Produced by Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
The Lion and the Mouse
by
Charles Klein
A Story of an American Life
Novelized from the play by
Arthur Hornblow
"Judges and Senates have been bought for gold;
Love and esteem have never been sold."
POPE
CONTENTS
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
THE LION AND THE MOUSE
CHAPTER I
There was unwonted bustle in the usually sleepy and dignified New York
offices of the Southern and Transcontinental Railroad Company in lower
Broadway. The supercilious, well-groomed clerks who, on ordinary days,
are far too preoccupied with their own personal affairs to betray the
slightest interest in anything not immediately concerning them, now
condescended to bestir themselves and, gathered in little groups,
conversed in subdued, eager tones. The slim, nervous fingers of half a
dozen haughty stenographers, representing as many different types of
business femininity, were busily rattling the keys of clicking
typewriters, each of their owners intent on reducing with all possible
despatch the mass of letters which lay piled up in front of her.
Through the heavy plate-glass swinging doors, leading to the elevators
and thence to the street, came and went an army of messengers and
telegraph boys, noisy and insolent. Through the open windows the hoarse
shouting of news-venders, the rushing of elevated trains, the clanging
of street cars, with the occasional feverish dash of an ambulance--all
these familiar noises of a great city had the far-away sound peculiar
to top floors of the modern sky-scraper. The day was warm and sticky,
as is not uncommon in early May, and the overcast sky and a distant
rumbling of thunder promised rain before night.
The big express elevators, running smoothly and swiftly, unloaded every
few moments a number of prosperous-looking men who, chatting volubly
and affably, made their way immediately through the outer offices
towards another and larger inner office on the glass door of which was
the legend "Directors Room. Private." Each comer gave a patronizing nod
in recognition of the deferential salutation of the clerks. Earlier
arrivals had preceded them, and as they opened the door there issued
from the Directors Room a confused murmur of voices, each different in
pitch and tone, some deep and deliberate, others shrill and nervous,
but all talking earnestly and with animation as men do when the subject
under discussion is of common interest. Now and again a voice was heard
high above the others, denoting anger in the speaker, followed by the
pleading accents of the peace-maker, who was arguing his irate
colleague into calmness. At intervals the door opened to admit other
arrivals, and through the crack was caught a glimpse of a dozen
directors, some seated, some standing near a long table covered with
green baize.
It was the regular quarterly meeting of the directors of the Southern
and Transcontinental Railroad Company, but it was something more than
mere routine that had called out a quorum of such strength and which
made to-day's gathering one of extraordinary importance in the history
of the road. That the business on hand was of the greatest significance
was easily to be inferred from the concerned and anxious expression on
the directors' faces and the eagerness of the employes as they plied
each other with questions.
"Suppose the injunction is sustained?" asked a clerk in a whisper. "Is
not the road rich enough to bear the loss?"
The man he addressed turned impatiently to the questioner: "That's all
you know about railroading. Don't you understand that this suit we have
lost will be the entering wedge for hundreds of others. The very
existence of the road may be at stake. And between you and me," he
added in a lower key, "with Judge Rossmore on the bench we never stood
much show. It's Judge Rossmore that scares 'em, not the injunction.
They've found it easy to corrupt most of the Supreme Court judges, but
Judge Rossmore is one too many for them. You could no more bribe him
than you could have bribed Abraham Lincoln."
"But the newspapers say that he, too, has been caught accepting $50,000
worth of stock for that decision he rendered in the Great Northwestern
case."
"Lies! All those stories are lies," replied the other emphatically.
Then looking cautiously around to make sure no one overheard, he added
contemptuously, "The big interests fear him, and they're inventing
these lies to try and injure him. They might as well try to blow up
Gibraltar. The fact is the public is seriously aroused this time and
the railroads are in a panic."
It was true. The railroad, which heretofore had considered itself
superior to law, had found itself checked in its career of outlawry and
oppression. The railroad, this modern octopus of steam and steel which
stretches its greedy tentacles out over the land, had at last been
brought to book.
At first, when the country was in the earlier stages of its
development, the railroad appeared in the guise of a public benefactor.
It brought to the markets of the East the produce of the South and
West. It opened up new and inaccessible territory and made oases of
waste places. It brought to the city coal, lumber, food and other prime
necessaries of life, taking back to the farmer and the woodsman in
exchange, clothes and other manufactured goods. Thus, little by little,
the railroad wormed itself into the affections of the people and
gradually became an indispensable part of the life it had itself
created. Tear up the railroad and life itself is extinguished.
