About six miles from the centre of the city on the South Side, not far
from the lake, might be seen the foundations and first two stories of a
considerable building that had been abandoned for several years. It
was to have been a hotel, but its promoters, who were small capitalists
from a distant city, had been caught in the real estate disasters of
'93. Litigation ensuing among themselves, nothing had ever been done
with the property. The unfinished walls, standing at the corner of one
of the boulevards and overlooking a large park, were a landmark in the
neighborhood. A thick growth of weeds partially covered the loose
piles of brick and stone that littered the ground and filled the hollow
shell. Desolate, speedily disintegrating, the ruin stood there, four
windowless walls, a figure of unsubstantial and abortive enterprise.
Hart had often passed the ruin when his business called him to that
part of the city. One day this summer, as he was driving through the
park with Graves on his way to inspect the last string of cheap stone
houses that the contractor had built, Graves called his attention to
the place.
"That pile must be pretty well covered with tax liens," the contractor
observed, as they turned into the boulevard and approached the ruin.
"It's a sightly piece of property, too, and the right spot for a family
hotel."
"Who are the owners?" Hart asked.
"A lot of little fellers out in Omaha; they got to fightin' among
themselves. It might be had cheap. Let's go over and take a look at
the place."
He hitched his horse to a tree in front of the ruin, and the two men
pushed their way through the weeds and rubbish into the cellar.
"Pretty solid foundations," the contractor observed, picking at a piece
of mortar with the blade of his clasp knife. "There's most enough
stone lying around here to trim the whole building. What do you think
of the walls? Has the frost eat into 'em much?"
They scrambled in and out among the piers and first story walls,
testing the mortar, scraping away the weeds here and there to get a
closer view of the joints. The upper courses of the brick had been
left exposed to the weather and were obviously crumbling. The
architect thought that the outer walls might have to be rebuilt almost
from the foundations. But the contractor observed that it would be
sufficient to rip off half a dozen courses of the masonry, as the walls
were needlessly thick.
"Those fellers thought they were going to build a jim-dandy Waldorf,
judging from the amount of stone they were putting in," the contractor
remarked, as they climbed into the buggy and resumed their way to the
city. "I guess it wouldn't be much of a risk to buy up the tax rights.
The land and material would be worth it."
"I should say so," the architect assented, seeing how the matter was
shaping itself in his companion's mind.
"Those foundations would take a pretty big building, eight or ten
stories."
"Easily."
They talked it over on their way back to the city. The contractor had
already formed a plan for utilizing the property. He had in mind the
organization of a construction company, which would pay him for
building the hotel with its bonds, and give him a large bonus of stock
besides. The architect was familiar with that method of finance. The
hotel when finished would be rented to another company for operation,
and by that time the contractor and his friends would have disposed of
their stock and bonds.
"You must let me in on this," Jackson said boldly, as they neared the
city. "I'm getting sick of doing your dinky instalment-plan suburban
villas and getting nothing out of it. I want to make some money, and
this scheme looks pretty good."
"There's no reason why you shouldn't make something, too," the
contractor answered readily. "You might interest some of your rich
friends in the company, and get a block of stock for yourself."
Hart had a pressing need of ready money rather than such dubious
promoter's profits. Rainbow and Harris had not pushed him to pay the
balance against him on their books, but their leniency would not extend
beyond the first of the month. Then, if he could not get the money in
some other way, he should have to go to his mother, or take the little
legacy that his uncle had left Helen. That very day he had had it in
his mind to ask the contractor to let him have twelve thousand dollars
on his note, which would get him out of his immediate difficulties. He
could pay it with the first return from the school commission, on which
he was reckoning.
But when Graves described the hotel project, he resolved to wait a
little longer, in the hope that somehow he might make more than enough
to pay his debts. What he needed was some capital. It was to obtain
this independent capital that he had ventured with the broker. Why had
he not had the wit to see the chance that lay in that old ruin and use
it on his own account? For the last five years many men that he knew
had been making fortunes, while he was working hard for precarious
wages. No matter what he might earn in his profession, he could never
feel at ease, have enough for his ambitions. He saw that his fees from
the practice of architecture would never satisfy him. He must have
capital,--money that would breed money independently of his exertions.
