A QUESTION OF "PULL"
John Merrick's face was not so cheery as usual as he made his way into
the city. This suggestion of Martha Merrick's regarding his inattention
to duty to his beloved nieces was no easy nut to crack.
He knew his sister-in-law to be a wordly-minded, frivolous woman, with
many trivial ambitions; but in this instance he had misgivings that she
might be right. What did he, John Merrick, know of select society? A
poor man, of humble origin, he had wandered into the infantile, embryo
West years ago and there amassed a fortune. When he retired and returned
to "civilization" he found his greatest reward In the discovery of three
charming nieces, all "as poor as Job's turkey" but struggling along
bravely, each in her individual characteristic way, and well worthy
their doting uncle's affectionate admiration. Mrs. Merrick had recited
some of the advantages they had derived from the advent of this rich
relative; but even she could not guess how devoted the man was to the
welfare of these three fortunate girls, nor how his kindly, simple heart
resented the insinuation that he was neglecting anything that might
contribute to their happiness.
Possession of money had never altered John Merrick's native simplicity.
He had no extravagant tastes, dressed quietly and lived the life of the
people. On this eventful morning the man of millions took a cross-town
car to the elevated station and climbed the stairs to his train. Once
seated and headed cityward he took out his memorandum book to see what
engagements he had for the day. There were three for the afternoon. At
twelve o'clock he had promised to meet Von Taer.
"H-m-m. Von Taer."
Gazing reflectively from the window he remembered a conversation with a
prominent banker some month or so before. "Von Taer," the banker had
said, "is an aristocrat with an independent fortune, who clings to the
brokerage business because he inherited it from his father and
grandfather. I hold that such a man has no moral right to continue in
business. He should retire and give the other fellow a chance."
"Why do you call him an aristocrat?" Mr. Merrick had enquired.
"Because his family is so ancient that it shames the ark itself. I
imagine his ancestors might have furnished Noah the lumber to build his
ship. In New York the '400' all kowtow to Von Taer."
"Seems to me he has the right to be a broker if he wants to," asserted
Mr. Merrick.
"The right; yes. But, between us, Mr. Merrick, this society swell has no
mental capacity to handle such an uncertain business. He's noted for
doing unwarranted things. To me it's a marvel that Von Taer hasn't
shipwrecked the family fortunes long ago. Luck has saved him, not
foresight."
That speech of a few weeks ago now seemed prophetic to John Merrick.
Within a few days the aristocratic broker had encountered financial
difficulties and been forced to appeal to Mr. Merrick, to whom he
obtained an introduction through a mutual friend. Von Taer was
doubtless solvent, for he controlled large means; but unless a saving
hand was extended at this juncture his losses were sure to be severe,
and might even cripple him seriously.
All this Mr. Merrick shrewdly considered in the space of a few moments.
As he left the train he looked at his watch and found it was barely
eleven. He decided not to await the hour of appointment. With his usual
brisk stride he walked to Von Taer's offices and was promptly admitted
to the broker's sanctum.
Hedrik Von Taer was a fine looking man, tall, grave, of dignified
demeanor and courteous manners. He stood until his visitor was seated
and with a gesture of deference invited him to open the conversation.
"I've decided to make you the loan, Von Taer," began Mr. Merrick, in his
practical, matter-of-fact way. "Three hundred thousand, wasn't it? Call
on Major Doyle at my office this afternoon and he'll arrange it for
you."
An expression of relief crossed the broker's face.
"You are very kind, sir," he answered. "I assure you I fully appreciate
the accommodation."
"Glad to help you," responded the millionaire, briskly. Then he paused
with marked abruptness. It occurred to him he had a difficult
proposition to make to this man. To avoid the cold, enquiring eyes now
fixed upon him he pulled out a cigar and deliberately cut the end. Von
Taer furnished him a match. He smoked a while in silence.
"This loan, sir," he finally began, "is freely made. There are no
strings tied to it. I don't want you to feel I'm demanding any sort of
return. But the truth is, you have it in your power to grant me a
favor."
Von Taer bowed.
"Mr. Merrick has generously placed me under an obligation it will afford
me pleasure to repay," said he. But his eyes held an uneasy look,
nevertheless.
"It's this way," explained the other: "I've three nieces--fine girls,
Von Taer--who will some day inherit my money. They are already
independent, financially, and they're educated, well-bred and amiable
young women. Take my word for it."
"I am sure your statements are justified, Mr. Merrick." Yet Hedrik Von
Taer's face, usually unexpressive, denoted blank mystification. What
connection could these girls have with the favor to be demanded?
"Got any girls yourself, Von Taer?"
"A daughter, sir. My only child.
"Grown up?"
"A young lady now, sir."
"Then you'll understand. I'm a plain uneducated man myself. Never been
any nearer swell society than a Fifth Avenue stage. My money has given
me commercial position, but no social one worth mentioning. Your '400's'
a bunch I can't break into, nohow."
