A whirling maelstrom of human activity and dynamic energy--the city
which above all others is characteristic of the genius and virility of
the American people--New York, with its congested polyglot population
and teeming millions, is assuredly one of the busiest, as it is one of
the most strenuous and most noisy places on earth. Yet, despite its
swarming streets and crowded shops, ceaselessly thronged with men and
women eagerly hurrying here and there in the pursuit of business or
elusive pleasure, all chattering, laughing, shouting amid the
deafening, multisonous roar of traffic incidental to Gotham's daily
life, there is one part of the great metropolis where there is no
bustle, no noise, no crowd, where the streets are empty even in
daytime, where a passer-by is a curiosity and a child a phenomenon.
This deserted village in the very heart of the big town is the
millionaires' district, the boundaries of which are marked by Carnegie
hill on the north, Fiftieth Street on the south, and by Fifth and
Madison Avenues respectively on the west and east. There is nothing
more mournful than the outward aspect of these princely residences
which, abandoned and empty for three-quarters of the year, stand in
stately loneliness, as if ashamed of their isolation and utter
uselessness. Their blinds drawn, affording no hint of life within,
enveloped the greater part of the time in the stillness and silence of
the tomb, they appear to be under the spell of some baneful curse. No
merry-voiced children romp in their carefully railed off gardens, no
sounds of conversation or laughter come from their hermetically closed
windows, not a soul goes in or out, at most, at rare intervals, does
one catch a glimpse of a gorgeously arrayed servant gliding about in
ghostly fashion, supercilious and suspicious, and addressing the chance
visitor in awed whispers as though he were the guardian of a house of
affliction. It is, indeed, like a city of the dead.
So it appeared to Jefferson as he walked up Fifth Avenue, bound for the
Ryder residence, the day following his arrival from Europe. Although he
still lived at his father's house, for at no time had there been an
open rupture, he often slept in his studio, finding it more convenient
for his work, and there he had gone straight from the ship. He felt,
however, that it was his duty to see his mother as soon as possible;
besides he was anxious to fulfil his promise to Shirley and find what
his father could do to help Judge Rossmore. He had talked about the
case with several men the previous evening at the club and the general
impression seemed to be that, guilty or innocent, the judge would be
driven off the bench. The "interests" had forced the matter as a party
issue, and the Republicans being in control in the Senate the outcome
could hardly be in doubt. He had learned also of the other misfortunes
which had befallen Judge Rossmore and he understood now the reason for
Shirley's grave face on the dock and her little fib about summering on
Long Island. The news had been a shock to him, for, apart from the fact
that the judge was Shirley's father, he admired him immensely as a man.
Of his perfect innocence there could, of course, be no question: these
charges of bribery had simply been trumped up by his enemies to get him
off the bench. That was very evident. The "interests" feared him and so
had sacrificed him without pity, and as Jefferson walked along Central
Park, past the rows of superb palaces which face its eastern wall, he
wondered in which particular mansion had been hatched this wicked,
iniquitous plot against a wholly blameless American citizen. Here, he
thought, were the citadels of the plutocrats, America's aristocracy of
money, the strongholds of her Coal, Railroad, Oil, Gas and Ice barons,
the castles of her monarchs of Steel, Copper, and Finance. Each of
these million-dollar residences, he pondered, was filled from cellar to
roof with costly furnishings, masterpieces of painting and sculpture,
priceless art treasures of all kinds purchased in every corner of the
globe with the gold filched from a Trust-ridden people. For every stone
in those marble halls a human being, other than the owner, had been
sold into bondage, for each of these magnificent edifices, which the
plutocrat put up in his pride only to occupy it two months in the year,
ten thousand American men, women and children had starved and sorrowed.
