A NEW VENTURE
Phineas Duge, notwithstanding an absence of anything approaching
vulgarity in his somewhat complex disposition, was, for a man of affairs
and an American, singularly fond of the small elegances of life.
Although he sat alone at dinner, the table was heaped with choice
flowers and carefully selected hothouse fruit. His one glass of wine,
the best of its sort, he sipped meditatively, and with the air of a
connoisseur. The soft lights upon the table were such as a woman,
mindful of her complexion, might have chosen. Behind his chair stood
his English butler, grave, solemn-faced, attentive. The cigars and
matches were already on his left-hand side, ready for the moment when he
should have finished his wine. Outside a footman was waiting for a
signal to bring in the after-dinner coffee.
Across his luxurious table, through the waving clusters of
sweet-smelling flowers to the dark mahogany panelled wall beyond, the
eyes of Phineas Duge seemed to be seeking that night something which
they failed to find. The last few weeks seemed in a way to have aged the
man. His lips had come closer together, there were faint lines on his
forehead and underneath his eyes. The butler from behind his chair
looked down upon his master's carefully parted and picturesque hair,
wondering why he sat so still, wondering what he saw that he looked so
steadily at that one particular spot in the panelled wall, and lingered
so unusually long over the last few drops of his wine. Phineas Duge
himself wondered still more what had come to him. For many years men and
women had come and gone, leaving him indifferent as to their coming and
going, their pains and their joys; and to-night, though there were many
matters with which his mind might well have been occupied, he found
himself in the curious position of indulging in vague and almost
regretful memories. The place at the other end of his table was empty,
as it had been for many nights; for during the period of his titanic
struggle with those men against whom he had declared war, he had shunned
all society, and lived a life of stern and absolute seclusion.
To-night that steady gaze which wandered over the drooping flowers was
really fixed upon that empty chair at the other end of the table. A man
of few fancies, he was never quite without imagination. His thoughts had
travelled easily back to a few weeks ago. He saw Virginia sitting there,
watched the delightful smile coming and going, the large grey eyes that
watched him so ceaselessly, the little ripple of pleasant conversation,
which he had never dreamed that he could ever miss. After all, what a
child! As a matter of justice, and he told himself that it was justice
only which had power to sway his judgment, what right had he to blame
her for what was really nothing but a freak of ill-fortune! Had he
punished himself in sending her away? Somehow, during these last few
nights, the room had seemed curiously cold and empty. He had missed her
little timidly offered ministrations, the touch of her fingers upon his
shoulder, the whole nameless delicacy which her presence had brought
into the cold, magnificent surroundings, which seemed to him now as
though they could never be quite the same again.
These thoughts had come to him before, but it was only to-night he had
suffered them to linger in his mind. Once or twice he had caught them
lurking in his brain and thrown them out. To-night they had come with a
soft, invincible persistence, so that he had felt even his will
powerless to strangle them. He was forced to face the truth, that he,
Phineas Duge, the man of many millions, sat there while the minutes fled
past, looking with empty eyes into empty space, thinking of the child
whom he would have given at that moment more than he would have cared to
confess, to have found sitting within a few feet of him, peeling his
walnuts, or pouring out her impressions of this wonderful new life into
which she had come.
Some trifle it was which broke the thread of his reflections. When he
realized what he had been doing, he was conscious of a feeling almost of
shame. In a moment he was himself again. He calmly drank up his wine,
and as he set the glass down held out a cigar from the box to the man
who waited with the cigar cutter in hand. A little silver spirit lamp
burning with a blue flame stood all ready at his elbow. The butler gave
the signal, and his coffee, strong and fragrant, in a little gold cup,
was placed before him.
"You will tell Smedley to be in the study at nine o'clock," he ordered.
"Very good, sir!" the man replied. "You will not be going out to-night,
sir? There are no orders for the garage?"
"Not to-night," Phineas Duge answered.
There was an unexpected sound of voices outside in the hall. Phineas
Duge looked toward the door with a frown upon his face.
"What is that?" he asked sharply.
The butler was perplexed.
"I will go and see, sir," he said. "It sounds as if James were having
trouble with some one."
The door was suddenly opened. Weiss and Higgins entered quickly,
followed by the protesting and frightened footman. Phineas Duge rose
from his seat, and, resting one hand upon the table, peered forward at
the two men. His face, even under the rose-shaded electric lamp, was
cold and set. The gleam of white teeth was visible between his lips. He
looked like a man, metaphorically, about to spring upon his foes. One
hand had stolen round to the pocket of his dinner coat, and was holding
something hard, but to him very comforting. He offered no word of
greeting. He uttered no exclamation of surprise. He simply waited.
"These gentlemen pushed past me in the hall, sir," the footman
explained, deprecatingly. "My back was turned only for a moment, and
Wilkins was down having his supper."
"You can go," Phineas Duge said coldly, waving him out of the room.
"What do you want with me, Weiss?"
"A few minutes' sensible talk," Weiss answered. "It will do you no harm
to listen to us. Send your servant away and give us a quarter of
an hour."
Phineas Duge hesitated, but only for a moment. These men had come
openly, and they were known to be his enemies. It was not possible that
they intended to use any violence. He turned to the butler, who stood
behind his chair.
