When Covington entered Gorham's office an hour later he found his chief
bowed forward on his desk, his head resting upon his hands. As the door
closed the older man raised his eyes, and the change in his face caused
Covington to stop in surprise. The usual color was replaced by a dull,
ashen gray, the lines had deepened, and the general aspect was that of a
man ten years older.
"Everything is all right, Mr. Gorham," Covington remarked,
encouragingly. "They passed the resolutions you demanded."
"John."
It was the first time Gorham had ever addressed him by his Christian
name, and this fact, together with the tone in which it was spoken,
aroused a novel sensation in the younger man. He took the outstretched
hand, and accepted the friendly pressure, conscious of a feeling not
altogether pleasant.
"John," Gorham repeated, "you and I are the only ones who can save the
Companies to its stockholders. We have a tremendous responsibility
thrust upon us."
"But you won out," Covington exclaimed, amazed that Gorham seemed not to
have comprehended his words. "Everything is all right."
"Everything is all wrong," the older man corrected, his eyes flashing
with a fire at variance with his general bearing. "Of course I won out,
but that is the least of my concern. My life-work bids fair to be a
failure, unless you and I together can build this structure over, using
material which this time will prove strong enough to withstand the
unholy strain of money, money, money. Of course I won out, because they
dare not risk my antagonism; but I have failed--miserably failed--in my
efforts to instil into those associated with me the basic principles of
a successful altruistic business. Oh, the pity of it! The greater the
returns the greater the greed, and their blindness in killing the goose
which lays the golden egg! But in you, John, at least, I have a tower of
strength."
Covington found himself being rapidly forced into an equivocal position.
No one knew so well as he that the present conditions were the direct
result of his skilful and persistent manipulation, yet the result of
this first issue had not been what he had foreseen. In fact, it had
turned out better than he had expected, in that Gorham now leaned on him
as his sole support. Yet it was dangerous, Covington realized, to be
placed where he could be accused of carrying water on both shoulders, so
he hastened to put himself on record, midway between the two factions.
"They had no idea that you laid so much stress on the moral side, in
your own mind--" he began.
"How could they have known me at all and thought otherwise?"
"The whole scheme of the Consolidated Companies is so unusual that
perhaps it isn't to be wondered at. What you consider to be unwarranted
is a recognized business method in other corporations."
"Why do you tell me this?" Gorham demanded, suddenly.
"Because I feared that you had overlooked it, in the heat of the
argument, and some sort of a compromise is of course necessary."
"Compromise?" repeated Gorham, questioningly. "I don't follow you."
"Why, you've carried your point, and proved your strength, but you have
divided the Companies into two camps. Of course something must be done
to conciliate. By Jove! that was an arraignment you gave them!"
"There can be no conciliation, Covington," was the firm response; "there
can be no compromise. The Consolidated Companies either is what it is,
or it is nothing. The pledges which I have made from the beginning shall
be lived up to in spirit and in letter, or the final exercise of the
strength which they all are forced to admit shall be again to separate
it into its integral parts, and prevent it from undoing that which I
have already accomplished through its agency."
"That is a large contract for any one man to undertake," Covington
remarked. "No individual has yet been able to disintegrate a successful
going corporation when the stockholders and the directors were opposed
to it."
"We are talking of unusual things," Gorham replied. "No individual
before has been able to found so mammoth or so successful a corporation
as the Consolidated Companies. No individual before this has found
himself strong enough to force the immediate capitulation, against their
wills, of so powerful an Executive Committee. With these precedents
before me, I state my determination not as a threat, or as a boast, but
as a fact."
"Are you counting on the stockholders for support?"
"Absolutely."
"You will find them as unanimously against you as you have just found
the committee."
"Do you know this?"
"They all know it; they would not have taken their position otherwise.
Next time, the stockholders will be put in evidence."
Gorham again became silent. This second shock, following so soon after
the first, for a moment paralyzed his power to think, but he quickly
recovered his optimism.
"I do not believe it--I will not believe it. But why do you tell me
this?" he again asked. "There must be some purpose behind it all."
"There is. It is necessary for you to realize the exact position we are
in. Your work has been with those about to become stockholders, or with
the consolidations; I have been brought in personal contact with the
stockholders and the directors. You have met the ideals, while I have
come face to face with the actualities. For this reason I tell you that
you are undertaking a more serious campaign than you realize, and I also
tell you that, strong as you are, compromise and conciliation will
eventually be required."
"Do I, then, stand alone?"
Covington resented the suggestion.
"There should be no question in your mind as to where I stand," he said.
"My personal relations with you, and my hope of an even closer
relationship, make any discussion unnecessary. But I see the situation
from a viewpoint which you cannot, and my duty clearly demands that I
express myself to you with complete frankness. I do not suggest that you
give up your ideals--I simply urge you to compromise with them in order
to win greater victories in the future."