Europe, thought Jefferson as he strode quickly along, pointed with envy
to America's unparalleled prosperity, spoke with bated breath of her
great fortunes. Rather should they say her gigantic robberies, her
colossal frauds! As a nation we were not proud of our
multi-millionaires. How many of them would bear the search-light of
investigation? Would his own father? How many millions could one man
make by honest methods? America was enjoying unprecedented prosperity,
not because of her millionaires, but in spite of them. The United
States owed its high rank in the family of nations to the country's
vast natural resources, its inexhaustible vitality, its great wheat
fields, the industrial and mechanical genius of its people. It was the
plain American citizen who had made the greatness of America, not the
millionaires who, forming a class by themselves of unscrupulous
capitalists, had created an arrogant oligarchy which sought to rule the
country by corrupting the legislature and the judiciary. The
plutocrats--these were the leeches, the sores in the body politic. An
organized band of robbers, they had succeeded in dominating legislation
and in securing control of every branch of the nation's industry,
crushing mercilessly and illegally all competition. They were the Money
Power, and such a menace were they to the welfare of the people that,
it had been estimated, twenty men in America had it in their power, by
reason of the vast wealth which they controlled, to come together, and
within twenty-four hours arrive at an understanding by which every
wheel of trade and commerce would be stopped from revolving, every
avenue of trade blocked and every electric key struck dumb. Those
twenty men could paralyze the whole country, for they controlled the
circulation of the currency and could create a panic whenever they
might choose. It was the rapaciousness and insatiable greed of these
plutocrats that had forced the toilers to combine for self-protection,
resulting in the organization of the Labor Unions which, in time,
became almost as tyrannical and unreasonable as the bosses. And the
breach between capital on the one hand and labour on the other was
widening daily, masters and servants snarling over wages and hours, the
quarrel ever increasing in bitterness and acrimony until one day the
extreme limit of patience would be reached and industrial strikes would
give place to bloody violence.
Meantime the plutocrats, wholly careless of the significant signs of
the times and the growing irritation and resentment of the people,
continued their illegal practices, scoffing at public opinion, snapping
their fingers at the law, even going so far in their insolence as to
mock and jibe at the President of the United States. Feeling secure in
long immunity and actually protected in their wrong doing by the
courts--the legal machinery by its very elaborateness defeating the
ends of justice--the Trust kings impudently defied the country and
tried to impose their own will upon the people. History had thus
repeated itself. The armed feudalism of the middle ages had been
succeeded in twentieth century America by the tyranny of capital.
Yet, ruminated the young artist as he neared the Ryder residence, the
American people had but themselves to blame for their present
thralldom. Forty years before Abraham Lincoln had warned the country
when at the close of the war he saw that the race for wealth was
already making men and women money-mad. In 1864 he wrote these words:
"Yes, we may congratulate ourselves that this cruel war is nearing its
close. It has cost a vast amount of treasure and blood. The best blood
of the flower of American youth has been freely offered upon our
country's altar that the nation might live. It has been indeed a trying
hour for the Republic, but I see in the near future a crisis
approaching that unnerves me and causes me to tremble for the safety of
my country. As a result of the war, corporations have been enthroned
and an era of corruption in high places will follow and the money power
of the country will endeavor to prolong its reign by working upon the
prejudices of the people until all the wealth is aggregated in a few
hands and the Republic is destroyed."
Truly prophetic these solemn words were to-day. Forgetting the austere
simplicity of their forebears, a love of show and ostentation had
become the ruling passion of the American people. Money, MONEY,
_MONEY_! was to-day the only standard, the only god! The whole nation,
frenzied with a wild lust for wealth no matter how acquired, had
tacitly acquiesced in all sorts of turpitude, every description of
moral depravity, and so had fallen an easy victim to the band of
capitalistic adventurers who now virtually ruled the land. With the
thieves in power, the courts were powerless, the demoralization was
general and the world was afforded the edifying spectacle of an entire
country given up to an orgy of graft--treason in the Senate--corruption
in the Legislature, fraudulent elections, leaks in government reports,
trickery in Wall Street, illegal corners in coal, meat, ice and other
prime necessaries of life, the deadly horrors of the Beef and Drug
Trusts, railroad conspiracies, insurance scandals, the wrecking of
savings banks, police dividing spoils with pickpockets and sharing the
wages of prostitutes, magistrates charged with blackmailing--a foul
stench of social rottenness and decay! What, thought Jefferson, would
be the outcome--Socialism or Anarchy?
