IV

After his interview with Senator Kenmore, Gorham walked rapidly down the

slight incline from the Senators' office building to the hotel, where

the clerk passed out to him a handful of letters and telegrams. In the

lobby, unseasonably crowded by the extra session of Congress, he nodded

cordially to three or four men who obviously courted recognition, and

ascended in the elevator to his apartment.

"You don't know Gorham?" queried one of the men, turning to his

friend--"wonderful man, wonderful organizer, head of the great

Consolidated Companies. Thought the Consolidated Companies a myth? Well,

well! That's a great compliment to the man and his methods. You'll know

both well enough before long. But that's characteristic of Gorham--moves

along so quietly that you think he's doing nothing; then you wake up and

find that his corporation has tucked away a big government contract you

thought you'd tied up yourself. Better keep your eye on Gorham and the

Consolidated Companies."

"There you are, daddy!" cried a welcoming voice as Gorham threw open the

door, the words being quickly followed by a rustle of skirts and an

enthusiastic embrace. "I'm so glad you're back early. You know Allen is

coming to dinner, and couldn't we all go to the theatre afterward?"

Alice released her father partially, but still held one of his hands in

each of her own. Hat, letters, and telegrams had already fallen in

confusion upon the floor, as the result of the girl's onslaught. She

caught the look, half amusement, half dismay, upon his face.

"Never mind, daddy dear," she continued, reassuringly; "I'll pick them

all up in a moment. You will go with us to the theatre, won't you?"

Gorham looked significantly at the telegrams and the letters on the

floor.

"Let me see," he said, doubtfully. "I really ought to work on these

papers after dinner. How can I do that and go with you, Puss? There's

a problem for you!--unless I could use Riley for a secretary," he

continued, jocosely. "That's the only capacity he hasn't served in.

Where is he, anyway?"

"Couldn't I help you?" she asked, quickly, without answering his

question. "You don't know how much I'd like to. And I'm sure I could,"

she added, with confidence.

"Tut, tut!" Gorham stroked the soft fair hair affectionately, but

discreetly. "Little girls shouldn't concern themselves with such

matters."

The girl released him, and, dropping on her knees, gathered up the

fallen missives. Instead of handing them to her father, she sat back and

looked up seriously into his face.

"Girls are no good, anyhow," she rebelled. "If you would only give me

the chance, I know I could help you in lots of ways, and then I'd feel

that I was worth something. I just can't stand it to sit around all the

time and have things done for me. Oh, why wasn't I a boy!"

"Come, come." Gorham raised her gently to her feet, noting the tears

in her eyes, and drew her to him. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings,

dear; but business and battle are meant for men. The Amazons in ancient

history didn't change the order of things, did they? You should be proud

to be just what you are. Now give me my letters. There's some one else I

want to see, you know."

"She's waiting for you," Alice replied, simply, looking into his face

with comprehension. "She's the sweetest thing, daddy," the girl

continued. "One moment she is so wise that she seems old enough to be my

truly mother; and then again so young and sympathetic as to be just an

older sister. I can't tell you how much she does for me every day, or

how completely she understands me."

"You and I are mighty lucky to have Eleanor, Alice," Gorham replied,

feelingly. "We should both be very grateful to her, dear."

"I _am_ grateful, daddy; and I love her better every day. There's Riley;

he'll help you get ready for the theatre."

Gorham made no answer, but patted his daughter's cheek affectionately as

he turned from her to the genial face of his valet and general factotum.

The old man had been in Gorham's family for forty years, and his loyalty

to "Misther Robert" had steadily increased during the period which had

elapsed since "Old Gorham," as his original master had been known in

Pittsburgh, delivered him over to his son as a part of the house and

household effects which constituted the paternal wedding present. Now,

ten years Gorham's senior, he still adopted an attitude at once

protective and admiring, enjoying that intimacy which is the reward of

a lifelong service of loyalty.

"Miss Alice wishes me to go to the theatre to-night, Riley," Gorham

remarked as the man relieved him of his coat.