"Place chairs for these gentlemen," he ordered, "and leave the room."
They sat on his left-hand side, Phineas Duge pushed the decanter of
Burgundy toward them, and the cigars. Then he leaned back in his chair
and waited.
"Duge, we ought to have come to you before," Weiss began. "We are
playing a child's game, all of us."
"Whatever the game may be," Duge answered, "it is not I who invented
it."
"We grant that to start with," Weiss answered. "We were in the wrong.
You have done a little better than hold your own against us. We are
several millions of dollars the poorer and you the richer for our split.
Let it go at that. We have other things to think about just now besides
this juggling with markets. I take it that we are none of us
particularly anxious to learn what the interior of a police court
looks like."
Phineas Duge made no motion of assent or dissent.
"You refer," he said, "to the action against the Trusts which the
President is supposed to be supporting so vigorously?"
Weiss nodded.
"The thing's further advanced than we were any of us inclined to
believe," he answered. "Every one of us is interested in this, you more
than any of us. If Harrison's Bill passes the Senate, we are liable to
imprisonment at any moment. We are up against it hard, Duge, and we
can't face it as we ought while we're squabbling amongst ourselves like
a set of children."
"You propose then," Phineas Duge said slowly, "to close our accounts on
a mutual basis?"
"Precisely!" Weiss answered. "You have had the best of it, and it might
be our turn to-morrow, so you can well afford to do this. We want to
rest on our oars for a time, while we look round and face this
new danger."
"Very well," Phineas Duge said, "I agree. We will meet at your office
to-morrow and bring our brokers. I am quite willing to end this fight.
It was not I who began it."
Higgins drew a little breath of relief. He was perhaps the poorest of
the group, and it was his stock which Duge had been handling so
roughly. "Thank heavens!" he said. "Now we can have a moment's breathing
time, to see what we can do for these fellows who want to teach us how
to manage our affairs."
"In the first place," Weiss said, "what about that paper we signed? I
can understand your wanting to hold it over us while we were at war. It
was a fair weapon, and you had a right to it, but now we are united
again you can see, of course, that although your name isn't on it, it
would practically mean ruin to our interests if the other side once got
hold of it."
"If I had that paper," Duge said quietly, "I would tear it up at this
moment, but I regret to say that I have not. It was stolen during
my illness."
"We know that," Weiss answered. "We know even in whose hands it is."
Phineas Duge looked up inquiringly.
"Norris Vine has it," Weiss continued. "We have offered him a million,
but he declines to sell. He would have used it for his paper before now,
and we should have been on the other side of the ocean, but for the fact
that John Drayton advised him not to. Now he has taken it with him to
London. He is going to ask Deane's advice. At any moment the thing may
come flashing back. We may wake up to find a copy of that document in
black and white in every paper in New York State."
"You have offered him a reasonable sum for it," Phineas Duge said, "and
he declines to sell. Very well, what do you propose to do?"
"It was stolen from you," Weiss said. "He may justly decline to treat
with us; but it is your property, and you have a right to it."
"You propose, then?" Phineas Duge asked.
"That you should catch the _Kaiserin_ to London to-morrow," Higgins
said, "and find out this man Vine. The rest we are content to leave with
you, but I think that if you try you will get it."
Phineas Duge sat quite still for several moments. He sipped his wine
thoughtfully, threw his cigar, which had gone out, into the fire, and
lit a cigarette. He appreciated the force of the suggestion, and a trip
to Europe was by no means distasteful to him, but he was not a man to
decide upon anything of this sort without reflection.
"A week ago," he said softly, "even a day ago, and my absence from New
York would have meant ruin. If I leave the country to-morrow, and trust
myself upon the ocean for six days, what guarantee have I that you will
keep to any arrangement which we might make to-morrow?"
"We will sign affidavits," Weiss declared, "that we will not, directly
or indirectly, enter into any operations in any one of our stocks during
your absence, except for your profit as well as our own. We will execute
a deed of partnership as regards any transactions which we might enter
into during your absence."
Phineas Duge nodded thoughtfully.
"I suppose," he said, "we might be able to fix things up that way. I
should be glad enough to get the paper back again, but Vine is not an
easy man to deal with, and he is pleased to call himself my enemy."
"The men who have called themselves that," Higgins remarked grimly,
"have generally been sorry for it."
"And so may he," Phineas Duge answered, "but I am not sure that his time
has come yet. You must let me think this over, gentlemen, until
to-morrow morning. I will meet you with my broker and lawyer at ten
o'clock at your office, Weiss, and if I make up my mind to go to Europe,
my luggage will be on the steamer by that time. On the whole I might
tell you that I am inclined to go."
Weiss drew a great breath of relief. He poured himself out a glass of
wine and drank it off.
"It's good to hear you say that, Duge," he said. "I tell you we have
come pretty near being scared the last week or so. I feel a lot more
comfortable fighting with you in the ranks."
Phineas Duge forbore from all recrimination. He filled Higgins' glass
and his own. He could afford to be magnanimous. He had fought them one
against four, and they had come to him for mercy!
"We will drink," he said, "to the new President. This one has tilted
against the windmills once too often. He must learn his lesson."