Still, he mused, one ray of hope pierced the general gloom--the common
sense, the vigour and the intelligence of the true American man and
woman, the love for a "square deal" which was characteristic of the
plain people, the resistless force of enlightened public opinion. The
country was merely passing through a dark phase in its history, it was
the era of the grafters. There would come a reaction, the rascals would
be exposed and driven off, and the nation would go on upward toward its
high destiny. The country was fortunate, too, in having a strong
president, a man of high principles and undaunted courage who had
already shown his capacity to deal with the critical situation. America
was lucky with her presidents. Picked out by the great political
parties as mere figureheads, sometimes they deceived their sponsors,
and showed themselves men and patriots. Such a president was Theodore
Roosevelt. After beginning vigorous warfare on the Trusts, attacking
fearlessly the most rascally of the band, the chief of the nation had
sounded the slogan of alarm in regard to the multi-millionaires. The
amassing of colossal fortunes, he had declared, must be stopped--a man
might accumulate more than sufficient for his own needs and for the
needs of his children, but the evil practice of perpetuating great and
ever-increasing fortunes for generations yet unborn was recognized as a
peril to the State. To have had the courage to propose such a sweeping
and radical restrictive measure as this should alone, thought
Jefferson, ensure for Theodore Roosevelt a place among America's
greatest and wisest statesmen. He and Americans of his calibre would
eventually perform the titanic task of cleansing these Augean stables,
the muck and accumulated filth of which was sapping the health and
vitality of the nation.
Jefferson turned abruptly and went up the wide steps of an imposing
white marble edifice, which took up the space of half a city block. A
fine example of French Renaissance architecture, with spire roofs,
round turrets and mullioned windows dominating the neighbouring houses,
this magnificent home of the plutocrat, with its furnishings and art
treasures, had cost John Burkett Ryder nearly ten millions of dollars.
It was one of the show places of the town, and when the "rubber neck"
wagons approached the Ryder mansion and the guides, through their
megaphones, expatiated in awe-stricken tones on its external and hidden
beauties, there was a general craning of vertebrae among the "seeing
New York"-ers to catch a glimpse of the abode of the richest man in the
world.
Only a few privileged ones were ever permitted to penetrate to the
interior of this ten-million-dollar home. Ryder was not fond of
company, he avoided strangers and lived in continual apprehension of
the subpoena server. Not that he feared the law, only he usually found
it inconvenient to answer questions in court under oath. The explicit
instructions to the servants, therefore, were to admit no one under any
pretext whatever unless the visitor had been approved by the Hon.
Fitzroy Bagley, Mr. Ryder's aristocratic private secretary, and to
facilitate this preliminary inspection there had been installed between
the library upstairs and the front door one of those ingenious electric
writing devices, such as are used in banks, on which a name is hastily
scribbled, instantly transmitted elsewhere, immediately answered and
the visitor promptly admitted or as quickly shown the door.
Indeed the house, from the street, presented many of the
characteristics of a prison. It had massive doors behind a row of
highly polished steel gates, which would prove as useful in case of
attempted invasion as they were now ornamental, and heavily barred
windows, while on either side of the portico were great marble columns
hung with chains and surmounted with bronze lions rampant. It was
unusual to keep the town house open so late in the summer, but Mr.
Ryder was obliged for business reasons to be in New York at this time,
and Mrs. Ryder, who was one of the few American wives who do not always
get their own way, had good-naturedly acquiesced in the wishes of her
lord.
