet him
at Hotel Waldorf, New York.
Guerney & Barring.
The signers of the cablegram were young bankers and brokers, occupying
sumptuous quarters on Threadneedle Street, in sight of the Bank of
England, the Exchange, and the Mansion House or official residence of the
Lord Mayor of London. The fathers of each member of the firm had been at
the head of great banking houses in London for many years, and after
herculean efforts, their banks had failed. These young men had united
families and forces, and resolved to win again a financial standing in
the world's metropolis. Shrewdly they had opened a score of branch
offices in different parts of London and county; besides they had added
a brokerage business, which had drifted into an extensive specialty of
promoting syndicates in America and the colonies. Their success in
handling high grade manufacturing plants had been phenomenal. Already at
this business they had netted two million pounds. Reliable and expert
accountants were always sent by them to examine thoroughly a client's
ledgers. Already, bonds that carried the approval of Guerney & Barring,
found ready market on Lombard, Prince, and other financial streets near
the Bank of England.
Colonel Harris relighted his cigar and queried to himself, "What ought I
to charge these Englishmen for a property that cost barely two millions,
but that has brought to the Harris family, annually for ten years, an
average of 30%, or $600,000?" At first he had fixed upon six millions as
a fair price, and then finally upon five million dollars. While he thus
reflected, he fell asleep. It was after eleven o'clock when the Waldorf
attendant caught him, or he would have fallen from his chair to the
floor. Colonel Harris gave him a piece of silver, and retired for the
night.