So when the railroad found it could not be dispensed with, it grew
dissatisfied with the size of its earnings. Legitimate profits were not
enough. Its directors cried out for bigger dividends, and from then on
the railroad became a conscienceless tyrant, fawning on those it feared
and crushing without mercy those who were defenceless. It raised its
rates for hauling freight, discriminating against certain localities
without reason or justice, and favouring other points where its own
interests lay. By corrupting government officials and other unlawful
methods it appropriated lands, and there was no escape from its
exactions and brigandage. Other roads were built, and for a brief
period there was held out the hope of relief that invariably comes from
honest competition. But the railroad either absorbed its rivals or
pooled interests with them, and thereafter there were several masters
instead of one.
Soon the railroads began to war among themselves, and in a mad scramble
to secure business at any price they cut each other's rates and
unlawfully entered into secret compacts with certain big shippers,
permitting the latter to enjoy lower freight rates than their
competitors. The smaller shippers were soon crushed out of existence in
this way. Competition was throttled and prices went up, making the
railroad barons richer and the people poorer. That was the beginning of
the giant Trusts, the greatest evil American civilization has yet
produced, and one which, unless checked, will inevitably drag this
country into the throes of civil strife.
From out of this quagmire of corruption and rascality emerged the
Colossus, a man so stupendously rich and with such unlimited powers for
evil that the world has never looked upon his like. The famous Croesus,
whose fortune was estimated at only eight millions in our money, was a
pauper compared with John Burkett Ryder, whose holdings no man could
count, but which were approximately estimated at a thousand millions of
dollars. The railroads had created the Trust, the ogre of corporate
greed, of which Ryder was the incarnation, and in time the Trust became
master of the railroads, which after all seemed but retributive justice.
John Burkett Ryder, the richest man in the world--the man whose name
had spread to the farthest corners of the earth because of his wealth,
and whose money, instead of being a blessing, promised to become not
only a curse to himself but a source of dire peril to all mankind--was
a genius born of the railroad age. No other age could have brought him
forth; his peculiar talents fitted exactly the conditions of his time.
Attracted early in life to the newly discovered oil fields of
Pennsylvania, he became a dealer in the raw product and later a
refiner, acquiring with capital, laboriously saved, first one refinery,
then another. The railroads were cutting each other's throats to secure
the freight business of the oil men, and John Burkett Ryder saw his
opportunity. He made secret overtures to the road, guaranteeing a vast
amount of business if he could get exceptionally low rates, and the
illegal compact was made. His competitors, undersold in the market,
stood no chance, and one by one they were crushed out of existence.
Ryder called these manouvres "business"; the world called them
brigandage. But the Colossus prospered and slowly built up the
foundations of the extraordinary fortune which is the talk and the
wonder of the world today. Master now of the oil situation, Ryder
succeeded in his ambition of organizing the Empire Trading Company, the
most powerful, the most secretive, and the most wealthy business
institution the commercial world has yet known.
Yet with all this success John Burkett Ryder was still not content. He
was now a rich man, richer by many millions that he had dreamed he
could ever be, but still he was unsatisfied. He became money mad. He
wanted to be richer still, to be the richest man in the world, the
richest man the world had ever known. And the richer he got the
stronger the idea grew upon him with all the force of a morbid
obsession. He thought of money by day, he dreamt of it at night. No
matter by what questionable device it was to be procured, more gold and
more must flow into his already overflowing coffers. So each day,
instead of spending the rest of his years in peace, in the enjoyment of
the wealth he had accumulated, he went downtown like any
twenty-dollar-a-week clerk to the tall building in lower Broadway and,
closeted with his associates, toiled and plotted to make more money.
He acquired vast copper mines and secured control of this and that
railroad. He had invested heavily in the Southern and Transcontinental
road and was chairman of its board of directors. Then he and his
fellow-conspirators planned a great financial coup. The millions were
not coming in fast enough. They must make a hundred millions at one
stroke. They floated a great mining company to which the public was
invited to subscribe. The scheme having the endorsement of the Empire
Trading Company no one suspected a snare, and such was the magic of
John Ryder's name that gold flowed in from every point of the compass.