"Yis, sor; 'twill do ye good, Misther Robert--ye wid so manny grand

plans in ye'er head. 'Twill do ye good, sor."

"But I have so much to do, Riley," Gorham protested. "The more items I

cross off my daily memorandum, the more I find left there to be done."

"Yis, sor; that's right, sor--I know it's right; it's just like th'

Widow Cruse's oil jug in th' Bible, sor. But th' widow come out all

right, Misther Robert, and ye'll do th' same. I'll have ye'er things

ready f'r ye in a minnit, sor."

If Riley was in the conspiracy for the theatre-party, Gorham realized

that opposition would be futile, so he turned into his wife's room.

"I thought I heard voices in the hall," Mrs. Gorham greeted her husband,

affectionately. "You have returned early, which will give us a little

visit together before dinner-time. Has the day been satisfactory?"

Gorham did not reply at once. He held her face between his hands,

looking down into the depth of her eyes with a strength of feeling which

she could but sense. There was an expression of expectancy, an unspoken

desire that she should recognize something which as yet she had failed

to see. There was a tenseness which would have frightened her except for

the tenderness which accompanied it.

"Why do you look at me like that, Robert?"

"Because I love you, Eleanor," he replied at length. "Isn't that an

admission for a man of my age to make? I know it always, but there are

times when I must tell you so. Don't call it weakness, dear, or

sentimentality. There is a relief which I could never explain in turning

from these battles with men and with events to your companionship, which

demanded nothing from me except myself."

"Nothing except yourself?" Mrs. Gorham smiled, reassured. "What more

could one ask or give? Now that you have confessed, I must do likewise:

I simply count the moments every day until you come, but I never should

have dared to tell you for fear you would laugh at me. What would this

callous world say if it discovered that the great Robert Gorham and his

insignificant wife were really in love with each other! But I am so

thankful for it, dear. What do the years mean unless they add to one's

power to love?"

"The thankfulness is mine, Eleanor," Gorham replied; "but I shan't let

you speak of 'the years' at twenty-six. Wait until you add twenty-five

more to them and reach my dignified estate."

"It is experience which adds the years, my Robert; and this almost gives

me the right to priority."

"I know, I know," her husband replied, drawing her gently to him. "Do

you never forget it?"

"You and the dear girls have softened the past into a memory which I can

at least endure," she continued, "and you fill the present with so much

happiness that I rarely have time to look backward."

"Alice spoke just now of how much you had been to her, and it started

something moving in my own heart. That is probably what led me to speak

as I did."

"Alice is a darling," Mrs. Gorham replied, happy beyond words at the

double tribute received from father and daughter. "Just now she is

passing through what seems to her to be a crisis, and she needs

assistance from us both."

Gorham looked at her in surprise. "A crisis?" he asked.

"Yes, Robert; and the responsibility is yours: you have passed on to

her, as directly as heredity can do it, that love of business which has

made you what you are. You have been denied a son, but whether you wish

it or not your daughter naturally possesses those very business

instincts which you would have been proud to recognize in your son."

"You amaze me," Gorham replied. "Alice is forever trying to persuade me

to let her help me and all that, but I have attributed it simply to an

affectionate desire on her part to be of service to me."

"It is more than that--there is the reflection of yourself in the girl's

soul which demands expression."

"But it would be absurd for her to do anything of that kind."

"Why so? I don't mean for her to go into a business office, of course.

But could you not gratify her by explaining certain problems which she

could grasp, and then give her an opportunity to work them out herself

in some minor personal matter of which you have so many?"

"It seems ridiculous to me," Gorham said, after a moment's silence, "but

I will think it over carefully. I am disappointed, I admit, that neither

one of my children, especially Alice, should have been a son to

perpetuate my name and to continue my work; but that was not to be, and

my daughters are all that I could ask."

"They are indeed," she assented, feelingly. "I believe Alice realizes

your disappointment and actually reproaches herself, poor child, for not

being what you wished."

