Produced by Annie McGuire
[Illustration: Book Cover]
[Illustration: "ARE YOU AFRAID OF YOURSELF?"
_Frontispiece. Page 233_.]
JOHN MARSH'S MILLIONS
A NOVEL
By
CHARLES KLEIN
AND
ARTHUR HORNBLOW
Authors of the Novel "The Lion and the Mouse,"
"The Third Degree," etc.
[Illustration]
ILLUSTRATIONS BY
SAMUEL CAHAN
* * * * *
G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK
COPYRIGHT 1910, BY
G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I 7
II 23
III 36
IV 50
V 63
VI 80
VII 95
VIII 112
IX 130
X 148
XI 161
XII 179
XIII 198
XIV 214
XV 229
XVI 252
XVII 268
XVIII 286
XIX 306
XX 328
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
"Are you afraid of yourself?" Frontispiece 233
"That's not John Marsh's will" 78
The agonized scream of a mother robbed of her young 175
Paula left the asylum office accompanied by the nurse 300
CHAPTER I.
When John Marsh, the steel man, died, there was considerable stir in the
inner circles of New York society. And no wonder. The wealthy
ironmaster's unexpected demise certainly created a most awkward
situation. It meant nothing less than the social rehabilitation of a
certain individual who, up to this time, had been openly snubbed, not to
say deliberately "cut" by everybody in town. In other words, Society was
compelled, figuratively speaking, to go through the humiliating and
distasteful performance of eating crow. Circumstances alter cases. While
the smart set was fully justified in making a brave show of virtuous
indignation when one of its members so far forgot himself as to get
kicked out of his club, it was only natural that the offending
gentleman's peccadilloes were to be regarded in a more indulgent light
when he suddenly fell heir to one of the biggest fortunes in the
country.
It was too bad about "Jimmy" Marsh. His reputation was unsavory and he
deserved all of it. Total lack of moral principle combined with an
indolent, shiftless disposition had given him a distorted outlook on
things. All his life he had been good for nothing, and at the age of
forty he found himself a nuisance to himself and everybody else. Yet he
was not without a natural cunning which sometimes passed for smartness,
but he often overreached himself and committed blunders of which a
clever man would never be guilty. To put it plainly, Jimmy was crooked.
Fond of a style of living which he was not able to afford and desperate
for funds with which to gratify his expensive tastes, he had foolishly
attempted to cheat at cards. His notions of honor and common decency had
always been nebulous, and when one night, in a friendly game, he
clumsily tried to deal himself an ace from the bottom of the deck, not
even the fact that he was the brother and sole heir of one of the
richest men in the United States could save him from ignominious
expulsion.
The affair made a great noise at the time, and the newspapers were full
of its scandalous details. But the public soon forgets, and as to the
newspapers--they found other victims. Besides, Jimmy's prospects were
too bright to permit of him being dropped from sight altogether. It was
not forgotten that one day he would step into his brother's shoes and
then Society, willy nilly, would have to do homage to his money.
This rich brother, by the way, was largely responsible for Jimmy's
undoing. They were both--he and John--the sons of poor English people
who immigrated to America five years after John's birth. The father was
a journeyman baker and started a small business in Pittsburg. Two
cousins of the same name, William and Henry, haberdashers by trade, had
likewise settled and prospered in New Jersey. Fifteen years later the
mother died in giving birth to another son. The elder boy, a taciturn,
hard-working lad with a taste for figures, had found employment in the
steel industry, then in its infancy, but growing with giant strides. As
he acquired experience, his position was improved until, before long, he
was known as one of the most expert steel workers in the iron region.
Suddenly, dire calamity befell the little family. One fateful morning,
while making his early rounds, the baker was run over and killed by a
railroad train. It was a staggering blow, but John rose manfully to the
emergency. Silent, serious, masterful, his brain teeming with ideas
that would revolutionize the entire steel trade, he stoically buried his
progenitor and despatched the orphaned Jimmy to school.
The years passed. The discoveries of vast ore fields in Michigan and
Wisconsin had made the United States the biggest producer of steel in
the world. The pace set was terrific, orders poured in from all corners
of the globe, plants were kept going night and day, a steady stream of
gold flowed into the coffers of the delighted steelmakers who soon
became millionaires over night. John Marsh had long since been a partner
in the company to which he had remained loyal since boyhood, and in the
orgy of profit sharing, he found himself with stock holdings
representing millions.