The stock sold away above par the day it was issued. Men deemed
themselves fortunate if they were even granted an allotment. What
matter if, a few days later, the house of cards came tumbling down, and
a dozen suicides were strewn along Wall Street, that sinister
thoroughfare which, as a wit has said, has a graveyard at one end and
the river at the other! Had Ryder any twinges of conscience? Hardly.
Had he not made a cool twenty millions by the deal?
Yet this commercial pirate, this Napoleon of finance, was not a wholly
bad man. He had his redeeming qualities, like most bad men. His most
pronounced weakness, and the one that had made him the most conspicuous
man of his time, was an entire lack of moral principle. No honest or
honourable man could have amassed such stupendous wealth. In other
words, John Ryder had not been equipped by Nature with a conscience. He
had no sense of right, or wrong, or justice where his own interests
were concerned. He was the prince of egoists. On the other hand, he
possessed qualities which, with some people, count as virtues. He was
pious and regular in his attendance at church and, while he had done
but little for charity, he was known to have encouraged the giving of
alms by the members of his family, which consisted of a wife, whose
timid voice was rarely heard, and a son Jefferson, who was the destined
successor to his gigantic estate.
Such was the man who was the real power behind the Southern and
Transcontinental Railroad. More than anyone else Ryder had been aroused
by the present legal action, not so much for the money interest at
stake as that any one should dare to thwart his will. It had been a pet
scheme of his, this purchase for a song, when the land was cheap, of
some thousand acres along the line, and it is true that at the time of
the purchase there had been some idea of laying the land out as a park.
But real estate values had increased in astonishing fashion, the road
could no longer afford to carry out the original scheme, and had
attempted to dispose of the property for building purposes, including a
right of way for a branch road. The news, made public in the
newspapers, had raised a storm of protest. The people in the vicinity
claimed that the railroad secured the land on the express condition of
a park being laid out, and in order to make a legal test they had
secured an injunction, which had been sustained by Judge Rossmore of
the United States Circuit Court.
These details were hastily told and re-told by one clerk to another as
the babel of voices in the inner room grew louder, and more directors
kept arriving from the ever-busy elevators. The meeting was called for
three o'clock. Another five minutes and the chairman would rap for
order. A tall, strongly built man with white moustache and kindly smile
emerged from the directors room and, addressing one of the clerks,
asked:
"Has Mr. Ryder arrived yet?"
The alacrity with which the employe hastened forward to reply would
indicate that his interlocutor was a person of more than ordinary
importance.
"No, Senator, not yet. We expect him any minute." Then with a
deferential smile he added: "Mr. Ryder usually arrives on the stroke,
sir."
The senator gave a nod of acquiescence and, turning on his heel,
greeted with a grasp of the hand and affable smile his fellow-directors
as they passed in by twos and threes.
Senator Roberts was in the world of politics what his friend John
Burkett Ryder was in the world of finance--a leader of men. He started
life in Wisconsin as an errand boy, was educated in the public schools,
and later became clerk in a dry-goods store, finally going into
business for his own account on a large scale. He was elected to the
Legislature, where his ability as an organizer soon gained the
friendship of the men in power, and later was sent to Congress, where
he was quickly initiated in the game of corrupt politics. In 1885 he
entered the United States Senate. He soon became the acknowledged
leader of a considerable majority of the Republican senators, and from
then on he was a figure to be reckoned with. A very ambitious man, with
a great love of power and few scruples, it is little wonder that only
the practical or dishonest side of politics appealed to him. He was in
politics for all there was in it, and he saw in his lofty position only
a splendid opportunity for easy graft.
He did not hesitate to make such alliances with corporate interests
seeking influence at Washington as would enable him to accomplish this
purpose, and in this way he had met and formed a strong friendship with
John Burkett Ryder. Each being a master in his own field was useful to
the other. Neither was troubled with qualms of conscience, so they
never quarrelled. If the Ryder interests needed anything in the Senate,
Roberts and his followers were there to attend to it. Just now the
cohort was marshalled in defence of the railroads against the attacks
of the new Rebate bill. In fact, Ryder managed to keep the Senate busy
all the time. When, on the other hand, the senators wanted
anything--and they often did--Ryder saw that they got it, lower rates
for this one, a fat job for that one, not forgetting themselves.
Senator Roberts was already a very rich man, and although the world
often wondered where he got it, no one had the courage to ask him.