Jefferson did not have to ring at the paternal portal. The sentinel
within was at his post; no one could approach that door without being
seen and his arrival and appearance signalled upstairs. But the great
man's son headed the list of the privileged ones, so without ado the
smartly dressed flunkey opened wide the doors and Jefferson was under
his father's roof.
"Is my father in?" he demanded of the man.
"No, sir," was the respectful answer. "Mr. Ryder has gone out driving,
but Mr. Bagley is upstairs." Then after a brief pause he added: "Mrs.
Ryder is in, too."
In this household where the personality of the mistress was so
completely overshadowed by the stronger personality of the master the
latter's secretary was a more important personage to the servants than
the unobtrusive wife.
Jefferson went up the grand staircase hung on either side with fine old
portraits and rare tapestries, his feet sinking deep in the rich velvet
carpet. On the first landing was a piece of sculptured marble of
inestimable worth, seen in the soft warm light that sifted through a
great pictorial stained-glass window overhead, the subject representing
Ajax and Ulysses contending for the armour of Achilles. To the left of
this, at the top of another flight leading to the library, was hung a
fine full-length portrait of John Burkett Ryder. The ceilings here as
in the lower hall were richly gilt and adorned with paintings by famous
modern artists. When he reached this floor Jefferson was about to turn
to the right and proceed direct to his mother's suite when he heard a
voice near the library door. It was Mr. Bagley giving instructions to
the butler.
The Honourable Fitzroy Bagley, a younger son of a British peer, had
left his country for his country's good, and in order to turn an honest
penny, which he had never succeeded in doing at home, he had entered
the service of America's foremost financier, hoping to gather a few of
the crumbs that fell from the rich man's table and disguising the
menial nature of his position under the high-sounding title of private
secretary. His job called for a spy and a toady and he filled these
requirements admirably. Excepting with his employer, of whom he stood
in craven fear, his manner was condescendingly patronizing to all with
whom he came in contact, as if he were anxious to impress on these
American plebeians the signal honour which a Fitzroy, son of a British
peer, did them in deigning to remain in their "blarsted" country. In
Mr. Ryder's absence, therefore, he ran the house to suit himself,
bullying the servants and not infrequently issuing orders that were
contradictory to those already given by Mrs. Ryder. The latter offered
no resistance, she knew he was useful to her husband and, what to her
mind was a still better reason for letting him have his own way, she
had always had the greatest reverence for the British aristocracy. It
would have seemed to her little short of vulgarity to question the
actions of anyone who spoke with such a delightful English accent.
Moreover, he dressed with irreproachable taste, was an acknowledged
authority on dinner menus and social functions and knew his Burke
backwards--altogether an accomplished and invaluable person.
Jefferson could not bear the sight of him; in fact, it was this man's
continual presence in the house that had driven him to seek refuge
elsewhere. He believed him to be a scoundrel as he certainly was a cad.
Nor was his estimate of the English secretary far wrong. The man, like
his master, was a grafter, and the particular graft he was after now
was either to make a marriage with a rich American girl or to so
compromise her that the same end would be attained. He was shrewd
enough to realize that he had little chance to get what he wanted in
the open matrimonial market, so he determined to attempt a raid and
carry off an heiress under her father's nose, and the particular
proboscis he had selected was that of his employer's friend, Senator
Roberts. The senator and Miss Roberts were frequently at the Ryder
House and in course of time the aristocratic secretary and the daughter
had become quite intimate. A flighty girl, with no other purpose in
life beyond dress and amusement and having what she termed "a good
time," Kate thought it excellent pastime to flirt with Mr. Bagley, and
when she discovered that he was serious in his attentions she felt
flattered rather than indignant. After all, she argued, he was of noble
birth. If his two brothers died he would be peer of England, and she
had enough money for both. He might not make a bad husband. But she was
careful to keep her own counsel and not let her father have any
suspicion of what was going on. She knew that his heart was set on her
marrying Jefferson Ryder and she knew better than anyone how impossible
that dream was. She herself liked Jefferson quite enough to marry him,
but if his eyes were turned in another direction--and she knew all
about his attentions to Miss Rossmore--she was not going to break her
heart about it. So she continued to flirt secretly with the Honourable
Fitzroy while she still led the Ryders and her own father to think that
she was interested in Jefferson.