"Covington," replied Gorham, with decision, "you know how much I value
your judgment, how firmly I rely upon your loyalty. Because of this, I
shall move with even greater care than so serious a crisis as this
inevitably demands. Yet it is only fair to say to you now that I can see
but one outcome. There are many conflicts which arise in life which
admit of compromise--but you cannot compromise with truth, with virtue,
or with honor. These attributes either exist, or they do not--there are
no half-ways. Suppose you do a little thinking, too, along my line. Then
we'll join together, taking advantage of this new knowledge which has
come to us, and force the issue where we see the necessity. We are both
trying to accomplish the same results, but are considering different
routes. Think it over, my friend, and I feel sure that you will see that
I am right."
His interview with Gorham left Covington with certain well-defined
conclusions: Gorham would never yield one iota from his position, and
his associates would not rest until they had wiped out this affront they
had received. It would be necessary for him to take sides openly with
Gorham or else make definite sacrifices. Yet he must hold the position
he now had with the directors so as to be Gorham's successor in case the
affair turned in that direction; and, most important of all, he must
fortify himself still further against the breaking of the storm, which
he knew would sooner or later come upon him.
In military conflicts there are various methods of winning a victory.
When the adversary appears too strong for a direct battle, a skilful
tactician will sometimes weaken the enemy's strength by a rear attack.
Covington was a skilful tactician, and in the present crisis the
affidavits he had stored away in his safe-deposit drawer tempted him
sorely. He had never expected to use them, he told himself. He had never
expected to be placed in opposition to Mr. Gorham. With the family
alliance he contemplated, there would seem to be no occasion for
conflicting interests to exist between them. But if Gorham insisted on
making a fool of himself, there was really no good reason why Covington
should allow himself to be dragged down with him. It was infinitely
wiser to be in the position of "heads I win, tails you lose." Surely he
could not be accused of selfishness in the matter, when, if Mr. Gorham
were eventually dethroned by the directors, and he, Covington, crowned
in his place, it would simply result in keeping the Consolidated
Companies still in the family. And as for Gorham's silly threat to
disintegrate the corporation--that was too absurd to be considered
seriously.
So Covington again inspected the papers which Levy had secured for him.
The one which related to Mrs. Buckner and the prospector he laid aside
at once as too contemptible to be considered, but the other interested
him. Gorham was setting himself above other men who held enviable
positions in the business and social world. If this affidavit was
true--and Covington saw no reason to doubt its authenticity--this
demigod might hesitate to emphasize his superiority. With the legality
of his marriage questioned, his Czarship might be weakened; and this,
as Covington saw it, meant advantage to himself in the Consolidated
Companies, and an insurance against any attitude Gorham might take
against him. With Brady vowing vengeance, his part in unloading the
railways stock on Alice might at any time be uncovered. With the present
strained relations between Gorham and the Executive Committee, his
confidential relations with both sides might prove disagreeable. But
with Gorham himself entangled in a domestic complication, serious
consequences to himself from such a catastrophe might be averted, or, at
least, mitigated. And, best of all, Levy was quite ready to proceed in
the matter with Buckner as his client. Surely Opportunity never offered
herself with more brazen coquetry to any one than she did to John
Covington.
All this resulted in a busy afternoon for Lawyer Levy. Covington
returned the affidavit to him and left him free to proceed or not, as he
saw fit. Levy's delight was unbounded--"it was such a nice case."
Buckner was quickly summoned to the lawyer's office and a new agreement
drawn between them, which gave special joy to Buckner, as it meant an
increased supply of money and a renewed lease of life in New York City,
which he had learned to "love." Besides the agreement, he was asked to
sign a letter to Mrs. Gorham, which had been carefully worded by Levy
and was filled with lurid descriptions of his affection and loneliness.
He had accidentally become aware of the fact that their separation was
not legal, and the unexpected knowledge had served to revive in him all
the fondness of the early days. He had mastered the curse of drink which
had brought about their estrangement, and needed her companionship and
care. He regretted the inconvenience which it might occasion, but Mr.
Gorham had everything while he had nothing but the affection which he
felt for her--and that as she was now, and always had been his wife, he
demanded his rights.
Levy had known men to change their minds, and in order to prevent any
such misfortune he despatched the letter by special messenger early in
the evening. Gorham had returned late and betook himself to the library
immediately after dinner to consider the new business complications with
great care before grappling with the situation on the following day. He
was still meditating when he was surprised to see Eleanor enter the
room, with an expression on her face which at once made him forget his
own perplexities.
"Why, Eleanor!" he cried, "what has gone wrong with you?"