James naturally shared in the good fortune. The hard-working John
grudged nothing to the drone. He paid the boy's way through college and
gave him a liberal allowance. When he was old enough and had sufficient
schooling he'd put him in the steel business and make a man of him. But,
unfortunately, Jimmy was not made of the same stern stuff as his
brother. Expensive tastes and dubious acquaintances were about all that
he acquired at the University. He gambled and drank and got hopelessly
entangled in debt. John was not blind to his brother's faults, but, in
a measure, he excused them. To the elder brother, plodding, methodical,
sober, the hare-brained, irresponsible Jimmy was always "the kid." What
was the use of taking him seriously? One day he'd get tired of making an
ass of himself. So he paid his debts without complaint. One day Jimmy
boldly demanded an increase in his allowance. John, still unruffled,
shook his head. "No, kid," he said quietly, "you must manage with what I
give you. When I'm gone you'll get it all." This was the first time that
John had hinted at the disposition he had made of his fortune. Of
course, it was only natural that an old bachelor should leave
practically everything to his only brother, but this was the first
intimation he had given of his intentions. Rendered almost speechless
from emotion, Jimmy hurried to the money lenders and borrowed on
"futures" to the limit.
This was the real starting point of Jimmy's downward course. From now on
he was unfitted for any serious effort. If he ever had any ambition he
lost it now. He lived solely on "prospects." What was the use of
exerting himself, he argued, when any day he might come in for millions?
When he left Harvard--under a cloud, of course--John took him in the
steel works. But Pittsburg's strenuous, nerve racking, smoky life did
not appeal very strongly to a young man who thirsted for the more
voluptuous joys of Broadway. He left for New York saying he would shift
for himself, and John, secretly glad to be rid of him, gave him a
handsome cheque and his godspeed.
So well did Jimmy "shift" for himself that within a year he had
squandered $10,000 and was hopelessly involved in debt. Once more the
patient John straightened matters out, and when Jimmy said he thought he
could win out in Wall Street if only given the chance, he purchased for
him a seat on the Stock Exchange. Two years later, as a result of
certain stock jobbing operations, not entirely free from scandal, he was
temporarily suspended from the floor, and later forced to sell his seat
to satisfy clamoring creditors who threatened to put him in jail. But
thanks to the good John's liberal allowance, he was still able to put on
a respectable front and thus for years he merely drifted, at heart a
crook, but living the life of a gentleman of leisure, awaiting patiently
the day when he would come into "his own."
The coming inheritance had thus gradually grown to be an obsession.
Night and day it occupied his thoughts. He could think and talk of
nothing else. His associates mockingly called him "Inheritance Jim."
For twenty-five long years he waited for his brother to die, and when,
from time to time, John in his few and far-between letters casually
remarked that he was enjoying excellent health, he took the news almost
in the light of a personal injury.
The years went on. The other cousins, William and Henry had died, each
leaving a son. William's son, Peter Marsh, feeling within the spiritual
call, became a Presbyterian minister at Rahway, and taking to himself a
wife, succeeded in raising a numerous progeny on a very slender income.
Henry's son, Thomas Marsh, followed his father's trade as haberdasher
and barely managed to keep body and soul together. To these poor
relatives, also, the dollars of "uncle" John proved an irresistible
attraction. In order not to be forgotten, they wrote him affectionate
letters, none of which received as much as an acknowledgment. Towards
these impecunious cousins James Marsh assumed a patronizing, almost
friendly, attitude. On divers occasions when his financial affairs
became so critical that he had to negotiate a small loan without delay
he had found even their slender savings useful. In return for these
pecuniary services rendered he had not discouraged the hope which they
often expressed that "uncle" John would remember them in his will. To
serve his own ends he kept up the pleasant fiction that he was on the
best of terms with his brother and that he would gladly use his
influence in their interests.
As a matter of fact, nothing was further from the truth. He saw nothing
of John. As the brothers grew older they drifted further apart. Months,
years, passed without their seeing each other. When in urgent need of
funds James made flying trips to Pittsburg, he never saw his brother
anywhere but at his office. John never invited him to visit his home, a
lonely place situated some miles out in the suburbs. Practically, the
old man led the life of a recluse. At rare intervals he would write to
his brother James, enclosing a cheque in answer to a begging letter, but
otherwise he discouraged all attempts at intimacy. The old gentleman
kept entirely to himself, growing more reserved and secretive about his
affairs as the years passed. He saw absolutely no one and of recent
years had spent six months out of the twelve in Europe. He might have
been dead long ago for all that was seen of him.