Latterly his mind had turned much about this one desire.
"You'll want me to draw the plans for the hotel, I suppose?" he asked
the contractor.
"Yes, you might get up some sketches for a ten-story building right
away--something to show the men I want to interest in the scheme,"
Graves answered promptly. "When you have 'em ready, come around and
we'll see if we can't fix up some kind of deal."
It was evident that the contractor had gone much farther in the hotel
matter than he had told Hart. Probably he had already taken measures
to get control of the abandoned property and had his corporation
organized.
At this point Jackson learned from Everett that the trustees were ready
to ask him for preliminary sketches for the school, and almost at the
same time he received a polite note from the brokers calling his
attention to his debt. He went at once to Graves's office and asked
the contractor for the loan, saying that he was to have the school and
should be put to extraordinary expenses in his office for the next few
months. The contractor let him have the money readily enough on his
personal note. Graves did not speak of the hotel, and for the moment
the school had driven all else from the architect's mind. He was kept
busy these days by consultations with the trustees and the director of
the school, getting their ideas about the building. One morning the
newspapers had an item, saying that "F. J. Hart, the prominent young
architect, nephew of the late Powers Jackson, had received the
commission for building the new Jackson Institute, and was engaged in
drawing plans for a magnificent structure, which in luxury and
completeness would outrank any similar institution in the country."
Before noon that same day Hart received a curt message from Judge
Phillips to call at his office, and foreseeing trouble with the
trustees about the newspaper paragraph, he went scowling into the
draughting-room.
"Some of you boys must have been talking loose about what's going on in
this office," he said accusingly.
"The Tribune man had the story straight enough when he came in here,"
Cook replied in defence. "He must have got it from some one who knew
what he was talking about."
Hart went over to the judge's office and tried to explain matters to
the old gentleman, who, besides having a great dislike of "newspaper
talk," felt that the trustees were being deliberately coerced into
giving their commission to this pushing young man. The architect was
forced to swallow some peppery remarks about indelicate methods of
securing business. When he left the judge, who was only half convinced
of his sincerity, he went to see Graves, and vented his irritation on
the contractor.
"You let things leak out of your office. You got me into hot water by
giving out that story about the school."
"How so? It's straight, ain't it? You've got the building? You said
so the other day when you came in here to borrow that money."
"It amounts to the same thing, though it hasn't been formally settled.
They are touchy enough about their old job. They've asked me to
prepare the first sketches--that's all so far."
"Oh! That's all, is it?" the contractor remarked coldly. "I thought
you had the job in your inside pocket from the way you talked the other
day."
Hart's face reddened and he stammered:--
"It's all right. They are sure to take me, only they are a little
slow, and I don't want to seem to force them."
Graves continued to examine the man before him with his shrewd little
eyes, and Hart realized that the contractor had given the news to the
papers for the precise purpose of finding out where the trustees stood.
"Well, when you get ready to build the school I expect we shall be
doing a good deal of business together," Graves remarked tentatively.
The architect moved back in his chair, more comfortable at the change
in the conversation.
"I shall want you to bid, of course. But I don't know yet whether the
trustees mean to let the contract as a whole."
"They'll do pretty much what you say, won't they? Ain't one of them
your cousin?"
"Yes."
"Well, I want that contract. Can't you fix it so's I can get it?"
Hart knew altogether too well what the contractor meant by this blunt
request. An architect has it in his power to draw his specifications
in such a manner that only a few favored contractors will dare to bid.
If outsiders venture to bid for the work, they cannot with safety go
low enough to get the contract. In the case of a large building this
is a more difficult manoeuvre to manage than with less important work.
