WHICH ENLARGES THE STAGE
On the day which brought to Mather his two crushing defeats, the cause
of them, Ellis, that type of modern success, openly embarked upon his
latest and his strangest venture. Not satisfied with his achievements,
and burning with the desire for recognition, he, whose power was
complete in every part of the city save one, turned to that quarter
where alone he had met indifference, and began his campaign against the
citadel of fashion. The guests at the golf-club tea were somewhat
startled when, at the side of their latest parvenue, whose bold beauty
and free ways they had not yet learned to tolerate, they perceived the
man whose characteristics--a short figure and large head, thinly
bearded, with sharp features and keen eyes--were known to all students
of contemporary caricature. Ellis was received with the coolness which
his companion had foreseen.
"They won't like it, Stephen," she had said when he proposed the
undertaking to her. "So soon after this morning, I mean; you know Mr.
Mather is very popular."
"I'll take the risk," he answered.
"I don't see why you bother," she went on. "It's been easy enough for
me, marrying the Judge, to go where I please--and yet it's a continual
struggle, after all. It isn't such fun as you'd think, from outside."
He scowled a partial acquiescence. Living near the social leaders, it
had been an earlier hope that to be their neighbour would open to him
their doors. He had built himself that imposing edifice upon the main
street of fashion, so that where the simple Georgian mansion of the
Waynes had stood the Gothic gorgeousness of a French château forced
attention. But in spite of the money he lavished there, it had not taken
Ellis long to discover that the widow Wayne, who was his neighbour still
(having refused to part with the original homestead of the family), had
more honour in her little clapboarded cottage than he in his granite
pile. The widow's son, who nodded so carelessly to Ellis when they met,
and yet was but a broker's clerk, had with his youth and grace a more
valuable possession still--his name.
Sometimes Ellis felt it almost too exasperating to live among these
people and be ignored by them, yet he gritted his teeth and stayed,
thinking that perseverance must win in the end, and perceiving that from
the midst of his enemies he might best plan his campaign. He spun his
webs with unconquerable patience, studying the social news with the same
keenness which he brought to the stock-market reports, and looking ahead
to a possible combination which would give him the opportunity he
desired. And now he believed that at last he actually saw his chance,
and his hopes were rising.
"Maybe I'm a fool," he said, "but by Gad I'll at least have one look
inside, and see what others find there. I notice that you worked hard
enough to get in, and now you work to stay. But, Lydia, if you want to
keep these people to yourself----"
"The idea!" she cried. "You are welcome to them."
"Or if you think I shall hurt your position----" He paused for a second
disclaimer, but none came; his directness had confused her, and he knew
he had struck near the truth. "Anyhow," he finished, "you promised me
this long ago, and I'll keep you to the bargain."
Now she, the maker of this promise to Ellis, was the wife of Judge Abiel
Harmon, whose ancient family, high position, and fine character were
everywhere honoured. Nevertheless, Ellis was able to regard her as his
entering wedge, for they had been boy and girl together in the same
little town. While yet in his teens he went to try his chances in the
city; years afterward, when her ripe charms had captivated the old
Judge, she found her fortune and followed. When she met Ellis again
their social positions were widely different, but interest drew the two
together, and though the Judge had no liking for Ellis, he did not
inquire what Mrs. Harmon did with her leisure; therefore she maintained
with the promoter an intimacy which to them both promised profit. To him
the first advantage was this visit to the golf club, but while on
inspection of the crowd he knew he could buy up any member of it at a
fair valuation, they did not appear to like him the better for that, and
their groups melted marvellously before him. As a relief, Mrs. Harmon
took him to the club-house, but the dreary promenade through its rooms,
where her vocabulary was exhausted and her enthusiasm lapsed, became at
last an evident failure. When she had said all that she could of the
conveniences of the lower floor she led him to the stairs.
"If you care to go up," she suggested, "the bedrooms might interest
you."
But she looked out on the lawn through the open door, and longed to be
there. The chattering groups called to every instinct of her nature; she
wished to get rid of this encumbrance--to hand him over to any one and
take her pleasure as she was used. And Ellis, too, looked out through
the doorway.
"Up-stairs is more likely to be stupid," he said bluntly. "Let's go
outdoors again."
In Mrs. Harmon's relief, she did not notice the characteristic which he
displayed in this answer. Ellis was a fighter; power was all very well,
but the winning of it was better. Just now he was like Alexander before
India--looking upon a domain which must be his, and eager for the
struggle. These people, and they alone, could put the capstone to the
pyramid of his successes, and could lend glamour, if not give glory, to
that wholly material structure. He would force them to it! Watching
society disport itself, he regarded it as his natural prey. That
assemblage was characterised by a suavity which deceived him; as he
viewed the throng it seemed all mildness, all amiability. He did not
appreciate the power of resistance of the apparently soft people.
And yet he had learned that money was not the effective weapon he had
once supposed it. The arrogance of possession was against him, and
though he did not understand the subtle reasons for his exclusion, he
was sure that something besides a golden key was needed to open those
doors.