"Oh, no!" he protested. "I must set her right on that at once. I admit

my disappointment, but that does not lessen my appreciation of my

blessings. You and the girls are everything to me--and you have given me

more than a son in your wonderful conception--the Consolidated Companies

is your child, Eleanor, for without your suggestion of an organization

founded upon an altruistic basis I should never have thought of creating

this corporation which is now certain to be the greatest power the world

has seen."

"You give me too much credit, Robert. That was simply a chance

suggestion; it was your master mind which gave it life."

"It is yours, none the less," Gorham insisted; "and this great

corporation may be the means of giving me my son and successor, after

all."

It was Eleanor's turn to show surprise, but he did not wait for the

question which was on her lips.

"It is my hope that Alice may marry Covington," he continued, "and I see

no reason why this should not be. She is, of course, a free agent, but I

think Covington will have little difficulty in winning her. He has an

attractive personality, and I know that she already admires and respects

him. He is a man of rare ability and is my natural successor."

"There seems to be no logical obstacle," Eleanor admitted; "but her

heart is yet to be awakened."

"As far as that is concerned," Gorham said, decisively, "Alice will not

altogether disregard my wishes in the matter; and the awakening will be

all the healthier if the child is guided."

"We must never do more than guide her," Eleanor said, apprehensively.

"I don't intend to. Now tell me something of this youngster who seems to

have made quite an impression on my entire family."

Mrs. Gorham smiled as her mind reverted to the afternoon. "We had a

charming ride," she said. "Allen has an over-developed bump of humor

which encourages him to be irresponsible, but he is a likable boy and

I enjoyed him."

"Probably all he needs is a smaller allowance and a greater necessity."

"I judge he isn't likely to get either from his father. As you know, Mr.

Sanford insists on his becoming a diplomat, while he prefers to go into

business. This naturally interested Alice, and they had a most amusing

discussion about it. He really doesn't know why he prefers business, but

Alice has helped him to crystallize his ideas. In fact, she has quite

fired his ambition. I think you will enjoy your conversation with him at

dinner to-night, Robert, for he is really most ingenuous, and a bit of

advice from you will help him just now, even if he doesn't measure up to

your standard of business capacity."

"You think me a stern master, don't you, Eleanor?" Gorham pressed the

hand he held in his.

"It would be unfair to judge him by yourself. Boys of to-day are not

having the early training that fell to your lot, and their latent

ability is just that much slower in showing itself. You see so much

of the serious side of life, it will be diverting to hear the frank

expressions of one of the younger generation. I am curious to know what

you think of him."

"I couldn't take him into the Consolidated Companies," Gorham said,

flatly.

"That isn't what I mean," his wife hastened to reply. "You don't think

this a disregard of your desire not to have me refer to business?"

"No, dear; I understand, and shall be glad to talk with the boy. I hope

you also understand as clearly why I have had to take this seemingly

arbitrary position. My day is filled with problems which require nerve

and confidence in my own judgment in order to carry them through. I must

let no one influence this judgment, and even a suggested preference from

those I love might do it. More than this, my brain is clearer each day

when I can claim an evening with you and Alice, with no intruding

thoughts of business detail. Now I must send a few telegrams to clear

the way for the theatre this evening. You really want me to go with

you?"

"Alice has set her heart on it, and as for me--well, you know how little

any evening means to me unless we are together."

"Then I will send Riley to see about the seats."

"But before you do that, I have a complaint to make."

Gorham smiled at the expression on his wife's face, half serious, half

humorous.

"Who is the culprit?"

"Riley," she replied.

"Riley?" her husband repeated. "Good heavens, don't tell me that you and

Riley have been having trouble!"

"Not trouble, exactly; but really, Robert, he treats me as if I were a

child."

"No!" Gorham assumed an incredulity he did not feel. "Tell me all about

it."

"It is too absurd to speak of, but I was really annoyed with him for the

moment. He actually wouldn't let me go shopping this morning--he said I

was too tired, and absolutely refused to order a cab."