"Jorkins," Mr. Bagley was saying to the butler, "Mr. Ryder will occupy
the library on his return. See that he is not disturbed."
"Yes, sir," replied the butler respectfully. The man turned to go when
the secretary called him back.
"And, Jorkins, you will station another man at the front entrance.
Yesterday it was left unguarded, and a man had the audacity to address
Mr. Ryder as he was getting out of his carriage. Last week a reporter
tried to snapshot him. Mr. Ryder was furious. These things must not
happen again, Jorkins. I shall hold you responsible."
"Very good, sir." The butler bowed and went downstairs. The secretary
looked up and saw Jefferson. His face reddened and his manner grew
nervous.
"Hello! Back from Europe, Jefferson? How jolly! Your mother will be
delighted. She's in her room upstairs."
Declining to take the hint, and gathering from Bagley's embarrassed
manner that he wanted to get rid of him, Jefferson lingered purposely.
When the butler had disappeared, he said:
"This house is getting more and more like a barracks every day. You've
got men all over the place. One can't move a step without falling over
one."
Mr. Bagley drew himself up stiffly, as he always did when assuming an
air of authority.
"Your father's personality demands the utmost precaution," he replied.
"We cannot leave the life of the richest and most powerful financier in
the world at the mercy of the rabble."
"What rabble?" inquired Jefferson, amused.
"The common rabble--the lower class--the riff-raff," explained Mr.
Bagley.
"Pshaw!" laughed Jefferson. "If our financiers were only half as
respectable as the common rabble, as you call them, they would need no
bars to their houses."
Mr. Bagley sneered and shrugged his shoulders.
"Your father has warned me against your socialistic views." Then, with
a lofty air, he added: "For four years I was third groom of the
bedchamber to the second son of England's queen. I know my
responsibilities."
"But you are not groom of the bedchamber here," retorted Jefferson.
"Whatever I am," said Mr. Bagley haughtily, "I am answerable to your
father alone."
"By the way, Bagley," asked Jefferson, "when do you expect father to
return? I want to see him."
"I'm afraid it's quite impossible," answered the secretary with studied
insolence. "He has three important people to see before dinner. There's
the National Republican Committee and Sergeant Ellison of the Secret
Service from Washington--all here by appointment. It's quite
impossible."
"I didn't ask you if it were possible. I said I wanted to see him and I
will see him," answered Jefferson quietly but firmly, and in a tone and
manner which did not admit of further opposition. "I'll go and leave
word for him on his desk," he added.
He started to enter the library when the secretary, who was visibly
perturbed, attempted to bar his way.
"There's some one in there," he said in an undertone. "Someone waiting
for your father."
"Is there?" replied Jefferson coolly. "I'll see who it is," with which
he brushed past Mr. Bagley and entered the library.
He had guessed aright. A woman was there. It was Kate Roberts.
"Hello, Kate! how are you?" They called each other by their first
names, having been acquainted for years, and while theirs was an
indifferent kind of friendship they had always been on good terms. At
one time Jefferson had even begun to think he might do what his father
wished and marry the girl, but it was only after he had met and known
Shirley Rossmore that he realized how different one woman can be from
another. Yet Kate had her good qualities. She was frivolous and silly
as are most girls with no brains and nothing else to do in life but
dress and spend money, but she might yet be happy with some other
fellow, and that was why it made him angry to see this girl with
$100,000 in her own right playing into the hands of an unscrupulous
adventurer. He had evidently disturbed an interesting tete-a-tete. He
decided to say nothing, but mentally he resolved to spoil Mr. Bagley's
game and save Kate from her own folly. On hearing his voice Kate turned
and gave a little cry of genuine surprise.