But the Republican leader was stirred with an ambition greater than
that of controlling a majority in the Senate. He had a daughter, a
marriageable young woman who, at least in her father's opinion, would
make a desirable wife for any man. His friend Ryder had a son, and this
son was the only heir to the greatest fortune ever amassed by one man,
a fortune which, at its present rate of increase, by the time the
father died and the young couple were ready to inherit, would probably
amount to over SIX BILLIONS OF DOLLARS. Could the human mind grasp the
possibilities of such a colossal fortune? It staggered the imagination.
Its owner, or the man who controlled it, would be master of the world!
Was not this a prize any man might well set himself out to win? The
senator was thinking of it now as he stood exchanging banal remarks
with the men who accosted him. If he could only bring off that marriage
he would be content. The ambition of his life would be attained. There
was no difficulty as far as John Ryder was concerned. He favoured the
match and had often spoken of it. Indeed, Ryder desired it, for such an
alliance would naturally further his business interests in every way.
Roberts knew that his daughter Kate had more than a liking for Ryder's
handsome young son. Moreover, Kate was practical, like her father, and
had sense enough to realize what it would mean to be the mistress of
the Ryder fortune. No, Kate was all right, but there was young Ryder to
reckon with. It would take two in this case to make a bargain.
Jefferson Ryder was, in truth, an entirely different man from his
father. It was difficult to realize that both had sprung from the same
stock. A college-bred boy with all the advantages his father's wealth
could give him, he had inherited from the parent only those
characteristics which would have made him successful even if born
poor--activity, pluck, application, dogged obstinacy, alert mentality.
To these qualities he added what his father sorely lacked--a high
notion of honour, a keen sense of right and wrong. He had the honest
man's contempt for meanness of any description, and he had little
patience with the lax so-called business morals of the day. For him a
dishonourable or dishonest action could have no apologist, and he could
see no difference between the crime of the hungry wretch who stole a
loaf of bread and the coal baron who systematically robbed both his
employes and the public. In fact, had he been on the bench he would
probably have acquitted the human derelict who, in despair, had
appropriated the prime necessary of life, and sent the over-fed,
conscienceless coal baron to jail.
"Do unto others as you would have others do unto you." This simple and
fundamental axiom Jefferson Ryder had adopted early in life, and it had
become his religion--the only one, in fact, that he had. He was never
pious like his father, a fact much regretted by his mother, who could
see nothing but eternal damnation in store for her son because he never
went to church and professed no orthodox creed. She knew him to be a
good lad, but to her simple mind a conduct of life based merely on a
system of moral philosophy was the worst kind of paganism. There could,
she argued, be no religion, and assuredly no salvation, outside the
dogmatic teachings of the Church. But otherwise Jefferson was a model
son and, with the exception of this bad habit of thinking for himself
on religious matters, really gave her no anxiety. When Jefferson left
college, his father took him into the Empire Trading Company with the
idea of his eventually succeeding him as head of the concern, but the
different views held by father and son on almost every subject soon led
to stormy scenes that made the continuation of the arrangement
impossible. Senator Roberts was well aware of these unfortunate
independent tendencies in John Ryder's son, and while he devoutly
desired the consummation of Jefferson's union with his daughter, he
quite realized that the young man was a nut which was going to be
exceedingly hard to crack.
"Hello, senator, you're always on time!"
Disturbed in his reflections, Senator Roberts looked up and saw the
extended hand of a red-faced, corpulent man, one of the directors. He
was no favourite with the senator, but the latter was too keen a man of
the world to make enemies uselessly, so he condescended to place two
fingers in the outstretched fat palm.
"How are you, Mr. Grimsby? Well, what are we going to do about this
injunction? The case has gone against us. I knew Judge Rossmore's
decision would be for the other side. Public opinion is aroused. The
press--"
Mr. Grimsby's red face grew more apoplectic as he blurted out:
"Public opinion and the press be d---d. Who cares for public opinion?
What is public opinion, anyhow? This road can manage its own affairs or
it can't. If it can't I for one quit railroading. The press! Pshaw!
It's all graft, I tell you. It's nothing but a strike! I never knew one
of these virtuous outbursts that wasn't. First the newspapers bark
ferociously to advertise themselves; then they crawl round and whine
like a cur. And it usually costs something to fix matters."
The senator smiled grimly.