Yet even with a building of the importance of the projected school,
contractors would be chary of bidding against a man who was as closely
identified with the architect as Graves was with Hart.
"They say now," Hart protested, "that nobody else gets a show in my
office."
"I don't believe you see what there might be in this for you, Mr.
Hart," the contractor persisted, without replying directly to the
architect's objection.
A stenographer interrupted them at this point, and the architect had a
few moments to think while Graves was engaged. He knew better than any
one else the devious methods of the contractor, and it had already
occurred to him that this would be a good opportunity to sever his
close connection with the Graves Construction Company. He would, of
course, allow Graves to bid on the school contracts, but would show him
no favors. Yet the contractor's last words made him reflect. There
was the hotel with its unknown possibilities of large returns.
Moreover, the Graves Construction Company was no longer the weak
enterprise that it had been five years before. Graves had made a great
deal of money these last prosperous years, and his "corporation" was
one of the largest of its kind in the city. It would be stupid to
break with the man altogether.
"Come, this ain't quiet enough here. Let's step over to Burke's and
talk it out," the contractor suggested, looking up from the papers the
stenographer had brought in.
So the two men went across the street to Burke's, which was a quiet
sort of drinking-place, frequented by the better class of sporting men.
In the rear there were a number of little rooms, where whispered
conversations intended for but two pairs of ears were often held. When
the negro attendant had wiped the mahogany table and brought them their
whiskey, Graves began:--
"Mr. Hart, I'm going to give you the chance of your life to make a lump
of money, sure and quick, and no gold-brick proposition, either."
Graves poured himself a drink, and meditatively twirled the small glass
between his fat fingers before he explained himself.
"You do the right thing by me in this school job, and I'll see that you
are properly fixed on the hotel scheme."
The details of the plan came cautiously and slowly from the contractor,
while Hart listened in a non-committal frame of mind. The thing
proposed was really very simple. The architect was to draw the school
specifications so that only a few firms would bid, and of these only
one or two would be genuine competitors. The contractor would see to
it that there were enough bidders at approximately his own figure to
prevent suspicion on the part of the trustees. In return for this
favor, Graves offered a large block of stock in the hotel company, "for
doing the plans of the hotel," which he was ready to guarantee would be
worth a certain sum.
Of course there was an unspecified item in the transaction, which was
perfectly obvious to the architect. If the contractor was ready to
make these terms in order to obtain the school, there must be enough in
the job above the legitimate profit on the contract to make it well
worth his while. The architect saw, less sharply, that this extra
profit would be made, more or less, with his professional connivance.
It would be impossible to get the trustees to accept bids so high that
the contractor could reap his profit and still do the work up to the
specifications. It would be necessary to specify needlessly elaborate
steel work, cut stone, and interior finish, with the understanding that
the Graves Company would not be forced to live up to these gilt-edged
specifications. It might be necessary, even, to prepare two sets of
specifications for the more important parts of the contract,--one for
the bidding, and one for the use of the subcontractors,--although that
would be dangerous.
Hart smoked and listened, while Graves, having outlined his plan, spoke
of the profit to the architect.
"If you want, I'll agree to take the hotel stock off your hands at par
from time to time as the two buildings go up. You can figure out now
what you'll make. It will not be far from seventy thousand dollars,
what with your commissions and the stock. And I'll guarantee, Hart,
that you'll have no trouble. That drunken Dutchman can work over any
details that have to be fixed--my own expense. Nothing need go through
your office that ain't first-class and regular."
The plan seemed perfectly simple, and the architect's imagination
fastened on the big bait which the contractor held out. Graves
repeated slowly in his thick tones:--
"A year, or say eighteen months, from now, you'll have about
seventy-five thousand dollars in the bank."
That would be capital! The lack of capital had tripped him at every
turn. With that amount of money, he could plant his feet firmly on the
earth and prepare to spring still higher.
"Of course," Graves continued, "you'd stand by me--help me out with the
trustees if there was any kick."
In other words, for the term of a year or eighteen months he would be
this contractor's creature. But the architect was thinking of
something else....