"Why, is it you, Jeff? I thought you were in Europe."
"I returned yesterday," he replied somewhat curtly. He crossed over to
his father's desk where he sat down to scribble a few words, while Mr.
Bagley, who had followed him in scowling, was making frantic dumb signs
to Kate.
"I fear I intrude here," said Jefferson pointedly.
"Oh, dear no, not at all," replied Kate in some confusion. "I was
waiting for my father. How is Paris?" she asked.
"Lovely as ever," he answered.
"Did you have a good time?" she inquired.
"I enjoyed it immensely. I never had a better one."
"You probably were in good company," she said significantly. Then she
added: "I believe Miss Rossmore was in Paris."
"Yes, I think she was there," was his non-committal answer.
To change the conversation, which was becoming decidedly personal, he
picked up a book that was lying on his father's desk and glanced at the
title. It was "The American Octopus."
"Is father still reading this?" he asked. "He was at it when I left."
"Everybody is reading it," said Kate. "The book has made a big
sensation. Do you know who the hero is?"
"Who?" he asked with an air of the greatest innocence.
"Why, no less a personage than your father--John Burkett Ryder himself!
Everybody says it's he--the press and everybody that's read it. He says
so himself."
"Really?" he exclaimed with well-simulated surprise. "I must read it."
"It has made a strong impression on Mr. Ryder," chimed in Mr. Bagley.
"I never knew him to be so interested in a book before. He's trying his
best to find out who the author is. It's a jolly well written book and
raps you American millionaires jolly well--what?"
"Whoever wrote the book," interrupted Kate, "is somebody who knows Mr.
Ryder exceedingly well. There are things in it that an outsider could
not possibly know."
"Phew!" Jefferson whistled softly to himself. He was treading dangerous
ground. To conceal his embarrassment, he rose.
"If you'll excuse me, I'll go and pay my filial respects upstairs. I'll
see you again." He gave Kate a friendly nod, and without even glancing
at Mr. Bagley left the room.
The couple stood in silence for a few moments after he disappeared.
Then Kate went to the door and listened to his retreating footsteps.
When she was sure that he was out of earshot she turned on Mr. Bagley
indignantly.
"You see what you expose me to. Jefferson thinks this was a rendezvous."
"Well, it was to a certain extent," replied the secretary unabashed.
"Didn't you ask me to see you here?"
"Yes," said Kate, taking a letter from her bosom, "I wanted to ask you
what this means?"
"My dear Miss Roberts--Kate--I"--stammered the secretary.
"How dare you address me in this manner when you know I and Mr. Ryder
are engaged?"
No one knew better than Kate that this was not true, but she said it
partly out of vanity, partly out of a desire to draw out this
Englishman who made such bold love to her.
"Miss Roberts," replied Mr. Bagley loftily, "in that note I expressed
my admiration--my love for you. Your engagement to Mr. Jefferson Ryder
is, to say the least, a most uncertain fact." There was a tinge of
sarcasm in his voice that did not escape Kate.
"You must not judge from appearances," she answered, trying to keep up
the outward show of indignation which inwardly she did not feel. "Jeff
and I may hide a passion that burns like a volcano. All lovers are not
demonstrative, you know."
The absurdity of this description as applied to her relations with
Jefferson appealed to her as so comical that she burst into laughter in
which the secretary joined.
"Then why did you remain here with me when the Senator went out with
Mr. Ryder, senior?" he demanded.
"To tell you that I cannot listen to your nonsense any longer,"
retorted the girl.
"What?" he cried, incredulously. "You remain here to tell me that you
cannot listen to me when you could easily have avoided listening to me
without telling me so. Kate, your coldness is not convincing."
"You mean you think I want to listen to you?" she demanded.
"I do," he answered, stepping forward as if to take her in his arms.
"Mr. Bagley!" she exclaimed, recoiling.