"No, no, Grimsby--not this time. It's more serious than that. Hitherto
the road has been unusually lucky in its bench decisions--"
The senator gave a covert glance round to see if any long ears were
listening. Then he added:
"We can't expect always to get a favourable decision like that in the
Cartwright case, when franchise rights valued at nearly five millions
were at stake. Judge Stollmann proved himself a true friend in that
affair."
Grimsby made a wry grimace as he retorted:
"Yes, and it was worth it to him. A Supreme Court judge don't get a
cheque for $20,000 every day. That represents two years' pay."
"It might represent two years in jail if it were found out," said the
senator with a forced laugh.
Grimsby saw an opportunity, and he could not resist the temptation.
Bluntly he said:
"As far as jail's concerned, others might be getting their deserts
there too."
The senator looked keenly at Grimsby from under his white eyebrows.
Then in a calm, decisive tone he replied:
"It's no question of a cheque this time. The road could not buy Judge
Rossmore with $200,000. He is absolutely unapproachable in that way."
The apoplectic face of Mr. Grimsby looked incredulous.
It was hard for these men who plotted in the dark, and cheated the
widow and the orphan for love of the dollar, to understand that there
were in the world, breathing the same air as they, men who put honour,
truth and justice above mere money-getting. With a slight tinge of
sarcasm he asked:
"Is there any man in our public life who is unapproachable from some
direction or other?"
"Yes, Judge Rossmore is such a man. He is one of the few men in
American public life who takes his duties seriously. In the strictest
sense of the term, he serves his country instead of serving himself. I
am no friend of his, but I must do him that justice."
He spoke sharply, in an irritated tone, as if resenting the insinuation
of this vulgarian that every man in public life had his price. Roberts
knew that the charge was true as far as he and the men he consorted
with were concerned, but sometimes the truth hurts. That was why he had
for a moment seemed to champion Judge Rossmore, which, seeing that the
judge himself was at that very moment under a cloud, was an absurd
thing for him to do.
He had known Rossmore years before when the latter was a city
magistrate in New York. That was before he, Roberts, had become a
political grafter and when the decent things in life still appealed to
him. The two men, although having few interests in common, had seen a
good deal of one another until Roberts went to Washington when their
relations were completely severed. But he had always watched Rossmore's
career, and when he was made a judge of the Supreme Court at a
comparatively early age he was sincerely glad. If anything could have
convinced Roberts that success can come in public life to a man who
pursues it by honest methods it was the success of James Rossmore. He
could never help feeling that Rossmore had been endowed by Nature with
certain qualities which had been denied to him, above all that ability
to walk straight through life with skirts clean which he had found
impossible himself. To-day Judge Rossmore was one of the most
celebrated judges in the country. He was a brilliant jurist and a
splendid after-dinner speaker. He was considered the most learned and
able of all the members of the judiciary, and his decisions were noted
as much for their fearlessness as for their wisdom. But what was far
more, he enjoyed a reputation for absolute integrity. Until now no
breath of slander, no suspicion of corruption, had ever touched him.
Even his enemies acknowledged that. And that is why there was a panic
to-day among the directors of the Southern and Transcontinental
Railroad. This honest, upright man had been called upon in the course
of his duty to decide matters of vital importance to the road, and the
directors were ready to stampede because, in their hearts, they knew
the weakness of their case and the strength of the judge.
Grimsby, unconvinced, returned to the charge.
"What about these newspaper charges? Did Judge Rossmore take a bribe
from the Great Northwestern or didn't he? You ought to know."
"I do know," answered the senator cautiously and somewhat curtly, "but
until Mr. Ryder arrives I can say nothing. I believe he has been
inquiring into the matter. He will tell us when he comes."
The hands of the large clock in the outer room pointed to three. An
active, dapper little man with glasses and with books under his arm
passed hurriedly from another office into the directors room.
"There goes Mr. Lane with the minutes. The meeting is called. Where's
Mr. Ryder?"
There was a general move of the scattered groups of directors toward
the committee room. The clock overhead began to strike. The last stroke
had not quite died away when the big swinging doors from the street
were thrown open and there entered a tall, thin man, gray-headed, and
with a slight stoop, but keen eyed and alert. He was carefully dressed
in a well-fitting frock coat, white waistcoat, black tie and silk hat.
It was John Burkett Ryder, the Colossus.