A slight smile hovered over the other's lips, but he quickly controlled
it.
"They tell me, though," continued the speaker, "that _your_ family has
long ago climbed into the top notch of society. You're one o' the big
guns in the battery, an' hold the fort against all comers."
Von Taer merely bowed. It was scarcely necessary to either admit or
contradict the statement. Uncle John was a little indignant that his
companion showed no disposition to assist him in his explanation, which
a clear head might now easily comprehend. So, with his usual frankness,
he went directly to the point.
"I'd like my girls to get into the best--the most select--circles," he
announced. "They're good and pretty and well-mannered, so it strikes me
they're entitled to the best there is a-going. I don't want to mix with
your swell crowd myself, because I ain't fit; likewise the outfit ain't
much to my taste, askin' your pardon; but with women it's different.
They need to stand high an' shine bright to make 'em really happy, and
if any special lot is particularly ex-clusive an' high-falutin', that's
the crowd they long to swarm with. It's human nature--female human
nature, anyhow. You catch my idea, Von Taer, don't you?"
"I think so, Mr. Merrick. Yet I fail to see how I can be of service to
you in gratifying the ambition of your charming nieces." "Then I'll
go, and you may forget what I've said." The visitor arose and took his
hat from the table. "It was only a fool notion, anyway; just a thought,
badly expressed, to help my girls to a toy that money can't buy."
Hedrik Von Taer gazed steadily into the man's face. There was something
in the simple, honest self-abnegation of this wealthy and important
person that won the respect of all he met. The broker's stern eyes
softened a bit as he gazed and he allowed a fugitive smile, due to his
own change of attitude, to wreathe his thin lips again--just for an
instant.
"Sit down, please, Mr. Merrick," he requested, and rather reluctantly
Uncle John resumed his seat. "You may not have an especially clear idea
of New York society, and I want to explain my recent remark so that you
will understand it. What is called 'the 400' may or may not exist; but
certainly it is no distinct league or association. It may perhaps be
regarded as a figure of speech, to indicate how few are really admitted
to the most exclusive circles. Moreover, there can be no dominant
'leader of society' here, for the reason that not all grades of society
would recognize the supremacy of any one set, or clique. These cliques
exist for various reasons. They fraternize generally, but keep well
within their own circles. Kindred tastes attract some; ancient lineage
others. There is an ultra-fashionable set, a sporting set, a literary
set, an aristocratic set, a rather 'fast' set, a theatrical set--and so
on. These may all lay claim with certain justice to membership in good
society. Their circles are to an extent exclusive, because some
distinction must mark the eligibility of members. And outside each
luminous sphere hovers a multitude eager to pass the charmed circle and
so acquire recognition. Often it is hard to separate the initiate from
the uninitiate, even by those most expert. Is it difficult to comprehend
such a condition as I have described, Mr. Merrick?"
"Somewhat, Mr. Von Taer. The wonder to me is why people waste time in
such foolishness."
"It is the legitimate occupation of many; the folly of unwise ambition
impels others. There is a fascination about social life that appeals to
the majority of natures. Let us compare society to a mountain whose
sides are a steep incline, difficult to mount. To stand upon the
summit, to become the cynosure of all eyes, is a desire inherent,
seemingly, in all humanity; for humanity loves distinction. In the
scramble toward the peak many fall by the wayside; others deceive
themselves by imagining they have attained the apex when they are far
from it. It is a game, Mr. Merrick, just as business is a game, politics
a game, and war a game. You know how few really win."
"Here," said Uncle John, musingly, "is a philosophy I did not expect
from you, Von Taer. They tell me you're one who stands on top the peak.
And you were born that way, and didn't have to climb. Seems to me you
rather scorn the crowd that's trying to climb to an eminence you never
had to win. That wouldn't be my way. And I suspect that if the crowd
wasn't trying to climb to you, your own position wouldn't be worth a
cotton hat."
Von Taer had no answer to this criticism. Perhaps he scarcely heard it,
for he appeared lost in a brown study. Finally he said: "Will you
permit my daughter to call upon your nieces, Mr. Merrick?"
"Of course, sir."
"Then kindly give me their addresses."
Uncle John wrote them on a slip of paper.
"You may now dismiss the subject from your mind, sir, as you lately
advised me to do. Whatever may be accomplished in the direction you have
suggested I will gladly undertake. If I succeed it will be exceedingly
gratifying to us all, I am sure."
Mr. Merrick left the office in a rather humbled and testy mood. He
disliked to ask favors at any time and now felt that he had confided
himself to the mercy of this callous aristocrat and met with a distinct
rebuff.
But he had done it for the sake of his beloved nieces--and they would
never know what humiliation this unsatisfactory interview had cost him.