But Jimmy did not worry. John's will was made, that he knew. Bascom
Cooley, his own friend and lawyer, had drawn it up and witnessed its
execution. He had it secure in his possession. If anything happened he
would be informed of it at once. So there was nothing to worry about.
All he had to do was to wait.
Meantime Jimmy, feeling the need of a companion, took to himself a wife.
The lady was the widow of a man named Chase, who had held high position
in one of the big insurance companies. The public investigations came
with their awkward disclosures, and Mr. Chase, unable to face the
limelight of publicity, conveniently succumbed to heart failure, leaving
to his relict a few thousand dollars and the responsibility of looking
after an eighteen-year-old son--a slangy, flippantly inclined youth
rejoicing in the euphonious name of Todhunter, but whom everyone, his
cronies and creditors both, knew as "Tod." Mrs. Chase, a stout,
vulgar-looking woman, with hair startlingly yellow and teeth obviously
false, met Mr. James Marsh at a dinner one night, and when, between
courses, the inevitable inheritance yarn was detailed to her by an
obliging neighbor, it at once flashed upon the widow that here was a man
whose acquaintance it might be worth her while to cultivate. She had
still a little money left out of the wreck of the defunct Chase's
estate, and this immediate cash asset, she shrewdly reflected, might
prove attractive to a man known to live up to every cent of his income,
but whose "prospects" were simply dazzling. That he had no money of his
own was no serious obstacle. Under the circumstances they could afford
to dip into her principal, and by the time that was exhausted, the event
which they both so devoutly desired could not fail to have happened.
The golden bait, thus adroitly hooked, soon caught the fish, and for the
next year or two Mr. James Marsh had all the ready cash he needed. At
the suggestion of the widow, who naturally was anxious to see in the
flesh the mysterious brother on whose state of health so much depended,
John was cordially invited to attend the wedding which was solemnized
with much pomp at a fashionable Fifth Avenue Church. The wedding day
came but no John. Not even by as much as a card did he extend his
congratulations to the happy couple. The only members of the Marsh
family present were Peter, the Presbyterian minister and his wife, from
Rahway, and Thomas Marsh, the haberdasher and his wife, from Newark,
while the genial Tod, a broad grin on his face, stood up for his mother.
The newly married pair took a showy house in West Seventy-second Street,
and while the money lasted they lived in magnificent style. When it was
gone they lived no less luxuriously, thanks to the unwilling
cooeperation of overconfident tradespeople. Mrs. Marsh felt that she
could not get along without her motor car, her butler, and half a dozen
useless maid servants. It cost money to entertain so lavishly and
creditors were pressing, but her bridge parties could not be interfered
with for such a trifling reason. At the pace they lived the few thousand
dollars were soon exhausted, yet no matter. Even if the butcher, the
baker, or the domestic servants were kept waiting for their money, the
social prestige of the Marshes must be maintained.
It was far from being smooth sailing. Jimmy's wits were taxed to the
utmost to ward off creditors who grew more and more importunate in their
demands. One day while he was down town trying to raise a loan, Mrs.
Marsh was subjected to such a mortifying and humiliating experience that
she feared she would never rally from the nervous shock it caused her.
It was her regular day at home, and Henry, the butler, stiff in gold
embroidered livery, was busy at the front door ushering in carriage
arrivals. As already hinted, his mistress was long in arrears with her
tradespeople, and being ever apprehensive of a court summons, she had
given Henry implicit instructions to carefully scrutinize all comers and
slam the heavy door in their faces on the slightest suspicion that the
visitors were not all they appeared to be. Having served the best
families for nearly thirty years, Henry was in a position to assure his
employer that he was more than a match for the wiliest lawyer. Nor had
he overestimated his powers. Loudest among the clamoring creditors was
the milkman. His bill was formidable, and every effort to collect it had
failed. He procured a summons, but it was found impossible to serve it.
Every trick known to the thick-soled sleuths of the sheriff's office was
thwarted by the vigilant and resourceful Henry.