"A week ago," he persisted, "you called me Fitzroy. Once, in an
outburst of confidence, you called me Fitz."
"You hadn't asked me to marry you then," she laughed mockingly. Then
edging away towards the door she waved her hand at him playfully and
said teasingly: "Good-bye, Mr. Bagley, I am going upstairs to Mrs.
Ryder. I will await my father's return in her room. I think I shall be
safer."
He ran forward to intercept her, but she was too quick for him. The
door slammed in his face and she was gone.
Meantime Jefferson had proceeded upstairs, passing through long and
luxuriously carpeted corridors with panelled frescoed walls, and hung
with grand old tapestries and splendid paintings, until he came to his
mother's room. He knocked.
"Come in!" called out the familiar voice. He entered. Mrs. Ryder was
busy at her escritoire looking over a mass of household accounts.
"Hello, mother!" he cried, running up and hugging her in his boyish,
impulsive way. Jefferson had always been devoted to his mother, and
while he deplored her weakness in permitting herself to be so
completely under the domination of his father, she had always found him
an affectionate and loving son.
"Jefferson!" she exclaimed when he released her. "My dear boy, when did
you arrive?"
"Only yesterday. I slept at the studio last night. You're looking
bully, mother. How's father?"
Mrs. Ryder sighed while she looked her son over proudly. In her heart
she was glad Jefferson had turned out as he had. Her boy certainly
would never be a financier to be attacked in magazines and books.
Answering his question she said:
"Your father is as well as those busybodies in the newspapers will let
him be. He's considerably worried just now over that new book 'The
American Octopus.' How dare they make him out such a monster? He's no
worse than other successful business men. He's richer, that's all, and
it makes them jealous. He's out driving now with Senator Roberts. Kate
is somewhere in the house--in the library, I think."
"Yes, I found her there," replied Jefferson dryly. "She was with that
cad, Bagley. When is father going to find that fellow out?"
"Oh, Jefferson," protested his mother, "how can you talk like that of
Mr. Bagley. He is such a perfect gentleman. His family connections
alone should entitle him to respect. He is certainly the best secretary
your father ever had. I'm sure I don't know what we should do without
him. He knows everything that a gentleman should."
"And a good deal more, I wager," growled Jefferson. "He wasn't groom of
the backstairs to England's queen for nothing." Then changing the
topic, he said suddenly: "Talking about Kate, mother, we have got to
reach some definite understanding. This talk about my marrying her must
stop. I intend to take the matter up with father to-day."
"Oh, of course, more trouble!" replied his mother in a resigned tone.
She was so accustomed to having her wishes thwarted that she was never
surprised at anything. "We heard of your goings on in Paris. That Miss
Rossmore was there, was she not?"
"That has got nothing to do with it," replied Jefferson warmly. He
resented Shirley's name being dragged into the discussion. Then more
calmly he went on: "Now, mother, be reasonable, listen. I purpose to
live my own life. I have already shown my father that I will not be
dictated to, and that I can earn my own living. He has no right to
force this marriage on me. There has never been any misunderstanding on
Kate's part. She and I understand each other thoroughly."
"Well, Jefferson, you may be right from your point of view," replied
his mother weakly. She invariably ended by agreeing with the last one
who argued with her. "You are of age, of course. Your parents have only
a moral right over you. Only remember this: it would be foolish of you
to do anything now to anger your father. His interests are your
interests. Don't do anything to jeopardize them. Of course, you can't
be forced to marry a girl you don't care for, but your father will be
bitterly disappointed. He had set his heart on this match. He knows all
about your infatuation for Miss Rossmore and it has made him furious. I
suppose you've heard about her father?"
"Yes, and it's a dastardly outrage," blurted out Jefferson. "It's a
damnable conspiracy against one of the most honourable men that ever
lived, and I mean to ferret out and expose the authors. I came here
to-day to ask father to help me."
