It was to Edward Malia Butler that Cowperwood turned now, some nineteen
months later when he was thinking of the influence that might bring him
an award of a portion of the State issue of bonds. Butler could
probably be interested to take some of them himself, or could help him
place some. He had come to like Cowperwood very much and was now being
carried on the latter’s books as a prospective purchaser of large
blocks of stocks. And Cowperwood liked this great solid Irishman. He
liked his history. He had met Mrs. Butler, a rather fat and phlegmatic
Irish woman with a world of hard sense who cared nothing at all for
show and who still liked to go into the kitchen and superintend the
cooking. He had met Owen and Callum Butler, the boys, and Aileen and
Norah, the girls. Aileen was the one who had bounded up the steps the
first day he had called at the Butler house several seasons before.
There was a cozy grate-fire burning in Butler’s improvised private
office when Cowperwood called. Spring was coming on, but the evenings
were cool. The older man invited Cowperwood to make himself comfortable
in one of the large leather chairs before the fire and then proceeded
to listen to his recital of what he hoped to accomplish.
“Well, now, that isn’t so easy,” he commented at the end. “You ought to
know more about that than I do. I’m not a financier, as you well know.”
And he grinned apologetically.
“It’s a matter of influence,” went on Cowperwood. “And favoritism. That
I know. Drexel & Company and Cooke & Company have connections at
Harrisburg. They have men of their own looking after their interests.
The attorney-general and the State treasurer are hand in glove with
them. Even if I put in a bid, and can demonstrate that I can handle the
loan, it won’t help me to get it. Other people have done that. I have
to have friends—influence. You know how it is.”
“Them things,” Butler said, “is easy enough if you know the right
parties to approach. Now there’s Jimmy Oliver—he ought to know
something about that.” Jimmy Oliver was the whilom district attorney
serving at this time, and incidentally free adviser to Mr. Butler in
many ways. He was also, accidentally, a warm personal friend of the
State treasurer.
“How much of the loan do you want?”
“Five million.”
“Five million!” Butler sat up. “Man, what are you talking about? That’s
a good deal of money. Where are you going to sell all that?”
“I want to bid for five million,” assuaged Cowperwood, softly. “I only
want one million but I want the prestige of putting in a bona fide bid
for five million. It will do me good on the street.”
Butler sank back somewhat relieved.
“Five million! Prestige! You want one million. Well, now, that’s
different. That’s not such a bad idea. We ought to be able to get
that.”
He rubbed his chin some more and stared into the fire.
And Cowperwood felt confident when he left the house that evening that
Butler would not fail him but would set the wheels working. Therefore,
he was not surprised, and knew exactly what it meant, when a few days
later he was introduced to City Treasurer Julian Bode, who promised to
introduce him to State Treasurer Van Nostrand and to see that his
claims to consideration were put before the people. “Of course, you
know,” he said to Cowperwood, in the presence of Butler, for it was at
the latter’s home that the conference took place, “this banking crowd
is very powerful. You know who they are. They don’t want any
interference in this bond issue business. I was talking to Terrence
Relihan, who represents them up there”—meaning Harrisburg, the State
capital—“and he says they won’t stand for it at all. You may have
trouble right here in Philadelphia after you get it—they’re pretty
powerful, you know. Are you sure just where you can place it?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” replied Cowperwood.
“Well, the best thing in my judgment is not to say anything at all.
Just put in your bid. Van Nostrand, with the governor’s approval, will
make the award. We can fix the governor, I think. After you get it they
may talk to you personally, but that’s your business.”
Cowperwood smiled his inscrutable smile. There were so many ins and
outs to this financial life. It was an endless network of underground
holes, along which all sorts of influences were moving. A little wit, a
little nimbleness, a little luck-time and opportunity—these sometimes
availed. Here he was, through his ambition to get on, and nothing else,
coming into contact with the State treasurer and the governor. They
were going to consider his case personally, because he demanded that it
be considered—nothing more. Others more influential than himself had
quite as much right to a share, but they didn’t take it. Nerve, ideas,
aggressiveness, how these counted when one had luck!
He went away thinking how surprised Drexel & Co. and Cooke & Co. would
be to see him appearing in the field as a competitor. In his home, in a
little room on the second floor next his bedroom, which he had fixed up
as an office with a desk, a safe, and a leather chair, he consulted his
resources. There were so many things to think of. He went over again
the list of people whom he had seen and whom he could count on to
subscribe, and in so far as that was concerned—the award of one million
dollars—he was safe. He figured to make two per cent. on the total
transaction, or twenty thousand dollars. If he did he was going to buy
a house out on Girard Avenue beyond the Butlers’, or, better yet, buy a
piece of ground and erect one; mortgaging house and property so to do.