It was not in Ellis to remake himself, nor did he try to change his
ways. As when he faced the difficulty of buying the city government, he
merely studied human weaknesses. The former experience had taught him
that men are easier bribed without money than with, and that there are
some passions, some ambitions, which do not include financial ease.
Moreover, he had formed his plan; it was time to make the attempt.
"Miss Judith Blanchard--she is here?" he asked.
Mrs. Harmon looked at him in surprise. Did he wish to meet a girl? So
far she had conducted the enterprise, and since their entrance on the
grounds had tried to help him by introductions to the older people. But
the experiment had failed, and he had no intention of repeating it.
"Why, she is here," she answered in doubt.
"Then introduce me to her," he directed brusquely.
Oh, if he wished! Mrs. Harmon was not pleased to be so ordered; she was
not at all satisfied with her day. It was very troublesome, this trying
to introduce Ellis. The manner of Mrs. Watson had been more distant than
ever, while as for Mrs. William Fenno, her behaviour had been arctic.
Mrs. Harmon cared for no further snubs, but if Ellis wished to run the
risk of the meeting--well, Judith would fix him! Not pausing to watch
the process, Mrs. Harmon presented Ellis to the young lady and escaped
to her own enjoyments.
Ellis was where he had many times imagined himself, standing before
Judith Blanchard, while the young men fell away on either side. He was
meeting her glance, he was seeing for himself the "queenly form," the
"regal head" (_vide_ the social columns of the _Herald_), and he was
experiencing at close hand the influence of her personality. It was
magnetic even to him, for on hearing his name she turned quickly, looked
him straight in the eye, and offered him her hand almost as a man would
have done. When she spoke her voice had not the artificial tones of the
women he had so far met; it had a genuine ring.
"So you are Mr. Ellis?"
"You know of me, then?" he asked.
"Every one has heard of you, even girls," she replied. Any one might
have said this, but not with her look, not with that bright glance. She
asked another question, which showed to those who listened her interest
in the man. "You have settled the water-works affair?"
John Trask turned and strolled away; Will Mayne bowed to Miss Blanchard
and silently betook himself elsewhere; Ripley Fenno mumbled a request to
be excused, and left Miss Blanchard alone with her new acquaintance.
Within five minutes, five times as many people were watching the pair
curiously, but absorbed in a new interest, they did not notice.
"What do you know," he asked her, "about the water-works?"
But she pursued her own inquiries. "Or does the street-railway not take
up your time? Or perhaps," she added boldly, "the court-house has no
need of the services of its contractor."
Now the boldness of this last remark consisted in the reminder of a
certain scandal, public-minded citizens (of whom the chief was Judge
Harmon) claiming that there had been boodlery in the recent repairs of
the court-house. It was more than hinted that Ellis had backed the
contractors, and that he had shared the profits. His face changed,
therefore, as she spoke, and she saw in his eyes a sudden gleam--of
anger?
"Or," she asked quickly, "have I misread the papers, and you are not the
contractor, after all?"
He was himself again, although looking--staring, almost--with deeper
interest. At first he said no more than "I am not the contractor," but
to himself he was crying: Success! He believed she had provoked him
deliberately; he saw that she had studied his doings, for the
court-house affair was almost a year old, the water-works deal occurred
months ago, and the street-railway _coup_ was of this very day.
"How much you know of matters!" he cried.
"I read the newspapers," she explained, "and with an object."
"An object?" he asked.
"I want to know what is going on," she explained. "I want to have to do
with real things. I am interested in the doings of _men_, Mr. Ellis."
And she made him a little bow, which he, still staring, made no attempt
to answer. Then she turned, and walked toward a more open space where
people could not, as they were beginning to do, press around them. "Will
you not come and see the grounds?" she asked. In great satisfaction he
kept at her side.
So this was Judith Blanchard! He had not believed it, had laughed at
himself for hoping it, but she was what he had imagined her. Months of
study had gone to make up his opinion of her; he had read of her, heard
of her, watched her. Quick, impetuous, somewhat impatient of
conventions--that was Judith.
"Do you know," she asked suddenly, "that we have met before? In a
street-car, not a fortnight ago, we rode facing each other for quite a
while. I remember meeting your eye."
He had recalled it many times. "I hope I didn't look too much at you,"
he said. "You must be used to having people watch you."
"Oh, please don't compliment," she interrupted, "or you will spoil my
idea of you. I imagine you a man who thinks to the point, and speaks so,
too. Yes, people do watch me wherever I go; they give me flattery, and
think I love it. But if you and I are to be friends----"
"Friends!" he exclaimed involuntarily.
"Are you not willing?"
"Willing!" he repeated. "Miss Blanchard, you offer what I had not dared
to hope one person here would think of in connection with me. I----" He
looked at her searchingly. "You are not teasing me?"
"I used a strong word," she said.
"Then you did not mean it?"
"Why," she endeavoured to explain, "I spoke hastily. I have few
friends."
"Few friends? You?"