The worthy milkman suddenly conceived a bright idea. Among his customers
was a young woman lawyer to whom he spoke about the matter. Properly
indignant at the treatment to which he had been subjected she offered to
help him. She was a novice at serving summonses, but possessed plenty of
the quality so necessary in the courts known as "nerve." This modern
Portia, after a preliminary survey of the premises which she was to take
by storm, quickly determined upon a plan of action. Learning in the
neighborhood that Mrs. Marsh was "at home" to her friends every Thursday
afternoon, she decided to be one of the guests. Dressing herself in her
best finery she took a hansom cab and drove to West Seventy-second
Street, arriving at the Marsh residence simultaneously with a venerable
old lady whom she politely assisted with her wraps. The old dame had no
recollection of having seen the young woman before, but distrusting her
own bad memory, concluded that she was one of Mrs. Marsh's younger
friends whom she had forgotten, and thanked her profusely for her kind
attentions. The two women approached the front door together. To the
hawk-eyed butler, always on the alert, the young woman was a stranger,
and, under ordinary circumstances, his suspicions might have been
aroused, but seeing her chatting in the most cordial way with one of his
mistress's oldest friends, he felt that any questioning on his part
would be resented as unwarranted impertinence. Bowing low, therefore, he
ushered the two ladies up the thickly carpeted stairs into the
beautifully decorated reception rooms, which were already crowded with
smartly dressed women. In the centre stood the amiable hostess, the
conventional smile of welcome on her face, exchanging greetings with
each arrival. When the new visitors were announced everyone turned, and
Mrs. Marsh pranced amiably forward. Her venerable old friend she
welcomed effusively, and then her eyes fell inquiringly on the stranger.
The smile disappeared, a shadow darkened her face. Instinct told her
something was wrong. Approaching the young woman she said with asperity:
"I haven't the pleasure----"
"You're Mrs. Marsh, I believe," smiled the lawyer.
"Yes," stammered the other, "I'm Mrs. Marsh, but I haven't the
pleasure----"
"Quite so," replied the young woman coolly. Quickly drawing a long,
ominous-looking folded paper from her dress, she said archly and
audibly:
"This is for you, Mrs. Marsh. I regret to serve a summons in this way,
but your milkman has waited a long time, and all's fair in love and
law."
The people standing about tittered, and there was an embarrassing
silence. Mrs. Marsh, at first, wished the floor would open and swallow
her up. Then her eyes flashed with fury. Waving the unwelcome visitor
back out of reach of her guests' ears, she almost shouted:
"Get out of here, hussy! How dare you steal into anyone's house in this
contemptible way? Out with you before I forget myself!"
The astonished and crestfallen butler opened wide the door, not daring
to meet his irate mistress' eye, and the woman lawyer hastened back to
her client to report success.
Under the circumstances it was not surprising that this particular
Thursday did not count among Mrs. Marsh's successful "At Homes." There
was a chill in the air which everyone remarked, and one by one the
visitors departed, each impatient to retail the good story elsewhere.
It was some time before Mrs. Marsh got over the shock, and from this
time on her troubles seemed to multiply. They came thick and fast. Even
Tod worried her. Tired of his fast companions, menaced with a
curtailment of the financial supplies which had made his idle life
possible, and hopeless under present home conditions of ever making a
decent career for himself, her son rebelled and suddenly startled his
mother by announcing his determination to go to work. He had been
offered the agency of an automobile firm, the engagement including also
a preliminary trip to Europe to negotiate for the representation of some
foreign cars. There was no need to hesitate over such an offer as that.
He was off to gay Paree! A week later he sailed, leaving his mother and
stepfather to weather the financial storm as best they could.
Matters did not mend after his departure. Creditors became more
insistent, subpoenas more numerous. Then one day, like a bolt from the
blue, came the final catastrophe which sent the whole Marsh edifice
tumbling like a house of cards. Something unexpectedly happened in Wall
Street. Caught in a bad squeeze of the "shorts," involved in another
shady transaction of a nature still more serious than the last scandal,
Jimmy staggered home one night with ruin and worse staring him in the
face. This time there was no way out possible. He could not raise a
dollar, and Bascom Cooley, his lawyer and crony, the only man whose
skill and influence could save him, was absent in Europe. It was the end
of everything. He must either resign himself to prison stripes or blow
his brains out.
Affairs had reached this crisis in the Marsh household when late one
evening a messenger boy brought to West Seventy-second Street the
following cablegram:
"New York office notifies me Richard Marsh died suddenly in
Pittsburg yesterday. Am returning on the next steamer.
"BASCOM COOLEY."