His father was prospering nicely. He might want to build a house next
to him, and they could live side by side. His own business, aside from
this deal, would yield him ten thousand dollars this year. His
street-car investments, aggregating fifty thousand, were paying six per
cent. His wife’s property, represented by this house, some government
bonds, and some real estate in West Philadelphia amounted to forty
thousand more. Between them they were rich; but he expected to be much
richer. All he needed now was to keep cool. If he succeeded in this
bond-issue matter, he could do it again and on a larger scale. There
would be more issues. He turned out the light after a while and went
into his wife’s boudoir, where she was sleeping. The nurse and the
children were in a room beyond.
“Well, Lillian,” he observed, when she awoke and turned over toward
him, “I think I have that bond matter that I was telling you about
arranged at last. I think I’ll get a million of it, anyhow. That’ll
mean twenty thousand. If I do we’ll build out on Girard Avenue. That’s
going to be the street. The college is making that neighborhood.”
“That’ll be fine, won’t it, Frank!” she observed, and rubbed his arm as
he sat on the side of the bed.
Her remark was vaguely speculative.
“We’ll have to show the Butlers some attention from now on. He’s been
very nice to me and he’s going to be useful—I can see that. He asked me
to bring you over some time. We must go. Be nice to his wife. He can do
a lot for me if he wants to. He has two daughters, too. We’ll have to
have them over here.”
“I’ll have them to dinner sometime,” she agreed cheerfully and
helpfully, “and I’ll stop and take Mrs. Butler driving if she’ll go, or
she can take me.”
She had already learned that the Butlers were rather showy—the younger
generation—that they were sensitive as to their lineage, and that money
in their estimation was supposed to make up for any deficiency in any
other respect. “Butler himself is a very presentable man,” Cowperwood
had once remarked to her, “but Mrs. Butler—well, she’s all right, but
she’s a little commonplace. She’s a fine woman, though, I think,
good-natured and good-hearted.” He cautioned her not to overlook Aileen
and Norah, because the Butlers, mother and father, were very proud of
them.
Mrs. Cowperwood at this time was thirty-two years old; Cowperwood
twenty-seven. The birth and care of two children had made some
difference in her looks. She was no longer as softly pleasing, more
angular. Her face was hollow-cheeked, like so many of Rossetti’s and
Burne-Jones’s women. Her health was really not as good as it had
been—the care of two children and a late undiagnosed tendency toward
gastritis having reduced her. In short she was a little run down
nervously and suffered from fits of depression. Cowperwood had noticed
this. He tried to be gentle and considerate, but he was too much of a
utilitarian and practical-minded observer not to realize that he was
likely to have a sickly wife on his hands later. Sympathy and affection
were great things, but desire and charm must endure or one was
compelled to be sadly conscious of their loss. So often now he saw
young girls who were quite in his mood, and who were exceedingly robust
and joyous. It was fine, advisable, practical, to adhere to the virtues
as laid down in the current social lexicon, but if you had a sickly
wife—And anyhow, was a man entitled to only one wife? Must he never
look at another woman? Supposing he found some one? He pondered those
things between hours of labor, and concluded that it did not make so
much difference. If a man could, and not be exposed, it was all right.
He had to be careful, though. Tonight, as he sat on the side of his
wife’s bed, he was thinking somewhat of this, for he had seen Aileen
Butler again, playing and singing at her piano as he passed the parlor
door. She was like a bright bird radiating health and enthusiasm—a
reminder of youth in general.
“It’s a strange world,” he thought; but his thoughts were his own, and
he didn’t propose to tell any one about them.