"Yes, I," she answered. "Among the men, I mean. Those of my age are
so"--and she smiled--"so young! I am not posing, Mr. Ellis."
Nor was she. Her interest in the great world was genuine, even if
ill-balanced. Ruled by it, she looked into men and discovered, not how
much there was in them, but how little they had for her. The good, the
amiable, the well-intentioned, had none of them enough backbone to suit
her; it was power that she wished to find. Always among respectable
people, she was often impatient at their mediocrity; always among young
people, she was tired by their immaturity. This day she had for the
first time questioned if older people of another class had not more for
her; she had been repeating the question at the moment when Ellis was
presented. And now, without pose, she scrutinised him with frank
question: Was he one who could bring an interest into her life and let
her see the workings of the world?
And he knew she was not posing. "It is sometimes troublesome to be
friends with people," he said. "To be bound to them, to have
considerations of them prevent free action--that is what friends mean in
business."
"And you have few, as well?"
"I have dependents."
He spoke wisely, for the term struck her. Dependents! She had felt
isolation, but it was that of the looker-on. There was something regal
in this man's loneliness, for that he was lonely she divined.
"People need you," she said with approval. "They cannot get along
without you. Oh!" she exclaimed, "I have sometimes thought what power is
in the hands of such men as you. You can mould a whole community; you
can set your mark on a city so that it will tell of you forever." Behind
a steady face he concealed astonishment and question. "You can do so
much good!" she finished.
"Much good--yes," he returned uncertainly. Such enthusiasm was new to
him, especially when applied to what the opposition newspapers bluntly
called "jobs." He perceived that where he saw only money in his
enterprises, Judith saw great opportunities. "Yes, much good--if we can
only do it. Where there is power there is also responsibility. How can a
man know whether he is doing the right thing, especially"--and he
smiled--"when all the newspapers say he is doing wrong?"
"A man must follow his conscience," she replied, so gravely that he was
uncomfortable, for, thus innocently spoken, her words carried a sting.
He tried to finish the subject, and by his usual method--by meeting it
directly.
"A man works as he can," he said, "doing what seems best. He has to
think of the present, but as you seem to know, he works for the future
too. It is an interesting life and a busy one."
"Interesting?" she echoed. "Oh, it must be! Why should it not be
all-sufficient? Why should you come here?" He stared at her again, and
she asked: "What have we that can interest you?"
He answered with a simplicity that was almost great, an acknowledgment
of his desires which was unparalleled in his career, but which meant
that without hesitation he put himself in her hands, to betray if she
wished, but perhaps to save. He waved his hand toward the groups behind
him.
"I want to get in," he said.
"To get in?" She smiled, and he doubted. "To get in, when I sometimes
wish to get out? In here it's so dull!"
"I don't care for that," he replied.
"Sit down, then," she directed. "Let us talk it over."
Seated on a bench, half-facing, each had a moment to consider. She did
not take it; he did, for he was beginning to recover himself and to
study her. Beauty and grace, with that direct glance and genuine voice,
were her chief outward characteristics. Of her inward motives, most
prominent appeared her desire for something new; more strong, perhaps,
was her interest in matters beyond her sphere. This interest of hers was
to him a gift of fortune; it might bring him anywhere. But to Judith
this situation was new; therefore she enjoyed it. She paused no longer
than to consider what she should ask him next, and then pursued the
subject.
"How have you meant to go about it?" she inquired.
"Why," he hesitated, "my friends----"
"What friends?"
He acknowledged frankly: "I have but one--Mrs. Harmon."
"Oh, only Mrs. Harmon?"
Only! The tone and the word struck him. Was Mrs. Harmon, then, not fully
in? His mind reached forward blankly: who else could help him?
"But you must know some of our men," she suggested.
"Business acquaintances, yes," he said. "Yet they take care that I shall
remain a business acquaintance merely. No, I must reach the men through
the women."
"And the women?" she asked. "How will you reach them? Mrs. Fenno, for
instance, knows only one kind; she is iron against innovation. How will
you get on her list, or Mrs. Watson's, or Mrs. Branderson's?"
He did not answer. She saw that he was biting on the problem, and that
it did not please him. She made a positive statement.
"No. It is the men you must rely on."
And he, weighing the facts, believed her, though it went against his
former notions. The women--this day he had first seen them at close
quarters, and had felt them to be formidable creatures. The severe
majesty of Mrs. Fenno--how could he impress it? And Mrs. Branderson had,
beneath the good humour of her reception of him, the skill to chat
easily, and then to turn her back without excuse. He bit his
mustache--the women!
She was watching him with a half-smile. "Do you not agree?"
"But which men, then?" he inquired.
"Have you no influence over a single one?"
"There is young Mather," he said thoughtfully.
Her manner changed; she drew a little more within herself, and he noted
the difference in her tone as she asked: "You have some connection with
him?"
"None," he said. "But I can help him."
"How?"
"He is out of work," Ellis explained. "He will be fretting his heart out
for something to do. I could offer him some position."
"Do!" she said. "He is right here.--George!" she called.