Mrs. Gorham took her favorite seat on the arm of her husband's chair,
and he drew her to him.
"I saw Ralph Buckner while out driving a few weeks ago," she said in
response to his question. "It unnerved me at the time, and I have been
apprehensive ever since. I did not tell you about it, as there seemed
nothing on which to base my fears, and you were so occupied. I hesitate
even now to add to your burdens, but this letter has just come, and you
should see it."
As she spoke she placed the open letter in his hand, and he read it
carefully.
"There can be nothing to this--can there?" she asked, her lip trembling
and her whole expression showing how eagerly she awaited his answer.
"Eleanor," he said, softly, drawing her onto his lap, and soothing her
with the tenderness a mother would have shown an anxious child. He held
her pressed closely to him for so long a time in silence that at last
she became frightened She sat upright and, placing a hand on either
shoulder, regarded him searchingly.
"Robert," she cried, aghast, "you don't believe--"
Then he told her the news which James Riley had brought him, and of his
efforts to learn more.
"No, dear, I don't believe it," Gorham finally answered her unfinished
question. "No power on earth could make me believe it until they proved
it; and even then no power could take you from me."
"But it must be proved one way or the other."
"There will be no need," Gorham replied, with a lightness he did not
feel; "I will find this man and will settle it for all time."
"How will you settle it, Robert?"
"He is doing this for money. Now that he has come out into the open, I
can take care of him."
"But that won't do, dear. If there is any question about the divorce,
your buying him off won't settle it, will it?"
"It must," was Gorham's decisive answer.
"It can't." Eleanor rose and regarded him with an infinite tenderness.
"It can't, Robert; you know it can't, dear. If the divorce is not legal,
then there was no marriage between us, and what Ralph Buckner says or
does cannot affect that. We must know the facts now, dear."
"In all probability the divorce was perfectly regular. It is questioned
now purely for blackmailing purposes; but I will submit to that, if
necessary, rather than have the matter go any further. Don't be quixotic
and play into the hands of these scoundrels who have gotten hold of
Buckner, and are trying to reach me through you, knowing well that this
is my vulnerable point."
Mrs. Gorham was so long silent that her husband felt his argument had
won.
"Eleanor," he said more calmly, "can you ever fully realize what you are
to me? All these gigantic transactions which have fallen to my lot mean
only so many contests with the world that I may bring my victories back
to you. The struggle is inspiring, the strife is intoxicating while it
is on, but how hollow the successes except for you! My life and all its
activities are centred about this one inmost shrine in which I mean to
keep you, unsullied by even the implied contamination which these
blackmailers would bring upon you. I will fight them with their own
weapons, and, thank God, I can ward off the blow."
"Robert--my Robert!" Mrs. Gorham's voice was low but masterful in the
force which lay behind the words. "Nothing can ever come to me so bitter
as to make me forget that this has caused you to say what you have just
said. You mean every word, and to have won such devotion from such a man
is enough to make any woman's life complete. But it is your heart which
speaks, and our sober judgment must acknowledge without a question the
necessity of settling beyond the reach of doubt the validity of the
legal tie which binds us. We need no court to settle the question of our
love, my Robert--that is the real marriage which I know God only
recognizes; but there can be no happiness for us if we disregard even
for a moment those conventions which are necessary to our every-day
life. You know it, dear, just as I do."
"It is unnecessary, Eleanor--it is unwise. We are so certain that there
is no real basis for doubt."
"Would you feel the same if Alice were involved?" she asked, quietly.
"Alice?" he repeated.
"Yes; suppose this same question came up with her, would you not be the
first to insist that the facts be proven?"
"What can I say?" he asked, brokenly. "This means a public trial and all
the scandal that goes with it. It means a rehearsing of all that past
which I have tried to help you to forget. It means pain and sorrow and
suffering to you, dear--to you whom I would shield with my life from
just what now threatens you."
"A trial, Robert?" Mrs. Gorham asked, looking at him with a startled
expression. "Do you mean that there has to be a trial?"
"Of course," Gorham replied, wondering at the unexpected change in her
attitude.
Suddenly she buried her face against his shoulder and burst into tears.
"Oh, I couldn't stand that!" she cried.
Gorham gently held her face from him and looked into it kindly but
questioningly. "Why not?" he asked.
"It would kill me," she replied, not meeting his look.
"Is there anything which the trial could bring out which you have not
already told me, Eleanor?" he asked, quietly.
"Don't you know enough already to understand why I could never live
through it?"
Gorham urged no further and caressed her gently, yet there was an
expression of distinct disappointment in his face.
"There must be no trial," he said, firmly. "You shall be shielded from
that and from everything else which threatens to bring you sorrow. You
must leave it all in my hands."