The bond issue, when it came, was a curious compromise; for, although
it netted him his twenty thousand dollars and more and served to
introduce him to the financial notice of Philadelphia and the State of
Pennsylvania, it did not permit him to manipulate the subscriptions as
he had planned. The State treasurer was seen by him at the office of a
local lawyer of great repute, where he worked when in the city. He was
gracious to Cowperwood, because he had to be. He explained to him just
how things were regulated at Harrisburg. The big financiers were looked
to for campaign funds. They were represented by henchmen in the State
assembly and senate. The governor and the treasurer were foot-free; but
there were other influences—prestige, friendship, social power,
political ambitions, etc. The big men might constitute a close
corporation, which in itself was unfair; but, after all, they were the
legitimate sponsors for big money loans of this kind. The State had to
keep on good terms with them, especially in times like these. Seeing
that Mr. Cowperwood was so well able to dispose of the million he
expected to get, it would be perfectly all right to award it to him;
but Van Nostrand had a counter-proposition to make. Would Cowperwood,
if the financial crowd now handling the matter so desired, turn over
his award to them for a consideration—a sum equal to what he expected
to make—in the event the award was made to him? Certain financiers
desired this. It was dangerous to oppose them. They were perfectly
willing he should put in a bid for five million and get the prestige of
that; to have him awarded one million and get the prestige of that was
well enough also, but they desired to handle the twenty-three million
dollars in an unbroken lot. It looked better. He need not be advertised
as having withdrawn. They would be content to have him achieve the
glory of having done what he started out to do. Just the same the
example was bad. Others might wish to imitate him. If it were known in
the street privately that he had been coerced, for a consideration,
into giving up, others would be deterred from imitating him in the
future. Besides, if he refused, they could cause him trouble. His loans
might be called. Various banks might not be so friendly in the future.
His constituents might be warned against him in one way or another.
Cowperwood saw the point. He acquiesced. It was something to have
brought so many high and mighties to their knees. So they knew of him!
They were quite well aware of him! Well and good. He would take the
award and twenty thousand or thereabouts and withdraw. The State
treasurer was delighted. It solved a ticklish proposition for him.
“I’m glad to have seen you,” he said. “I’m glad we’ve met. I’ll drop in
and talk with you some time when I’m down this way. We’ll have lunch
together.”
The State treasurer, for some odd reason, felt that Mr. Cowperwood was
a man who could make him some money. His eye was so keen; his
expression was so alert, and yet so subtle. He told the governor and
some other of his associates about him.
So the award was finally made; Cowperwood, after some private
negotiations in which he met the officers of Drexel & Co., was paid his
twenty thousand dollars and turned his share of the award over to them.
New faces showed up in his office now from time to time—among them that
of Van Nostrand and one Terrence Relihan, a representative of some
other political forces at Harrisburg. He was introduced to the governor
one day at lunch. His name was mentioned in the papers, and his
prestige grew rapidly.
Immediately he began working on plans with young Ellsworth for his new
house. He was going to build something exceptional this time, he told
Lillian. They were going to have to do some entertaining—entertaining
on a larger scale than ever. North Front Street was becoming too tame.
He put the house up for sale, consulted with his father and found that
he also was willing to move. The son’s prosperity had redounded to the
credit of the father. The directors of the bank were becoming much more
friendly to the old man. Next year President Kugel was going to retire.
Because of his son’s noted coup, as well as his long service, he was
going to be made president. Frank was a large borrower from his
father’s bank. By the same token he was a large depositor. His
connection with Edward Butler was significant. He sent his father’s
bank certain accounts which it otherwise could not have secured. The
city treasurer became interested in it, and the State treasurer.
Cowperwood, Sr., stood to earn twenty thousand a year as president, and
he owed much of it to his son. The two families were now on the best of
terms. Anna, now twenty-one, and Edward and Joseph frequently spent the
night at Frank’s house. Lillian called almost daily at his mother’s.
There was much interchange of family gossip, and it was thought well to
build side by side. So Cowperwood, Sr., bought fifty feet of ground
next to his son’s thirty-five, and together they commenced the erection
of two charming, commodious homes, which were to be connected by a
covered passageway, or pergola, which could be inclosed with glass in
winter.
The most popular local stone, a green granite was chosen; but Mr.
Ellsworth promised to present it in such a way that it would be
especially pleasing. Cowperwood, Sr., decided that he could afford to
spent seventy-five thousand dollars—he was now worth two hundred and
fifty thousand; and Frank decided that he could risk fifty, seeing that
he could raise money on a mortgage. He planned at the same time to
remove his office farther south on Third Street and occupy a building
of his own. He knew where an option was to be had on a twenty-five-foot
building, which, though old, could be given a new brownstone front and
made very significant. He saw in his mind’s eye a handsome building,
fitted with an immense plate-glass window; inside his hardwood fixtures
visible; and over the door, or to one side of it, set in bronze
letters, Cowperwood & Co. Vaguely but surely he began to see looming
before him, like a fleecy tinted cloud on the horizon, his future
fortune. He was to be rich, very, very rich.