"You came to ask your father to help you?" echoed his mother
incredulously.
"Why not?" demanded Jefferson. "Is it true then that he is selfishness
incarnate? Wouldn't he do that much to help a friend?"
"You've come to the wrong house, Jeff. You ought to know that. Your
father is far from being Judge Rossmore's friend. Surely you have sense
enough to realize that there are two reasons why he would not raise a
finger to help him. One is that he has always been his opponent in
public life, the other is that you want to marry his daughter."
Jefferson sat as if struck dumb. He had not thought of that. Yes, it
was true. His father and the father of the girl he loved were mortal
enemies. How was help to be expected from the head of those "interests"
which the judge had always attacked, and now he came to think of it,
perhaps his own father was really at the bottom of these abominable
charges! He broke into a cold perspiration and his voice was altered as
he said:
"Yes, I see now, mother. You are right." Then he added bitterly: "That
has always been the trouble at home. No matter where I turn, I am up
against a stone wall--the money interests. One never hears a glimmer of
fellow-feeling, never a word of human sympathy, only cold calculation,
heartless reasoning, money, money, money! Oh, I am sick of it. I don't
want any of it. I am going away where I'll hear no more of it."
His mother laid her hand gently on his shoulder.
"Don't talk that way, Jefferson. Your father is not a bad man at heart,
you know that. His life has been devoted to money making and he has
made a greater fortune than any man living or dead. He is only what his
life has made him. He has a good heart. And he loves you--his only son.
But his business enemies--ah! those he never forgives."
Jefferson was about to reply when suddenly a dozen electric bells
sounded all over the house.
"What's that?" exclaimed Jefferson, alarmed, and starting towards the
door.
"Oh, that's nothing," smiled his mother. "We have had that put in since
you went away. Your father must have just come in. Those bells announce
the fact. It was done so that if there happened to be any strangers in
the house they could be kept out of the way until he reached the
library safely."
"Oh," laughed Jefferson, "he's afraid some one will kidnap him?
Certainly he would be a rich prize. I wouldn't care for the job myself,
though. They'd be catching a tartar."
His speech was interrupted by a timid knock at the door.
"May I come in to say good-bye?" asked a voice which they recognized as
Kate's. She had successfully escaped from Mr. Bagley's importunities
and was now going home with the Senator. She smiled amiably at
Jefferson and they chatted pleasantly of his trip abroad. He was
sincerely sorry for this girl whom they were trying to foist on him.
Not that he thought she really cared for him, he was well aware that
hers was a nature that made it impossible to feel very deeply on any
subject, but the idea of this ready-made marriage was so foreign, so
revolting to the American mind! He thought it would be a kindness to
warn her against Bagley.
"Don't be foolish, Kate," he said. "I was not blind just now in the
library. That man is no good."
As is usual when one's motives are suspected, the girl resented his
interference. She knew he hated Mr. Bagley and she thought it mean of
him to try and get even in this way. She stiffened up and replied
coldly:
"I think I am able to look after myself, Jefferson. Thanks, all the
same."
He shrugged his shoulders and made no reply. She said good-bye to Mrs.
Ryder, who was again immersed in her tradespeople bills, and left the
room, escorted by Jefferson, who accompanied her downstairs and on to
the street where Senator Roberts was waiting for her in the open
victoria. The senator greeted with unusual cordiality the young man
whom he still hoped to make his son-in-law.
"Come and see us, Jefferson," he said. "Come to dinner any evening. We
are always alone and Kate and I will be glad to see you."
"Jefferson has so little time now, father. His work and--his friends
keep him pretty busy."
Jefferson had noted both the pause and the sarcasm, but he said
nothing. He smiled and the senator raised his hat. As the carriage
drove off the young man noticed that Kate glanced at one of the upper
windows where Mr. Bagley stood behind a curtain watching. Jefferson
returned to the house. The psychological moment had arrived. He must go
now and confront his father in the library.