The line between what is honest and dishonest in business is a
difficult one to plot. From generation to generation standards alter
in the business world as elsewhere, and to-day men will do
unblushingly, and with the approval of their fellows, that which in
another generation will, doubtless, become a penitentiary offence.
Business is warfare, and whatever men may say on Sundays, the hardy man
of business will condone a thrifty sin of competition sooner than any
other sin. Every one of the fighters in the battle knows how hard it
is to make a dollar honestly or dishonestly, and he prefers to call
certain acts "indelicate" or "unprofessional," rather than dishonest.
Of such "unprofessional" conduct Hart had been guilty a number of
times, and the matter had not troubled him greatly. But this
arrangement, which the contractor was urging, was of more positive
stripe. Although it was not clear how close a connivance with fraud
would be necessary, it might involve outright rascality, which, if it
became known in the community, would ruin his professional standing for
life. He would be taking a great risk to grasp that promised lump of
money. While Graves talked in his thick, guttural tones, Hart was
weighing this risk. The whiskey that he had been drinking had not
obscured his vision in the least, although it shed a rosier glow over
the desired capital. It must be admitted that the architect gave
little consideration to the trustees or to his uncle's bequest. It
would have pleased him, if he had thought much about it, to make a good
round hole in his uncle's millions, of which the old man had deprived
him. And as for the trustees, they were shrewd men of the world, quite
able to take care of themselves.
But, instinctively, he recoiled from the act. He would much prefer a
clean, honorable, "high-class" career. If he could have secured money
enough to satisfy his ambitions, to lead the kind of life he liked,
without resort to such knavery as this, it would have been much
pleasanter. But in one way or another he must make money, and make it
more rapidly and more abundantly than he had been doing. That was
success. When he had come to this point, he had already consented with
himself....
They had been sitting there nearly two hours, but latterly little had
been said. The contractor was patient and diplomatic. Finally he
asked, "Well, Hart, what do you say?"
Hart lighted another cigar before speaking, and then replied
deliberately: "I will think over what you say. I understand that the
stock is given me instead of my regular commission on the hotel, and
will be worth a fixed sum?"
"That's it!"
Then they went out into the street without further words. Hart
returned to his office, examined his mail, wrapped up his first
sketches for the school, and set out for the train. The deal with
Graves unconsciously filled his mind and made him feel strange to
himself. Yet he thought less of the practical detail of the
transaction than of certain specious considerations concerning the
morality of what he was going to do.
Business was war, he said to himself again and again, and in this war
only the little fellows had to be strictly honest. The big ones, those
that governed the world, stole, lied, cheated their fellows openly in
the market. The Bushfields took their rake-off; the Rainbows were the
financial pimps, who fattened on the vices of the great industrial
leaders. Colonel Raymond might discharge a man on his road who stole
fifty cents or was seen to enter a bucket shop, but in the
reorganization of the Michigan Northern ten years previously, he and
his friends had pocketed several millions of dollars, and had won the
lawsuits brought against them by the defrauded stockholders.
It was a world of graft, the architect judged cynically. Old Powers
Jackson, it was said in Chicago, would cheat the glass eye out of his
best friend in a deal. He, too, would follow in the path of the
strong, and take what was within his reach. He would climb hardily to
the top, and then who cared? That gospel of strenuous effort, which
our statesmen and orators are so fond of shouting forth, has its
followers in the little Jackson Harts. Only, in putting forth their
strong right arms, they often thrust them into their neighbors'
pockets. And the irresponsible great ones, who have emerged beyond the
reign of law, have their disciples in all the strata of society,--down,
down to the boy who plays the races with the cash in his employer's
till.
The architect went home to his wife and children with the honest love
that he bore them. If they had entered his mind in connection with
this day's experience, he would have believed that largely for their
sakes, for their advancement in the social scheme of things, he had
engaged upon a toilsome and disagreeable task. For he did not like
slippery ways.